Temper blinked away the sweat running into his eyes. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was stone dry. Sucking cool air into his lungs, he watched as the fog dispersed, revealing no trace of the mangled corpses, torn robes, or scattered weapons. The House stared at him blindly, and now its neighbouring buildings surrounded it again. He stood with fists numb around his sword-grips, gasping, his body twitching with exhaustion. A hand touched his shoulder and he jumped, staggering. He fell like a corpse, back against the low stone wall.

‘It’s dawn,’ Corinn said, steadying him. ‘We were trying to tell you . . .’ Lubben stood behind her, covering her back as if expecting a last-minute Shadow cultist’s attack.

‘Dawn?’ he croaked. He mouthed the word, uncomprehending. Dawn. Corinn fumbled to catch him as he slid onto ground glistening with the morning dew.

CHAPTER SIX

RESOLUTIONS

THE RICH SCENT OF STEWING BROTH TEASED THE TAG-END of Kiska’s dreams. She smiled, stretched, then hissed as pain flared from almost every limb. Something touched her shoulder and she flinched awake. A pale, fat man yelped, jerking away.

‘What do you want?’ she demanded.

Smiling nervously, he pointed under her. ‘My apron. You’re lying on my apron.’

She recognized him: Coop, tavern-keeper of the Hanged Man Inn. She looked down and saw that she’d been sleeping on a bench cushioned by blankets, a tattered quilt and bundled clothing. ‘Sorry’ She moved her arm and the man tugged his apron free.

‘Told you she’d wake up,’ someone observed from across the room.

Kiska realized she was wearing somebody else’s clothes: a thick wool sweater of the kind she hated because it made her look like a child, and a long skirt of layered patched linen. She swung her legs down and rubbed at her eyes. She was in a private dwelling, ground level. Its door appeared to have been smashed from its hinges. Beyond, a sun-washed street lay empty. A boy with dirty bare feet scrubbed at dark stains on the wood floor while nearby a man sat at a table, his kinky black hair in his eyes, sopping up stew with a crust of bread. Coop backed away to the door, bowing his thanks for his apron.

‘See you later, Coop,’ the man called, waving the sodden crust.

Coop bowed again. Nervous laughter burst from him and he hurried out of the door.

Kiska tried to stand, hissed at the flame of pain from her knee and fell back to the bench. She limped to the table and grasped it to remain standing as her vision blurred and her heart raced. She squeezed her side. The pain there threatened to double her over.

The man jumped up and eased her into a chair. ‘Have a care,’ he warned – rather late, she thought.

She sat, wincing. ‘Thanks. What’s the matter with him?’

‘Oh, when you arrived last night you gave him something of a fright. I understand you had a bit of a scare yourself.’