He shook his head. The room wobbled. ‘Not on the road. With the Andriz. He was locked up, on his own, for days. I think … I think he was on his own for too long.’ He tapped at the side of his head, nearly managing it. ‘Too much time with his thoughts.’

Lemon waved a dismissive hand. ‘He gets moody, it happens. Same as this one,’ she added, jerking a thumb at Loveless, who flared her nostrils in response. ‘Whispie can talk him down, if she ever wakes up!’ Lemon threw a leftover grape at the sleeping scout, who flicked up a hand and caught it with a smile. Her eyes remained closed throughout.

Chel chuckled, marvelling at the catch, then turned back to find Loveless’s gaze still pinning him.

‘I note, cub, you have yet to answer my question. Nothing here tonight tickling your fancy?’

‘Ha, yon wee bear has appetites that cannot be sated by tonight’s menu.’

He shot Lemon a fierce glare, which set her off in a fit of giggles.

Loveless sipped at her brandy and looked around, puzzled. ‘I doubt that. If there’s one place to serve all desires, it’s this wine-piddling establishment. How unusual could your proclivities be, cub? What sort of heinous shit are you into?’

‘I fear,’ Lemon said between giggles, in defiance of Chel’s warning look, ‘that it’s not so much a what as a whom …’

‘What? Oh!’ Loveless turned on him, one eyebrow raised, a pleased and mischievous smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. ‘Oh.’

‘Thrice-damn you, Lemon,’ Chel growled, feeling the flush ripple up his face from his throat.

‘I’m trying to save your life, wee bear! Poor wee thing like you, she’d break you in half!’ Foss’s gentle chuckles underpinned her cackles, huh, huh, huh.

Loveless was staring at him, amused, undecided, the way a cat stares at a cornered mouse.

He stood, rocking on his feet at the sudden rush. ‘I’m … privy,’ he managed, head spinning.

‘You are, mate, you are. See if you can find out what happened to the boss, eh? Check he didn’t fall in.’

He focused. ‘He’s there, at the doorway. Hey, isn’t that … that …?’

Sure enough, there Rennic stood at the terrace’s end, bathed amber in the light of the many-candled chandeliers overhead. A smaller figure stood before him, tan and gilded, great stacks of glossy black hair coiled and bound. She had a hand on his arm.

Lemon leaned out of the booth, peering past him. ‘I’ll be fucked. What are the odds?’

Loveless pushed her out of the way, and her smile calcified. ‘Grassi of the Mawn. What in hells is she doing here?’