Corleth leaned close to Skarling’s Chair. “They’re still a ways off. Ain’t too late to run—”

“It’s way too late.” Rikke grinned sideways at her. Had to keep grinning, however her stomach bubbled and her skin prickled and her hands wanted to shake. “I ran from Black Calder once and it was no fun at all. Promised myself I’d never do it again.”

“We’re staying, then?” grunted one of the warriors, looking like that wouldn’t have been his first choice.

Shivers raised his one brow at Rikke.

“We’re staying,” she said to Shivers.

“We’re staying,” Shivers pronounced to the room.

“But we got none o’ the cards!” someone called. Meaning, Rikke gathered, that she’d thrown ’em all away. “The Nail’s gone, and Hardbread’s gone, and Isern-i-Phail’s gone—”

“Calder’s got the numbers,” growled a fellow with a gravelly voice but a fearful pallor. “Might have the numbers ten to one.”

“He might have the numbers,” said Rikke, “but we’ve got the walls.”

“But if those Crinna bastards get inside ’em there’ll be no mercy—”

“Hoping for mercy from your enemies is a piss-weak way to start a fight!” She jumped up from Skarling’s Chair and sneered at ’em down her nose. “I shouldn’t have to explain that to you lot. You’re meant to make ’em hope for mercy from you! Look at you, clucking and fussing while the women can’t wait to fight!” And she waved a hand at Corleth, who looked, in fact, like she had some sizeable doubts about the whole notion. “Tell you what, Corleth, bring your granny up here to the hall, where it’s safe. Safer, anyway!” And she hacked out a laugh. A bit of fearlessness was what they needed to see from her now. Maybe it’d be catching.

Corleth stared. “Reckon she’d be happier in her house—”

“Better sad and alive, though. Shivers’ll help you.” Rikke was already strolling over to Stour’s cage. “And we’ve still got a card or two left to play.” There sat the used-to-be terror of the North, his eyes gleaming in the shadows, one limp leg hanging through the bars so his toes near brushed the stone.

“Your daddy loves you, eh?” she sang. “Ain’t a thing he wouldn’t give for you. Even Carleon.”

That pallid warrior’s colour had only got worse. “Maybe Black Calder’ll make a deal. But d’you really think he’ll stick to it once you give this bastard over?”

Stour put a thin hand on the bars and pulled himself into the light, making the chain creak. First time she’d seen that sharp-toothed, wet-eyed smile in a while and it gave her a most unpleasant feeling to add to her nerves. Folk are rarely made better by suffering, after all. Once he got free of that cage, chances were he’d be a worse terror than ever. “You should run,” he whispered. “You should run now, and never stop.”

Rikke felt a shiver through her shoulders, but she turned it into a careless shrug. “I’m minded to stay. We’re all back to the mud one way or another. Only a question of how. And when. Far as that goes…” And she grinned as she tapped at her cheek, where the runes were. “Maybe I know something you don’t.”