The spoon dropped from his hand, clattering back against the tray. The hunter’s daughter, the girl on the Raven-Hill. The girl Brecki had murdered, thanks to his inattention, his complacency.

He no longer felt hungry. He had to get out.

‘Fuck,’ he whispered in the growing darkness.

FOURTEEN

It was late morning before Chel was allowed back outside, and only in the company of one of Urbu’s clones, a wide-faced man with a thin beard and shoulders like hay bales. He seemed unable or unwilling to speak, but his disapproving gaze followed Chel everywhere.

Chel had seen little more of the girls who’d brought him supper; breakfast had been delivered by one of the Urbunites, and he was anxious for any human contact he could get. The sun was bright that morning, casting warm amber rays beneath a muddy expanse of turgid cloud, its climb in the north-eastern sky a reminder that time was moving on, even if he wasn’t.

Laralim met him at the top of the terrace. ‘Good morning, dear boy.’

He didn’t miss a beat. ‘Good morning, Auntie.’ He’d fast decided that absolute compliance was the order of the day. Only by giving them mastery over him would he gain trust, leeway, a measure of independence. He needed all of these things if he was to escape the compound, and take Rennic along with him. By his own guess, he had only a few days to get back on the road east and ride hard before they would arrive too late for the first moon. If they missed the others at the river crossing, they’d be stuck, isolated, the wrong side of the kingdom as warfare erupted around them. If he was lucky.

‘You will be pleased to hear that we believe we have found your parents in the archives.’ He nodded, waiting for her to continue. In truth he gave not a shit, but couldn’t risk informing her of that. ‘Tell me,’ she went on, ‘did your father have an elder brother? He would have died before your birth.’

‘I don’t know.’ And really, he didn’t.

‘No matter. Would you like to hear of your parentage now? We will be gathering the archivists for a reading shortly.’

A tinkle of familiar laughter reached him from the lower terrace. He saw movement among the blooms: Rasha and her friend, along with a handful of other girls, mostly younger.

‘If I may, Auntie, would it be all right if I took a walk in the gardens first? I’ve spent too much time indoors recently.’

She raised an eyebrow, in two minds, and he added, ‘Of course, you’d be welcome to accompany me and my friend here.’ He gestured at the Urbu, who glared back in mute antipathy.

She smiled then, that same mixture of indulgence and motherly reproach. ‘Very well, Vedren. Stretch your legs, and come and join us when you are ready.’