She looked up at the patterned ceiling, her mouth pulled down in thought. ‘Depending on your outlook, you could say it’s part of your duties, but in the grand scheme, they’re … paused. Idea is, you’ll be better-placed to meet them on your return, grown up a bit, got some … perspective.’

‘You, then? The uncommon.’

‘Aye, right, not for Lennon of Clyden the standard and well-trod. I wanted to see Vistirlar, seat of the Taneru, where all the history comes from. See the art, the culture … course, how was I to know you were all backward savages compared to the majesty of Clyden, eh?’ She shook her head, tresses bouncing. ‘All a bit grim round these parts. Still, I’ve hit the high notes. Worked on a whaling ship, woven fishing nets, made armour, built a bridge, plus all the mucking about with you bastards … Expanded horizons, all right. Not bad for a simple Clydish lass.’

‘When does your tour end?’

She looked at him with sad, distant eyes. ‘The average tour is a year, wee bear. I’ve been away for …’ She counted on her fingers, getting to at least seven. ‘I don’t think I’m ever going home.’

‘Won’t that upset people, those waiting for you?’

Her gaze dropped and her voice with it, and Chel had to strain to hear. ‘Nobody’s waiting for me, bear. My unreturn was priced in from the start.’

Chel felt something prickle in his own chest, a feeling like his own thoughts were being drawn out of him into the light. Going home … Where even is home for me now? Wouldn’t it be something to strike out into the world, make a new life of my choosing?

Lemon belched and the spell was broken. ‘Aye, well, seems only fitting to be expectorating secrets on our last night in the corporeal realm.’

‘You what?’

‘You know, assuming the boss is talking as much bollocks as ever, and Corvel and his bastards come knocking for us in the morning. At least we’ll have had …’ Lemon waved her hands around, slopping the contents of her cup. She didn’t seem to notice. ‘… This.’

The eve of our execution. The phrase stirred something inside Chel, a memory of a promise. He lurched to his feet. ‘I’ll be … Back.’

He was halfway up the stairs before he realized it, feet moving faster than his stumbling mind could have foreseen. Lemon or Rennic called something after him, but it was lost to the pounding of blood in his ears, the sudden roar of his own breath.

His feet stopped him outside Loveless’s door. It was closed, but light shone from beneath it, flutters of shadow indicating movement from within. Eyes shut to still the latent whirling, he knocked.

She looked tired. If she’d been drinking in her room, he saw no sign of it.

‘What, cub?’

‘It’s … It’s the eve of our execution.’

‘What?’