“Alone in the forest with only a scrap of metal for protection? Doesn’t matter what you want.” The scowl became a leer. “But we’ll take care of you. If you ask nicely.”

“Look at this lot,” said the thin man, his tone struck with wonder.

He upended her haversack. Oil-clothed provisions scattered across the dell. Gold crowns fell like rain. The thin man fell to his knees and scrabbled in the dirt.

Calenne drew her sword and clung to it as the lifeline it had so quickly become. “That’s mine! Let it alone!”

The thin man scrambled back, hands held up in surrender. “Yours? I don’t think so. Duke’s ransom here. Where’d you steal this lot, eh?”

Broken-nose lumbered closer, his own sword now drawn. “Don’t make trouble. I’ve had a bad day.”

Calenne spun on her heel, the point of her sword tracking towards Broken-nose. Dreams of travel had faded to nothing, blotted out by the prospect of robbery and worse. Raven take Anastacia anyway. The demon had rushed her into this. This was her fault. Calenne knew the thought was untrue even as it formed. Nonetheless, the spark of anger helped her stand a little taller, a little straighter.

“It can still get worse.” She barely recognised her own voice, so hard and flat had she spoken.

Broken-nose flinched. “Some manners wouldn’t hurt your prospects any.”

“Steady, Vorn,” said the woman. “Don’t you recognise her?”

“What are you talking about?”

“She’s the duke’s sister.”

Calenne’s heart sank to an even lower ebb.

The thin man laughed. “You’re daft. What’d she be doing out here? Locked up in Branghall, isn’t she?”

“I tell you, it’s her.” The woman spoke soft and insistent. “I was there when they burned the painting. On the balcony, she was. Scowling like there was a bad smell under her nose. Doesn’t know how good she has it. Never missed a meal, have you my lady? Never been rousted in the middle of the night because of some northwealder’s lies?”

Fear crashed across Calenne’s thoughts. Sword-given confidence faded to nothing. “Look. Take the money. Take anything you want. But leave me alone.”

Broken-nose’s expression brightened. “Well I never. Lumestra loves me after all, eh, Keera?”

They closed in.

Viktor mistook the first scream for a shrieker owl announcing its intent to slaughter something small, desperate and furry. It wasn’t until a second split the air that he recognised the voice as a woman’s.

Across the dying fire, Vladama Kurkas scowled into his tankard and began to rise. “Things haven’t changed much. Fifteen years, and still a lawless bunch of cusses. Want me to take a look?”

Viktor waved him down. “No. I need to stretch my legs.”