They spent three days making their way through winding streams, some dead ends, others choked with reeds or dense with willow branches that draped the water like lazy fingers in a stream. Camlin’s flat-bottomed boat led the way, Meg sitting upon the steering oar as the others took shifts in poling the boat deeper into the marshes. They ate through Brogan’s barrel of herring in two days, but after that Meg taught them how to weave willow traps and set them in the stream for the night. Each morning they were wriggling with life – mostly eels, but other things as well, frogs and toads, the odd trout and roach. Camlin could tell that some of this new crew didn’t care too much for the food, but he was accustomed to living off of the land.

This is easy. Food’s a bit slimy, and a bit smelly, but slimy food’s better than no food at all.

And as Camlin poled, he thought. Thought about how he’d gone from being part of Braith’s crew to here, with Edana. How did I get here? Poling through a marsh with a renegade queen looking to me for direction. In his mind it all went back to one moment: in the Darkwood, when he had stood in front of Cywen as Morcant ordered her slain. And since then he had felt as if he was involved in something greater than him, something more than just living to line his pocket. He had made, and lost, real friends. Marrock, Corban, Dath . . .

I hope they are well, that they found Cywen and are safe.

And Halion.

Was he slain defending the steps on the beach? Or taken prisoner by Conall? Never did like that Conall – now King of Domhain. Everyone has a temper, but him, he was ruled by it, unpredictable. Wouldn’t trust him in a fight, whether he was on my side or the other.

Camlin’s mind drifted back to the village, to the corpses hanging from the gallows, to the conversation Morcant had had with the captives he had brought to the village. And he thought a lot about the chest of silver in the roundhouse. A chest of silver right under my nose. What kind of thief am I?

‘I’ll take a go at that, now,’ a voice said, Baird moving along the boat.

‘I’m all right for a while more,’ Camlin said.

‘Please, I need to do something. Can’t just go to sleep at the drop of a cap like our big friend.’ He pointed at Brogan, who was stretched out in the boat, snoring peacefully. ‘And his snoring is making me want to kill something.’

‘All right,’ Camlin said and passed him the pole. Behind them boats twisted in single file, the stream they were travelling too narrow for anything else.

‘Think she knows where she’s going?’ Baird asked him, nodding towards Meg.