‘You attacked Lykos in the rowan-meet; pandemonium broke out, shieldmen bursting in, shouting, shoving. My father was knocked, somehow. He fell upon my . . .’

‘It was an accident,’ Alben said. ‘A tragic, terrible accident.’

‘I didn’t know,’ Maquin said. I am a fool. Should have kept my knife in its sheath. ‘I am sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘So sorry.’

Veradis ground a palm into his eyes. ‘The past is done,’ he said. ‘I am sorry, too. I was not aware that Lykos was doing . . . this.’ He gestured at Maquin’s body.

‘I am surprised at the friends you keep,’ Maquin whispered. The pain was more bearable now, still there, a constant throbbing, but dulled.

‘As am I,’ Alben echoed.

‘Lykos is not my friend,’ Veradis snapped, then took a long, frayed breath. ‘But he is my King’s ally. I cannot understand the things that have happened here, what he is accused of doing.’

‘These are not accusations – they are facts,’ Maquin said, looking at the tapestry of scars and fresh wounds upon his body. ‘He is evil, and must be stopped.’

‘That is not for me to decide. Nathair will hear all – I promise you that. He will decide. Until then, I will keep him from you, and Alben is the best healer I know.’ He shrugged. ‘I would do more if I could.’

‘It is enough,’ Maquin said.

Veradis turned to go, but hovered by the door.

‘Part of me hates you,’ he said quietly. ‘Because of my da. I cannot stop it.’

Maquin said nothing.

‘And you should know, I cannot save you, even if I had a mind to. You broke our sacred law when you drew your blade. I should have executed you on the spot, and the only reason you are alive is because someone of influence has begged me to postpone your execution.’

Fidele.

‘But you drew a blade in a rowan-meet; there will be no pardon, no way out from that. Once you stand before Nathair the inevitable will be decided. You will die.’ He stayed a moment more, then shook his head and left. Maquin heard his voice in the corridor, and then another figure slipped in, a shadow wrapped in a cloak.

A muffled sob came, and then Fidele was kissing him, stroking his face, tears dropping onto him, mingling with his own tears.

‘Elyon, but it is good to see you,’ Maquin breathed.

‘What has he done to you?’ Fidele snarled, then swore in a very unqueenly way. He lifted a hand to her cheek.

‘I tried to get you,’ she whispered, ‘I took Alben and a few score warriors to take you back from Lykos.’

‘The eagle-guard stopped us, thought it would lead to war,’ Alben said.

‘They were probably right,’ Maquin said. ‘Veradis?’

‘No, one of his captains. Veradis was in mourning, had passed over command for a time.’