The grey of dawn was creeping through windows now, and Maquin heard the sound of iron-shod feet, guards changing shifts.

‘You cannot linger, my lady,’ Alben said. ‘If anyone sees you . . .’

‘I am a prisoner too,’ Fidele said with a twist of her lips. ‘To be judged by my son on the charge of adultery.’

‘What!’ Maquin tried to sit up but a fresh wave of pain convinced him to stop.

‘Because of the farce with Lykos,’ she said.

‘So reports of you kissing an ex-pit-fighter will not help your cause,’ Alben said.

‘True enough,’ Fidele said, a smile twisting her lips.

‘Go,’ Maquin said. ‘This has been enough.’

She brushed her lips against his one more time, cupped his cheek with her hand, then she was slipping away.

‘I will be back soon,’ Alben said. ‘Veradis has placed guards on your door. You are safe, from Lykos at least.’ He frowned with worry.

‘I will not die,’ Maquin growled. Three things to live for.

Alben smiled, leaned down and whispered in Maquin’s ear, then left too.

Maquin lay there, watching dawn claim the day, feeling his eyes grow heavy with sleep and the potion Alben had given him. As sleep took him he mused over the words that Alben had whispered in his ear.

Keep the faith.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

CYWEN

Cywen sat at a long table in the great hall of Drassil. Corban had called a council of war, and many had come. Meical and Gar were sitting with Corban, and beside them Balur and Ethlinn, in chairs built for giants. There was Brina and Coralen, Hamil of the Jehar and Wulf from Gramm’s hold, Teca the huntswoman to represent the people of Narvon, Javed and Atilius from the oarsmen, and also the child prince, Haelan, a shieldman standing behind him.

And there’s me, Cywen the apprentice healer. Sister to, apparently, one of the most important people in the world. Madness.

And lurking off to one side, not at the table, but close, were Farrell, Dath and Kulla. Farrell had his new sword at his hip, a giant’s dagger gifted to him by Corban.

Gar shifted beside Corban and whispered in his ear.

Gar has changed, since his duel with Akar. Six nights had passed since the duel, and Gar had lost the stoop to his shoulders, the bitter twist to his mouth. He was a fine leader and already the Jehar were saying how like his da he was. How proud Tukul would have been. While it was obvious that Gar still mourned the loss of his da, he seemed to have accepted it as well.

The first step on a long road. And I know what that feels like.

Corban stood up and the room fell into silence.