He met her eye and his juvenile anger withered under the ferocity of her gaze. ‘Don’t for a moment think that this is about you, cub. You are, in the kindest possible sense, incidental.’

‘Fine. Understood.’ He wanted this conversation finished, wanted himself away. ‘Never again, right?’

‘Never say never, cub,’ she said, a glimmer of old mischief in her eye. ‘Perhaps on the eve of our execution, eh? Come on, let’s get this poor creature dressed and cooking.’

***

Fire, food, and the last red dregs of spring light brought some measure of equilibrium, and then finally Loveless walked to the cart and retrieved a small brandy keg, purchased or pilfered from somewhere along the way. It brought back all too many memories of the armoured kegs of the night before, the little barrels of horror on the back of the reinforced wagon. She thumped the keg down on the soft earth, not far from the fire, and announced it was time for the circle.

‘No,’ Rennic said, not looking up.

‘It’s time, Gar.’

‘No. Not yet.’

She looked at him sidelong, then turned and put one hand on his cheek, tilting his face up to look at her. ‘Gar. You’ll never be ready. None of us will. If we don’t do it now, it will never be done. And that would be worse, wouldn’t it?’

His eyes were ice and fire, rage and heartbreak. Then he nodded, pulling back from her, and waved a hand with a grunt.

Foss approached Chel and Tarfel. ‘Would you like to join us for the circle? It would be appreciated.’

Chel nodded and stood. Tarfel cleared his throat. His bruises had bloomed and his face was badly swollen; his nose was unquestionably more bent than it had been before. ‘Perhaps I should sit this one out,’ he said. Nobody disagreed.

Chel knelt beside Foss as they formed a narrow circle around the fire, Kosh on his other side, Rennic, Lemon, and Loveless beyond. Loveless cracked open the keg and passed it to Foss, who sipped from it, then said the opening prayers. Chel marvelled at his level tone, his controlled delivery, as he could clearly see the leak of tears from the big man’s closed eyes as he spoke.

Foss finished the prayers, then picked up the brandy and passed it to Chel. ‘You can start, friend.’

‘Me? But I—’

‘It’s fine. There’s no wrong thing to say.’

Chel thought of the circle after the conclave, of Eka’s words on her brother, of the tales of Palo and the others. He realized he’d not thought of his sister in weeks, and her journey back with the hunters to Barva. He felt a great surge of guilt and grief. He took a swig of the brandy to cover it, almost choking on the fiery spirit, holding it burning in his mouth, swallowing it with his shame.