Vashenda remained, looking down from her mount. ‘Your animal will be along shortly, sand-flower,’ she said with an icy smile.

‘An ass, presumably? Or a sow?’

Genuine warmth touched the corners of her mouth. ‘I don’t want to ruin the surprise.’ She geed the horse forward, then turned in the saddle. ‘And don’t worry, sand-flower, we’ve learnt our lessons. Any fucking beggar comes within a dozen strides, plague-ridden or otherwise, he’ll be chunks in a heartbeat.’

Chel nodded, his own smile lukewarm.

‘Most righteous.’

***

Chel’s fears were unfounded. His mount was a sturdy dun, barded in Tarfel’s colours. He was urged to the column’s centre as they set off along the road, to where Tarfel rode surrounded by his new sentinels. Vashenda rode at the column’s head, carrying the royal standard, pennants fluttering slow in the damp air. The wagons and carriages, laden with favours, gifts, and tokens for the expectant crowds, brought up the rear.

‘Come, Vedren,’ Tarfel said, waving him closer. ‘I want you riding beside me. You may no longer be my sworn, but I owe you my life many times over. This kingdom should thank you.’

Feeling his cheeks darken, Chel nudged his horse a token step closer. He tried to focus his mind on the positives. Corvel was dead, his dreams of empire stillborn. Tarfel had no appetite for war, Chel knew that better than anyone. And his intentions were good, his inclinations. He might just need some … steering, that was all. Through the choppy waters ahead. You don’t desert a friend when he needs you most, that’s what his father had once said. His father …

‘Please, my dear Vedren, don’t look so uneasy. Today is a celebration!’

Chel nodded, raising his gaze from the reins all the way to the silvery sky. ‘I’m sorry, Tarf. You’re right. I suppose, after everything, it’s hard to shake the … the … foreboding.’

Tarfel met his eyes with a nod of surprising sincerity. ‘I know what you mean, my friend.’ From beneath his arm he retrieved a gleaming helmet, new, not the one Chel had seen in Corvel’s tent. He lowered it onto his head, then flipped up the visor to reveal a complacent smile. ‘But in all gravity, you must relax. Even if a hoodlum hacks his way through the sentinels, nothing’s going to get through this.’ He rapped the glorious breastplate, which gave a fitting thrum.

Chel nodded with a wan smile, but as they rode toward the bridge his thoughts roiled like the waters beneath their feet.

Nothing’s going to get through this—

Any fucking beggar—

The next time we meet, it won’t be as friends—