Drakos Crovan remained as affectedly charming as ever, but only the deaf could have missed the undercurrent in his voice. Not quite a threat, but with threat near enough at hand. Melanna had heard that tone many times before in the Golden Court. Her father often used it in front of subordinates, as Crovan now was. A handful of other wolf’s-heads looked on – the women’s expressions no friendlier than the men’s. And Vorn, watching her with a predator’s dark eyes. That Tressian was more wolf than man.

Or perhaps she only heard the danger because Crovan stood between her and the stairway to Maiden’s Hollow? Because she was alone in the face of Crovan’s outrage, and Vorn’s unfriendly glower?

“I’ve learned everything I need. It’s time for me to rejoin my people.”

“Oh, very convenient,” said Crovan. “After you eat my food, drink my wine . . . have my fellows thin the northwealder patrols at Trelszon? At no small cost in life, I might add. I thought we were allies.”

“And so we remain. But my place is at my father’s side, where I can properly express your friendship.”

Melanna lent a little bite to those last words – a reminder that such expressions were not always positive. She hated doing it. Her father’s vengeance was a useful spur to ailing manners, but harnessing it felt like failure. As if she were still a child hiding behind his robes.

It didn’t help that she was still unsettled by the previous night. She recalled a dream of blood and silver, and the goddess’s soft words urging her home. But like all dreams, the details slipped away the more she sought them.

Crovan nodded, the flush of anger fading from his cheeks. “I see.”

“She’s running,” growled Vorn. “Our comforts not enough for you, princessa? If you’ve trouble sleeping . . . Well, reckon I can help with that.”

Melanna felt her cheeks colour. A ripple of laughter echoed around the root-bound cavern. It died at the chopping motion of Crovan’s hand.

“Enough. She’s made her decision. We’re not brigands.” Crovan’s gaze settled on Vorn. Its displeasure served as stark contrast to his amicable tone. “Please remember that.”

Vorn’s chair clattered as he rose. “And what guarantee do we have that the great Kai Saran will honour our agreement?”

“You have my word,” said Melanna.

“Hah! This is the Southshires, princessa. Word of a noble’s not worth much here. No matter how fine their promises or whose colours they wear.”