Rennic called from across the cell, past where Chel was slumped. The founder and chief executive of the Black Hawk Company was upside-down, feet against the back wall, pushing himself slowly up and down on his hands. Chel’s shoulder ached to look at him.

‘Hey!’

The gaoler glared over one meaty shoulder. ‘What?’

‘When are we eating?’

The gaoler stirred, pushing herself to her feet. The keys jangled at her belt as she lumbered forward, the poker back in her hand. She came to rest before the bars, a fraction beyond arm’s reach. A sickly grin spread across her bulbous features, revealing an excellent set of teeth.

‘No food for you today, fuckers. No food ever again.’ She chuckled, her robes shuddering in waves.

Rennic took one foot off the wall, then the other. He maintained the handstand for a breath, then lowered his head to the floor, raised it again, and rolled down into a crouch. Flushed and panting, he fixed a fearsome glare on the gaoler.

‘No last meal? We die hungry? Prince Dick-head decree that, did he? Or is this your initiative, you pearl-grinned fuck-fountain?’

The poker slammed against the bars. ‘You die hungry,’ the gaoler growled, and turned to waddle back toward the brazier.

Torchlight flickered in the stairwell. Someone was coming.

The gaoler brandished the poker again, grunting them back from the bars, then straightened her stool and stood tall beside the brazier. Footsteps echoed from the stairwell, less numerous than usual, less weighty. A moment later, a bright torch flared into the dungeon, held aloft by a skinny but well-tailored arm. The gaoler dropped to one knee.

‘Your highness!’

Prince Tarfel Merimonsun stumbled into the dungeon, keeping the torch overhead, blinking in its dancing light. A hooded confessor followed at his heel. Tarfel cleared his throat, eyes scanning the now-empty cells, the unease growing on his face. He looked healthy, at least, whole and well-fed, although his sunless pallor had returned.

‘I … I need to speak to the prisoners. Alone.’

The gaoler frowned. She was still on her knees, the poker still in her hand.

‘Alone, highness? I can’t leave them unattended. You understand, these are dangerous, vile men. Damned criminals and traitors.’

Tarfel nodded, distracted. Despite the cold, he appeared to be sweating. ‘Yes, yes, indeed. Indeed. That’s why I brought protection,’ he added, with a wave toward the accompanying confessor. ‘Open the cell, please?’

The gaoler’s frown deepened, and she raised her gaze a fraction, narrow eyes moving from the prince to his escort and back. ‘I cannot, your highness.’