She walked up behind him and he turned, a smile softening the sharp lines of his face. They embraced silently, melting into each other. Footsteps sounded in the corridor and they parted. The footsteps passed by.

I feel like a guilty maiden. Maquin smiled ruefully at her, a twist of his lips.

‘There is not much to see out there,’ Fidele said, looking out into the night. Far below lights flickered on the bay, pinpricks marking the Vin Thalun ships. She knew what he’d been watching.

He pulled an oar on a galley like those down there. Perhaps even one of them.

They had talked much during the ten-night since he’d woken. He’d told her of his youth in Isiltir, of his kin and friends, of Kastell, the Gadrai, of Jael and Lykos and everything in between. He had wept when he spoke of Kastell and she had held him, felt his sobs rack his body. And she had spoken of her life, growing up in Jerolin, of Aquilus, how he had lived and died, a man of principle. Of the council, the proposed alliance. She had spoken of Nathair, of her hopes and fears for her son, and of Lykos. How he had controlled her, eventually marrying her, on the day that Maquin had fought Orgull, the crowning celebration.

‘How did the council go?’ he asked her.

‘Well enough.’ She told him of the news that Marcellin was marching to their aid, and of the plan to begin raids against the Vin Thalun. He seemed more interested in that.

‘When?’ he asked her.

‘Soon,’ she shrugged. ‘A few days, maybe a ten-night. Peritus suggested that a number of raids be carried out on the same night – three, four groups with different targets. He said if they did one at a time that the Vin Thalun would be alerted after the first raid, and their security would tighten.’

‘Makes sense,’ Maquin muttered. He stretched as he spoke, rolled his neck and shoulders. ‘It is time for me to start doing – some sparring, maybe. My body is aching more from lying in this room doing nothing than it did from running through the forests of Tenebral with you.’ He smiled at her, both of them remembering.

It had been often terrifying, always hard, physically and mentally, but now Fidele could not help but look back at their journey from Jerolin to Ripa with a sense of . . . nostalgia. It had been simple, then, just the two of them. She was happy now, more so than she could remember, but something was growing in her, a sense of foreboding.

There was a tap at the door, a pause, then the door opened.

Alben stepped in, the old warrior looking tired, but graceful as always. He dipped his head at them both.