“This is my liaison, Amaaru,” he said, gesturing to the iron-jawed taabe behind him. He turned to the warrior. “Am I pronouncing your name correctly?” The youth took a swing, but Laith ducked. “He tells me that his name means ‘Horse Anus’ in the proud tongue of his people, and he has been a most gracious host.”

Annick showed up with a rough sack over her head, which spoke eloquently to her level of resistance, but Pyrre, evidently, had rattled the Urghul worse than any of them. She arrived last, arms lashed to her sides, preventing all movement save the slightest twitching of her fingertips. Instead of one guard, she had four, two men, two women, all older than those assigned to Valyn and his Wing, ringing her with daggers drawn.

“All right,” Laith said, raising an eyebrow at the woman. “It galls me to say this, but clearly you win.”

“What did you do to earn them?” Valyn asked, gesturing to the warriors.

She tried to shrug, but her bonds truncated the gesture. “I introduced a number of our newfound friends to the god.”

“Which god is that?” Valyn asked. “I’ve had about enough of Kwihna.”

Pyrre’s face hardened. “So has Ananshael.”

“Five,” Huutsuu interjected with something that might have been admiration. “Three taabe, two ksaabe. She killed five.”

“It’s not as though you’re going to run out,” Laith said, nodding to the thousands of Urghul milling around them.

“And yet, one must draw a line somewhere,” Huutsuu replied, eyeing Pyrre. “Five,” she said again, shaking her head. “I could grow to like this woman.”

“And you haven’t seen the half of my talents,” the Skullsworn replied, raising a coquettish eyebrow. “You’ve been wasting your time dallying with these . . . boys of yours.”

Huutsuu laughed, a rich, full sound. “If I took you to my api, I might never come out.”

“You could tie me,” Pyrre suggested.

“Tying you has failed several times already.”

“Enough of this horseshit,” Valyn cut in. Guilt throbbed in his bones, guilt for allowing his Wing to be captured on his watch, for failing to do anything to break them free, and meanwhile Huutsuu and Pyrre were trading smiles and innuendo as though they were browsing the Lowmarket on a lazy summer afternoon. The Skullsworn, for all her sleek urbanity, was no better than the Urghul savages. They were blood-drunk killers, all of them.

“Pyrre, let me handle this,” he continued. “Why are we stopping? Where are we?”

Pyrre frowned at Huutsuu apologetically. “Valyn forgets from time to time that I am not a part of his Wing. He takes his work very seriously.”

“I haven’t forgotten that you’re not on the Wing,” Gwenna said, “and if you don’t stop talking, I will stop you.”

Huutsuu looked from Pyrre to Gwenna, considered the amused quirk of the Skullsworn’s lip, then the open fury in Gwenna’s eyes. “This,” she said, shaking her head, “seems unlikely.”