The injured warrior of Tenebral, Drusus, had died the same night, but not before he’d told them that Peritus had set a rendezvous point with every member of his small rebellion. Ripa, fortress of Lamar. That had made sense to Fidele, as Lamar and his eldest son Krelis had always borne an ill-concealed hatred for the Vin Thalun. If anyone would declare openly against the Vin Thalun it would be Lamar of Ripa.

Maquin passed her a piece of the quartered rabbit and she bit into it, burning her lips but not caring, it tasted so delicious. She realized Maquin was watching her and she wiped her mouth.

‘Sorry, not very ladylike.’

‘Don’t mind me,’ Maquin said. ‘It all goes down the same.’

‘Tell me, Maquin. How did a man of Isiltir end up here?’

‘It’s a long story,’ Maquin grunted.

‘And we have many dark nights ahead of us. You don’t have to finish it all tonight.’

He stared silently at the fire a while, as if trying to remember.

‘I was shieldman to Kastell ben Aenor. His cousin, Jael, killed him in the tombs beneath Haldis. He killed Romar, King of Isiltir as well, though he didn’t hold the blade.’ He spoke to the fire, not taking his eyes from the flicker of the flames. ‘I fought against Jael in Isiltir. Lykos came with his Vin Thalun and turned the battle.’ He paused, as if remembering. A hand lifted to his ear, which Fidele noticed was only a stump. ‘I was captured. Lykos took me as part of his spoils, put me on an oar-bench, gave me this.’ Maquin touched the scar on his back, where Lykos had branded him.

He speaks as if it didn’t happen to him, as if he is recounting someone else’s tale.

‘He threw me in the pit, told me that if I lived long enough he’d set me free, that I could seek my vengeance on Jael.’

‘Is that what you want?’

He looked up at her now, his eyes dark pools, a glint of firelight a spark in their depths.

‘Aye, with all that I am.’

Fidele resisted the urge to recoil at the hatred she heard in his voice. It emanated from him, throbbing like the pulse of a wound. He had spoken of Lykos, and at that name she had felt her own anger stir and bubble.

‘I feel the same about Lykos,’ she whispered fiercely. ‘I hate him. I am scared of him too. If he lives I would wish to spend my life hunting him until he were dead. But another voice within me says that I would run, as far and as fast as I could to escape him. To the very edges of the world.’ She ground her teeth, fear, anger, shame, all swirling through her.