“I was thinking of a bit after that.”

“When we dragged you half-dead and all mad up into the hills to be paint-pricked by a witch with her head stitched together?”

“You’re in one o’ those moods,” snapped Rikke.

“No,” said Isern. “You are. Sitting in Skarling’s Chair don’t make you Skarling, and wearing Savine dan what’s-her-face’s necklace don’t make you Savine dan what’s-her-face. It ain’t pouting or wrath that got you here, it’s care and planning and a humble respect for your enemies and your allies. It’s those things’ll keep you here. Head on along this path, you’ll end up taking the drop from the windows sooner’n I thought.” She gave a long sigh and put her chin in the air. “And all my efforts wasted.”

Rikke stood in the thickening rain, watching her swagger away. She badly wanted to take a parting shot but found the quiver was empty. She glanced up at Shivers, who was frowning back at her, his grey hair turned dark by the rain.

“Am I to take it you agree?”

Shivers’ real eye gave away no more than his metal one. “Well, I don’t disagree.”

Rikke hissed in disgust as she ducked back inside, wet feet slapping on the flagstones.

“Here,” said Corleth, handing her a chagga pellet.

“Nice to see some folk can yet be relied upon.” And Rikke pushed the pellet up behind her lip and shoved open the doors to Skarling’s Hall.

Stour was clean now, bruises mostly healed even if his legs never would be. He’d stopped begging. Stopped talking at all. Just sat there, one white hand up on the black bars, waiting. She felt his bright, wet eyes following her, and it made the hairs on her neck prickle.

Jonas Clover didn’t look bothered by the Great Wolf, mind you. He was one o’ those bastards could look pleased with himself sat on broken glass, warming his hands at the fire like some smug old tomcat, his wet cloak thrown over a bench to dry like this was his hall.

“Chief!” he said, glancing up. “My hearing ain’t all it used to be, but I could swear I caught some manner of commotion.”

“Only the Nail on his way out o’ town.”

“A short trip or a long?” Clover raised his brows at Corleth, but no further details were forthcoming. “Well, we went over to the Redwater Valley, like you told us.”

“And Calder’s boys were down there?” asked Rikke, dropping into Skarling’s Chair. Either it was softening or her arse was hardening, it didn’t feel so uncomfortable as it used to.

“Ran into a dozen, led by a fellow called Trapper.”

“Put ’em back in the mud, did you?”

A brief pause, and Rikke got the feeling he was considering how to cast something in the best light. He did that a lot. “Some of ’em.”

“The rest?”

“Sent ’em back to Black Calder with my cordial greetings and hopes for a mutually beneficial future.”

“Kept your options open, in other words.”