Lykos raised an eyebrow. ‘You’d be surprised how far some people will go, once they have begun a course. And, as I said, they really don’t like me.’

What damage have you caused in Tenebral? Whatever you have done, it ends now. Veradis felt an overwhelming anger at Lykos and the trouble he had caused. If it were up to him he would have slapped him in chains and given the regency back to Fidele, or to Peritus if the rumours of her unstable mind were true. But it is not up to me. I have been given clear orders where Lykos is concerned, more’s the pity.

‘We must try and reach some compromise.’

‘Surely. As long as it doesn’t involve me being separated from any of my body parts.’

‘Nathair values you most highly. That is not an option.’

‘You reassure me,’ Lykos said with a smile, then drank some more wine. ‘Not as much as having Kolai standing at my back, perhaps, but enough to convince me to stay and see what happens.’

All were allowed one person to accompany them, again, out of tradition more than any real fear of danger. The rowan-meet was sacred, a deep-rooted tradition brought with the Exiles from the Summer Isle. Kolai, the cold-eyed warrior whom Veradis had noticed on the harbour, stood implacably behind the chair Lykos was sitting in. Veradis had brought Caesus with him.

The tent flap was pulled back and in walked Lamar, Lord of Ripa.

Da. Veradis felt the breath catch in his chest. His da had aged, far more than the two years that had passed since last they’d seen one another. He was gaunt, a stoop to his frame that had never been there before, and the skin on his bones was loose and waxy. His eyes met Veradis’ and he stopped, just stared at his son. Those eyes still held all the wit and intelligence that Veradis remembered.

‘Father,’ Veradis said.

‘You have grown,’ Lamar said solemnly, looking him up and down.

Veradis shrugged, not knowing what to say. Suddenly he felt like a little boy in his father’s presence.

‘Gods, but you look like your mother,’ Lamar said with a sigh.

Veradis blinked at that. Others had said much the same. Many others, but never his father.

‘Please, sit,’ was all he could think of to say.

A table had been set out, with a jug of wine and cups. Lamar sat opposite Lykos. He regarded the Vin Thalun lord with what most would have considered an emotionless gaze, but Veradis could see the cold hatred behind his father’s eyes. Then there were more figures entering the tent. Ektor came first, looking completely unchanged, dark hair stuck across his forehead, face pale and sallow. He met Veradis’ eye and nodded to him, no words of greeting.

They had never been close.