Without thinking she reached out and hugged him. He was a strange man, reserved and introverted, but Fidele had spent some time with him the previous year, poring over manuscripts in his library buried deep in the tower’s bowels, and she had come to see another side of him.

‘It is good to see you, Ektor,’ she said as they separated. He was standing stiff and blinking.

‘And you too, my lady,’ he managed. He looked around the room. ‘My father, he is waiting for you in his chambers. You should go, now.’

‘Lady Fidele has been injured, Ektor. She will be along as soon as she has been cared for,’ Alben said, his hands guiding Fidele to an empty cot. ‘If you could pass that on to your father, I’d be grateful.’

‘Send a messenger, I’m busy,’ Ektor said, retreating.

‘We’ll talk, soon,’ Fidele said to Ektor, who nodded as he turned and left the room, disappearing into a corridor.

‘That boy is always busy, in his mind,’ Alben remarked.

‘A boy?’ Fidele smiled. Ektor was the youngest of Lamar’s sons, around twenty summers.

‘When you reach my age, my lady, all whose sleep is not interrupted by the need to empty their bladder are boys.’

Fidele sat there as Alben checked over her wounds, a myriad of cuts and scratches, washed away some blood.

‘Have you had word from your son, my lady?’ Alben asked as he cleansed her wounds.

‘No.’ My son. Where are you, Nathair? She felt a knot of worry bloom every time that she thought of Nathair, which was every day. Every night before sleep took her she whispered a prayer to Elyon for his safety. Lykos had hinted at terrible things . . .

‘So no news of Veradis either, then,’ Alben said.

‘Veradis. No,’ Fidele said. For a moment she had had to concentrate to pull his face into memory. So much has happened since Nathair sailed away. ‘In my last correspondence from Nathair . . .’ The letter that stripped me of my regency, my son replacing me with Lykos . . . ‘Veradis was at Nathair’s side, in Dun Carreg, Ardan. Elyon willing, they are still together. Veradis is the one man I trust with Nathair’s life. He has been most faithful, a true friend to my son.’

‘He is a good boy,’ Alben said, a faint smile touching the corners of his mouth. ‘I taught him his weapons.’

‘And taught them well.’

A groan drew Fidele’s attention. Maquin was stirring on his cot. His fingers moved and his eyes flickered. They opened, searching. He made to sit up.

Alben was there, holding his shoulders. ‘No,’ he said.

Fidele squeezed Maquin’s hand, leaning over him. Recognition swept his face and he relaxed.

‘You’re safe,’ Fidele said. ‘Rest.’

His lips moved but only a whisper came out.

She leaned forward, putting her ear to his mouth.