“I’m saying he fucking demanded it.”

Calder sat back, tendons standing from the backs of his thin hands as he gripped the arms of his chair. “I heard Caul Shivers hobbled him.”

Clover wiped sweat from his forehead and tried to flap some air in around his collar. By the dead, it was hot in here. He was doubly glad he’d left that cloak behind now. “He did. And the Nail beat the snot out of him and Tricky Rikke’s keeping him in the cage he had forged for his own amusement. You can’t say she don’t have a sense of humour.”

Fury wouldn’t have surprised him, but all Calder did was stare into the glowing embers and slowly nod. “Might be he’ll finally learn the lessons I could never bring myself to teach him. Love can be a weakness. I blame myself.”

“I’ve done a bit of that, down the years.” Clover took another swallow from his cup. “Didn’t help.”

“Huh.” And Calder grinned at him, teeth shining in the light of the fire-pit. “I still like you, Clover. I never can bring myself to trust loyal men. Can’t understand the bastards.”

“I’m with you there.”

“Man who’ll be loyal to someone might one day up and decide he’d rather be loyal to someone else.” He wagged a finger at Clover. “But a man who’s first loyalty is to himself? It always will be. You don’t pretend to be what you’re not. You’re reliable.”

“I am?”

“Let’s say reliably unreliable. Which makes you an interesting choice of messenger.”

“She didn’t say so in so many words, but I’ve a feeling Rikke thought you might not listen to someone less flexible. Might send their head back in a bag, in fact.”

“But I won’t send yours?”

Clover scratched gently at his sweaty neck. “Honestly, I doubt she cares much on that score either way.”

“Clever, isn’t she?”

“She is.”

“A little too clever for her own good, maybe.”

“Maybe.”

“So what’s the message?”

Clover leaned forwards. Towards Calder. Towards the warmth of the fire-pit. “She sent me with an offer. Split the North. Leave it as it is now. She’ll keep Uffrith and Carleon. You’ll keep what you’ve got. And you get your son back.”

Calder watched him, in silence calm as a mountain lake. There was some laughter and clapping down where the sword-work was happening. There was a crunch and a whirl of sparks as a glowing log shifted in the fire-pit. Clover glanced around. Still the hard faces, the hard weapons. Still the ever-present threat of a quick trip back to the mud.

He cleared his throat. “So…”

“Truth is I’m tired, Clover.” Calder sagged back with a weary grunt. “Lots of folk gone back to the mud. My father, my wife, my brother. Friends beyond counting. I’m tired and I’m lonely and I can’t remember when I last laughed. Maybe that’s what she’s counting on. Ruthlessness belongs to the young.” And he frowned into the fire like it was full o’ disappointments. “To those who don’t know where it gets you.”