“Sorry, sir, all good. Danik and Stimmy are sorting out the horses, Wil went looking for a mercer, wants to get his woman something as we been away a while.”

“Stimmy’s boy is on the mend, I had word from the estate. Let him know if you see him before me.”

Achi nodded and yawned again.

I looked again at the black coin in my fingers. Such coins were given to mercenaries who betrayed their purse or their crew. But who had The Prince betrayed?

We called him The Prince because there was a time when he was in line for a throne, last of three, least loved and cleverest. His homeland chose its emperors in a way as ridiculous as any; which of the incumbents best demonstrated martial prowess. His sister won their single combat on the day their father died and was thus made queen, but his sword wasn’t what made him worthy of the Twenty.

The Prince did the politics his sister could not. War allows only two dimensions, yours and theirs, a limit his sister was not capable of seeing beyond. Nations require the management of more factions than cut diamonds have facets and I met nobody that could exploit his empire’s politic more adroitly than The Prince.

I plucked a white grape from the bowl, milky and juicy as a blind eyeball. Achi peeled eggs, head bowed. The bargirl came in and cleared away the plates. She offered a quick smile before retreating to the noise of the inn below us.

I recalled the two other black coins I’d seen recently, as perfect as this one, which The Prince showed me in his cabin aboard one of the Quartet’s grand galleys only a few months ago. The Quartet were an influential merchant guild across most of the Old Kingdoms.

I had travelled to see him after he’d sent an escort to get me.

“These coins were found with Harlain and Milu,” he said. “I will try and find out more.”

“How did they die?” I asked.

“Harlain returned to his homeland, Tetswana, became their leader, the Kaan of Tetswana no less. It was the gathering before the rains. Leaders and retinues of nine tribes. Seventy or so dead, the coin in his hand only.”

Harlain would not join us at Snakewood, the last time any of the Twenty were together. He had wanted to leave us some time before the end. Paying the colour had taken from all of us, but it took his heart. It was only as we embraced for a final time and I helped him with his saddle that I realized I hadn’t heard him singing for some months. I was glad he made it home.

“Milu?” I asked.