In the background, on another register of his brain, he heard Nadej order her crew to break out the weapons, heard their protestations about losing access to the Bridge House, heard her angry snarls that the head of a prince was worth more than a lifetime’s access to the house’s upper floors. He looked up to see them heading back to the heavy, keg-laden wagon, which it seemed smuggled weapons as well.

Whisper pressed the torch gently into his hand, then met his eyes and began to sign one-handed. Go to door. I stay. You go to door.

Chel shook his head. ‘We’ll get you out of here, the others will be here soon, we just have to hold on—’

She shook her head again, and a single tear tracked down her cheek. Watch. Remember.

Then she signed three words, only two of which he recognized. In the distance he heard the clatter and clang of the Gold Peak mercenaries retrieving their contraband ordnance.

He tried to protest that he didn’t understand, but she stilled him. Remember. Yes?

‘Yes.’

She began to push herself to her feet, and he helped her stand. He could see the Gold Peak crew now, pulling spears and axes clear of a compartment beneath the heavy wagon’s axle. The Bridge House needed to improve its cargo scrutiny.

Standing with a wince, she took the torch back from him, her fingers cool and smooth, then nodded toward the door. Chel stood there for a moment, unable to speak, unable to breathe, feeling tears forming thick in his eyes. She leant forward and kissed his forehead, then gave him a gentle push with her shoulder.

‘Don’t—’

She met his eyes and he fell silent. She held his gaze for a moment, her own eyes full of tears, then turned and began a slow limp toward the wagon, one hand clutched to her body, the other holding the torch aloft, leaving bloody footsteps in the courtyard’s grey dirt.

The Gold Peak crew began to notice. A shout went up, followed by another, warning then confusion as they watched her approach. She limped faster, then broke into a halting jog, then a stumbling run, and too late they realized her intent. Weapons went up, first to challenge her, then in a panicked attempt to get clear. Nadej stepped forward, a long spear in her hand, trying to block Whisper’s path, but the lanky scout vaulted her – one foot to her midriff, the next on her shoulder – and flung herself onto the wagon.

The straw went up in an instant, hissing smoke merging with the drifting steam from the courtyard’s vents, then Chel was running, fleeing behind Tarfel as they made for the low wall by the steps. ‘Kosh,’ he screamed, ‘get down!’