‘Shepherd’s tits, Gar, do you think if we eliminate Corvel and his cronies, that all will be brandy and roses? You think Prince Shit-for-brains will be wise and just and rule with fairness and equanimity? Oh, I’m sure he’d have the best intentions, but mark me, jobs like that have a way of changing people. You watch the Nort’s new friend Matil, now she’s holding the reins. See how long her compassion lasts in the face of the realities of power.’

‘Then we shouldn’t even try to change anything? Why even bother?’

Loveless nodded and sucked her lip, then grabbed a handful of fruit and one of Foss’s bottles. ‘You do what you want, Gar,’ she said, heading up the steps toward the rooms on the upper gallery. ‘You always do.’

Her door slammed a moment later.

Rennic stared after her, breathing hard, nostrils flared, but not angry. Chel stared at the big man, trying to puzzle his mood. He seemed … surprised?

‘Ancestors’ wisdom, boss, you sounded like the wee bear then.’

‘Shut your fucking mouth, Lemon.’

‘Righto.’

Rennic stalked up the steps to the outer door, and a moment later, it too slammed.

Chel, Lemon, and Foss were left alone, only the wail of the wind and the clanging of bells for company.

‘Well,’ Lemon said, but nothing more.

‘It would be five,’ Chel said, still sitting off to one side.

‘What’s that?’

‘Five. Loveless said it would be four of you against the red tide, but I’d be there. There would be five of us.’

‘You? You’re still sworn to princeling, aren’t you, wee bear? He says jump, you say what on?’

‘He’d understand. He’d let me, if I asked him.’

‘Oh, wee bear, stop, you’re making me weepy. My poor heart can’t take all this.’

Foss chuckled and lowered himself down to the table, and Lemon followed suit. Chel watched them, still turning the plum stone in his hand.

‘What now? What do we do?’

Foss began pulling bottles from the crates, arranging them on the table beside the piled food. ‘Well, friend, either an army masses on our doorstep, ready to crush us, or our hosts will grind them to powder in the gully. Either way, matters rest in God’s hands for now.’

‘Meaning?’

Lemon arranged gilded cups, produced from some hidden pocket in her clothes. ‘Meaning, wee bear, we’ve got nothing to do but eat, drink, and be merry. Because we have no idea what tomorrow brings, so we might as well face it with a granny-fucker of a hangover.’

Foss started pouring from one of the bottles, then added a dash of another, then another. ‘An occasion to merit Uncle Foss’s Special Drink.’

‘Evil days, Fossy.’

‘Evil days, my friend.’

They clinked cups, and after a moment, Chel went to join them.

***