It wasn’t the pain that woke him, but the sound: rhythmic, low and muffled. It was the pain that kept him awake. His skin felt rasped, his bones jarred and his shoulder pulsed, but inside he was scratchy and raw. He had no idea how long he’d slept, but angled daylight sneaked through the gaps in the sand-sacks that blocked the arched windows, scattering odd patterns on the tasselled rug. The sun was still high. It was the same day.

They’d found Foss in one of the lower tunnels, still breathing but unconscious, and it had taken six of the late-arriving guards to carry him up. Lemon had pumped what water she could from his lungs, but he had not woken. It was likely he never would.

The sound came again, an incessant, cracked-voice murmuring. Lemon was curled in the corner, Foss’s corner, lying against his motionless form, her body wrapped around him. She was saying his name, over and over, whispering reassurances and promises of shared activities when he woke. From the croak of her voice, she’d been doing so for hours.

‘You’re awake.’

Rennic sat against a pillar, legs extended, staring at the dancing motes in the shafts of light. He looked dry-eyed but flattened, and had a nasty, charred smell to him.

‘Yeah.’ Chel paused, searching for something to say. The side of his head throbbed hot and angry. He had no idea what he’d done to it. ‘About what happened, I—’

‘No.’ Rennic cut him off with a gesture, pushed himself upright. That was it.

Chel stood with him, clutching his battered body, rolling his shoulder in its socket in an attempt to quell its rebellion. ‘What’s going on? Outside?’

‘A lull.’ Rennic sniffed, made a face. Clearly, he wasn’t at peace with the stink that clung to him. ‘Their gambit in the waterways failed, and they’re marshalling topside for their next assault. I doubt we have long.’

‘Should we do a circle or somethi—’

‘No!’ It was Lemon who spoke, her voice shredded raw. She rubbed at her eyes with her sleeves, forcing herself up on her knees. She looked thin. ‘Why the fuck would you do that, wee bear? Circle’s for the dead.’

Chel looked from her to Rennic and back, his mouth half-open, his question unspoken.

‘Fossy’s the toughest lad I ever saw,’ Lemon went on as she stood, half to herself. ‘Once saw him swim Lake Tulum in winter, against the current, no bother. Docks boy, he is, grew up on the water. Aye, nothing to worry about, he’ll be back up and about in no time.’

‘He will soon be dead. Like all the others.’