The Nail gave a snort. “Cracks? You stabbed ’em in the back. More’n once.”

“Patch up the knife holes, then, before Leo gets it in his head to put a few in us. The North never does well out of wars with the Union. What we need is peace, and smiles, and trade—”

“And jokes,” said Shivers, stony-faced. “I’ve always liked a laugh.”

“Can’t think o’ many better jokes than me in Skarling’s Chair,” murmured Hardbread, though it wasn’t long ago folk would’ve reckoned the idea of Rikke in it even funnier. He gave his backside a thoughtful squeeze. “My arse is a fair bit broader’n yours, I reckon.”

“So the seat’ll be toasty upon my return,” said Rikke, to some laughter from the room. “And now the Nail. Wasn’t long ago you were an enemy to be feared. I’d thank Stour Nightfall for being fool enough to turn you into a friend, but thanks are wasted on the dead. The West Valleys are yours already. I’d like to add two more to your land on the eastern side.”

“You’re generous as well as beautiful,” said the Nail, with the hint of a grin.

“I’ll live with one of two. But I need something from you in return.”

“Name it.”

“I have heard tell you like a fight.”

He grinned wider. “I can stand a scuffle in the right cause.”

“Seems folk in Ollensand have come over sour about me taking charge. They’ve shut up their gates. Say they’re doing things their own way from now on.”

“Can’t have that,” whispered Shivers.

“You let one sheep pick its own path,” said Isern, “and ’fore you know it the whole herd’s got opinions.”

The Nail slowly nodded. “I’ll make ’em aware o’ their error.”

“Gently, eh? No need to whistle up the dogs to begin with. I’d rather they came willing.”

“And if they won’t?”

“Bring ’em unwilling.”

“Right y’are.” The Nail loitered a moment, like he had something more to say. She could guess what was on his mind. What happened between the two of them before he went away. It was on her mind, too. She’d have liked to say stay. Even if it was just for a night. Even if it was just for a quick fumble behind the kitchen. But a leader has to be careful who she lets in. Who she’s seen to let in. Specially a she.

The Nail scratched at his pale beard, looking at her sidelong, mouth open like he was about to speak. When he paused, Rikke didn’t help him. She couldn’t afford to.

“Right y’are,” he said again and strode out, waving his men after. No sooner had they quit the place than Isern’s brothers were strolling in, a pack of tattooed hillmen and hillwomen at their backs.

“Scofen and Scenn-i-Phail!” called Rikke. “Were two fat bastards ever more beloved of the moon than you twain?”

“My father always said a man should have some meat upon him,” said Scofen, laying a great hand on his great belly.