Ruumi smiled again. ‘As my captain says, we have something of a gathering this evening. I am glad you could be with us for it – it is to Brecki’s credit that you are. We have many honoured guests, besides yourselves, many of our local … Names, yes? The equivalent.’

Chel looked around the smoky hall. It hummed with a pleasant chatter and munch. Given the seating arrangements, he began to pick out several figures who were being treated with deference by those around them.

Lemon nudged him. ‘You’ve got your tribal chiefs, elders, even some of the local anointed.’

‘Anointed?’

‘Like a priesthood, but, you know, bloodier.’

Foss rumbled beside him. ‘Warlords. Blood-lords. Godless and damned.’

‘Aye, I dunno, Fossy, seems they’ve more than a few gods to go around.’

Ruumi raised her horn from its perch on the arm of her chair. ‘A toast, my guests, to mutual benefits.’

‘Tell me again how rusty your language is,’ Rennic muttered, downed whatever was in his horn, then waved to the servant for a refill. A number of other horns were emptied as the servant approached.

‘Can we not?’ Tarfel’s voice was small, the end of the table seeming a long way away in the hall’s raucous hubbub. ‘Given everything earlier, can we please, for once, not drink everything we can see?’

Loveless was staring at him, hard, as if he were something risen from the ocean and now walking up the beach. ‘Come again?’

‘Every time this happens, every time we sit down somewhere with people who seem friendly, it goes wrong. Terribly wrong. And I’m usually the one who gets hurt!’

Ruumi was watching the prince, ever-present smile held steady, muted, curious to hear more. She made no effort to reassure him over her perceived friendliness – or lack thereof.

‘In all the time I’ve travelled with you,’ Tarfel said, ‘willing or otherwise, I can’t think of one occasion where a feast hasn’t ended badly on some level. I’m just asking if we could maybe keep clear heads this evening, given what we’ve been asked to do, and the kind of people we’re surrounded by.’ He blushed, and added, ‘Meaning no disrespect, of course.’

‘Of course,’ Ruumi echoed with her smile.

‘That,’ Rennic said, voice already a touch flat with booze, ‘is life, princeling. Just about everything, feast or otherwise, ends badly on some level.’

‘Then why take the risk?’

‘Where would be the fun in a life without risk? Rest assured, every life ends badly, sooner or later. Might as well get some use out of it while you can.’ He waved to the servant again.

Ruumi sat forward, one elbow on her knee. ‘This is where our philosophies differ, sell-sword.’

‘Rennic.’