The coach rumbled to a halt in a crunch of gravel. Firestone lanterns cast flickering shadows across Freemont’s archway. They made the stone dragon of the Kiradin escutcheon appear restless and watchful in the gloom. Beyond, ornamental trees swayed in the unseasonal wind that swept the raucous carousing of drunks up from the dockside. The wealthy could wall off their estates and have hearthguard clear the neighbouring streets, but the wind blew where it wished.

“You’re certain you want to be part of this?” asked Viktor.

Malachi straightened his cravat. “We’ve been over this. You’ll need my support. It’s a good proposal. And they’ve no great love for me. If you’re trying to spare my reputation, don’t bother.”

Viktor nodded, uncertain of what to say. He’d never had a knack for making friends, and so he valued those few he possessed all the higher. But expressing as much came hard. Even to those he’d known all his life. So instead, he grasped the door handle, stepped out into the night, and stalked away up the path.

It was no surprise to see a second coach on the driveway, liveried in black and its doors blazoned with a stylised silver swan. Just as predictable were the green-garbed hearthguards standing in shadow beneath the archway. In a city as crowded as Tressia, it took more than expansive grounds to guarantee privacy.

Malachi joined Viktor on the steps with wind-stung cheeks and a catch to his breathing. “There you go, leaving me behind. We don’t all have a kraikon’s stride.”

He tugged on the laced leather of the bell-cord and rubbed gloveless hands together. A chorus of wild barks struck up in the grounds beyond.

The door eased open on greased hinges to reveal the corpulent, sharp-featured form of Lady Kiradin’s steward. He wore the plain black frock coat currently in fashion for servants of the well-to-do. Combined with Marek’s smooth pate and sombre demeanour, the clothes conjured the image of a bodyman, come to relieve the recently bereaved of mortal remains.

Malachi drew himself up. “Ah, Marek. Lord Reveque and Lord Akadra to see Lady Kiradin.”

Marek’s expression took on a wry cast at the unnecessary introduction. But protocol was protocol. “Of course, my lord. You’ll do me the honour of waiting while I see if her ladyship is entertaining guests tonight?”

Of course she was, otherwise why the other coach on the driveway? But there were guests and there were guests. And there was more than one way to entertain.

“It’s council business,” said Viktor.

“I’m sure,” Marek replied, the words just the proper side of respectful. “But if you could perhaps wait?”