She offered a half-smile. “And I’m sorry for behaving like a child. I have such dark thoughts sometimes. I swear I don’t recognise myself.”

“Why did you tell me?” he asked. “You must have known how I’d take it.”

She pulled away. “I should tell someone, don’t you think? And who else is there? You’re my brother, Josiri. You’re the only person who’s real. The rest of the world? It’s behind glass. Emissaries call on us. Servants come and they go. They all enter our lives like dreams and leave the same way.”

“And you’d abandon me?”

“You could come. Kasamor would adopt you if I asked, I’m sure of it.” Her voice quickened. “We’d both be free of this.”

Josiri tried to picture Ebigail Kiradin’s face at the news she’d be welcoming not one, but two hated Trelans into her precious family.

“I can’t,” he said. “This is where I belong.”

“Katya wouldn’t want you to live like this.”

“You know that’s not true. I gave our mother two promises the night she died. At Eskavord, I swore to protect you. And at Zanya, I swore to finish what she started.”

Calenne’s fingers brushed his cheek. “My poor, foolish brother. Katya’s gone. Find a purpose of your own, while you still can.”

He hadn’t the heart to tell her how far that particular ship had sailed over the horizon. “And you?”

She grinned. “I shall be Lady Calenne Kiradin, adored by my husband, abhorred by my mother-in-law, and all the happier for both. But though I’ll no longer be a Trelan in name, I’ll always be your sister. After all, Trelans must stick together, mustn’t they?”

He sighed. “Always.”

The sonorous chimes of Branghall’s ancient clock rang out, signalling the approach of noon. Time to address the crowds.

Josiri took to the balcony on the last stroke of noon, hands clasped to disguise their nervous tremor. Beyond the balustrade, hundreds of men, women and children stood crammed between the garden’s apple trees and the low brick walls of the courtyard terrace. Rare guests to Branghall, permitted entry for this most special of occasions. There were no cheers, not that he expected any. Just a quiet, expectant murmur carried on the gentle breeze.

The temptation to change his plans returned, stronger than ever.

“You’re popular today, brother,” whispered Calenne.

“So it would seem.”

He knew why. This was part of Makrov’s triumph. Another point scored against the long dead woman who’d spurned his heart.

Makrov and Yanda waited on the balcony. A quartet of soldiers accompanied them, one of whom had a silvered buccina looped over his right shoulder. Yanda looked uncomfortable. Makrov radiated delight. He strode to greet them, diamonds glittering across his narrow crown. The polished black wood of his sceptre shone like serpent-scale in the sun.