The great hall of the Gracechurch more than matched its exterior for opulence. The distant ceiling was vaulted and panelled, rich paintwork vying with thick bands of gilt. The high walls around boasted frescoes and statues of what Chel guessed were past company captains. There seemed to be more than he’d expected. He was at least grateful for the fires burning in each of the room’s great hearths, even if the central fire-pit did rather obscure his view of the raised dais at the hall’s end.

The room was busy. As Lemon had suggested, the place was packed with armed and armoured types, sitting and standing in knots or apart in ones and twos. Boisterous laughter echoed from the thick stone walls, but the louder it got, the more Chel detected its false edge. Even the affiliates affecting the most jovial greetings were keeping their distance from each other, and the room reeked of mistrust.

‘Where do we go?’ he hissed to Whisper. Rennic had forged ahead with Fest and his men, and Chel had lost sight of him in the press. He was keeping Tarfel pinned to his side. ‘How do we ensure the prince can speak?’

She signed back, the room’s volume at least not impeding their communication. Don’t worry. Follow me.

Chel did as he was told, dragging the cloaked and hooded figure of Tarfel behind him. He found himself wondering, as they slipped through the press of rich and dangerous figures to the hall’s far side, what was Whisper’s history? Rennic wore his on his sleeves and in his rage, but Whisper seemed to have both more to say and less inclination to say it, her lack of speech notwithstanding. She’d had no problems at the bridge, she knew her way around a mercenary council, and she alone seemed able to mediate between Rennic and Loveless in their rich and varied disputes. He resolved to find out more about her, just as soon as he got a moment. Lemon had said that each company’s business was their own, but he was willing to risk at least asking some questions.

Rennic found them just as the room began to quiet, in that self-reinforcing way a pre-event hubbub ends. People were taking seats where they could find them. ‘Agenda’s tight,’ Rennic muttered as he reached them, ‘but I’ve twisted some arms. Princeling will speak.’

Chel looked from Rennic to Tarfel and back. The young prince seemed even paler in the flickering light of the hall, his skin damp with sweat in the firelight. ‘Did you announce him?’

‘Not exactly.’

Chel met Tarfel’s eye. ‘Are you ready to speak, Tarf?’

The prince nodded, but said nothing.