And then Ghause had to heal the survivors. Another time, she would mourn Henri—the best chivalric lover any woman would ever want—brave, clever, handsome and hard and utterly silent.

The earl woke under her healing and that of the other talents attending—the four witches, men called them. His good right eye opened.

“One of the fuckers is wearing the Orley arms,” he spat. “I almost had him—I—” He closed his eye. “Oh, sweet. I lost Henri.”

Suddenly, and for all too many reasons, Ghause felt her eyes fill with tears. Not just for Henri. But for him. For all of them. She motioned the other witches away.

“We can hold this castle forever,” Ghause said.

Her husband clasped her hand. “Just get me up and fighting,” he said. “Their Black Knight is—something.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t get past him.”

“He’s thirty years younger than you, you old lecher.” Ghause hid her feeling behind her usual asperity.

“I’ve killed a lot of men younger than me,” he said, a hint of anger in his good eye. “Christ, you’re hurting me.”

She was trying to work on the eye, but its structures were too damned complicated, and she had to settle for killing infection and stopping any further damage. “I can’t save your eye,” she admitted.

He sighed. “I can still see what you look like naked,” he said. “I may just be slower to catch you.”

She smiled. “I’m no faster than you are, you old goat. It’s the maids that will breathe a sigh of relief.”

She gave his hand a squeeze and then went and found Aneas. He was unmarked, although he had fought almost without pause for two days. He had arrived with a dozen lances from Albinkirk just before the siege began and he’d become a pillar of defense—subtle, magical, and deadly.

“I need you to prepare the sortie. Your father’s down for a day or two.” Ghause spoke with absolute command. She didn’t need the men trying to take control now. Even as she spoke, Thorn—or his dark master—tried her defences.

And what was happening at Harndon?

Aneas—ever the dutiful son—gave a tired salute. “Mother—”

“Yes, my plum?” she asked.

“Is anyone coming to rescue us? Where are Gavin and Gabriel?” He met her eye. “Mother—we can have the best hermetical defences in the known world and the highest walls, but we’re already running out of men.”

“You’re not spreading this poison, my plum?” she asked lightly.

Aneas gave her a lopsided grin—a grin that his brothers also had. “I am the soul of cheerful confidence,” he said. “Is anyone coming?”

She nodded. “Ser John Crayford is bringing the northern army,” she said.

Aneas paused a moment. Then he collected his gauntlets. “You’re lying, Mother,” he said quietly.

He had never contradicted her before.