‘Where’s everyone else?’ Chel said, pushing himself up a second time, teeth gritted against the throbbing across his body. Every muscle felt tenderized. Even his hips ached.

Rennic stood motionless, rain dripping from his brows, his hawk-like nose, running in streams down the hollows of his cheeks into his beard. He seemed to sway, a gentle movement, as if moved by a summer breeze. The memory of Whisper in the courtyard hit Chel once more, a fist to his gut, and with it the thought that it would be so much worse for Rennic. He could think of nothing to say, nothing that could possibly convey his regret, his guilt, his shame.

He managed to stand, although he was sure he’d broken at least one toe. They were on a wooded curve, the distant rush of the river just audible over the patter of the rain on the trees overhead. Spring rain or not, the wind remained bitingly cold against his damp frame, and the earth of the verge beneath him felt solid enough to leave a dent in his hip.

‘Shelter,’ Rennic rumbled. ‘Transport. Seeing as we lost our wagon.’ He gestured back down the road, where through the drifting rain Chel thought he could make out a low huddle of buildings at a crossroads, possibly a staging inn. ‘She thought it better I stay away from other people,’ Rennic went on. He seemed to be chewing the words around before spitting them out. ‘In my state.’

‘Listen, Rennic. I’m sorry …’

‘Wasn’t your fault.’ The gaze snapped back on him, and Chel took half a step back. ‘Right?’

Chel couldn’t answer, but the rustle of a damp cloak behind him signalled Tarfel’s rise from his stupor. He looked dreadful, hunched and sallow, eyes rheumy from sickness or grief. He tried to look up at them, flinched away, then with hands twisted in supplication he managed to speak.

‘I’m … I’m so sorry. It’s my fault, it’s all my fault. I should never have run—’

Rennic’s razored eyes hadn’t left Chel’s.

‘See? It was his.’

Tarfel nodded, swallowing rainwater. ‘And I’m so, so sorry—’

The blow took him off his feet, a thunderous backhand that loosened the prince’s teeth and sent him sprawling back to the mud. He gasped in shock, one muddied hand going to his face, but Rennic was on him before he could cry out, driving him down into the oozing sludge, striking again and again with closed fist as the prince waved a feeble hand, trying in vain to ward off the blows.

‘Rennic!’ Chel forced himself to move, stumbling forward, trying to catch the arm that rained punches on the stricken youth. ‘Rennic, stop!’