someone with you—”

“No. You’d just… get in the way.” His voice failed him slightly on the last word, and he had to clear a lump from his throat. He suspected they both guessed the real reason he had to leave them. That their loyalty to him had cost them enough already and it was time for him to repay the favour and take his own risks. He prised her fingers gently free. “What’s our tally at now?”

“Two hundred and sixteen marks…” Hildi was pretending her eyes were wet from the rain and fooling no one. “And thirty bits.”

“Sounds a touch high.”

“I’m never wrong about numbers.”

“She’s never wrong about numbers,” said Tunny.

“No.” Orso wrapped his hands gently around her fist. “I am so, so sorry, Hildi, but I think… for now… I’ll have to owe you.”

“If they hurt you I’ll be revenged on the bastards!” she snarled at him, wet eyes suddenly blazing. “I swear!”

Orso smiled, then. It was an effort, considering everything, but he managed it. “I appreciate the thought more than you can know, but… if anything happens to me… I’d really rather you let it go.” He laid a hand gently on Hildi’s wet cheek. “Have a life instead. You deserve it.”

Rikke stumbled getting down from the carriage and would’ve gone flat on her face but that nice man Haroon caught her and whisked her up straight again like she weighed nothing at all, which she had to admit she quite enjoyed.

“Thank you very much,” she said, patting his arm. Quite an arm, far as she could tell. Then she teetered across the slick cobbles towards the steps. Bloody things wouldn’t stay still, wobbling about all over the place. Or was that her? She was drunk as shit and making no apologies.

“No forgiveness from little Leo, then?” asked Isern, damp skirts gathered up to her knees so she could clamber to the front door.

“Don’t think he’s got any,” said Rikke. The thought of their little exchange chased the pleasant glow of drink away for a moment. “The boy’s turned dark. Dark and vengeful.”

“I could’ve told you that when I saw all the bloody flags. Flags never add to a man, d’you see, just stand in for something he’s missing. He always was a bully, and not too clever, but you can forgive a lot for a nice arse and a nice smile.” Isern shook herself at the top of the steps like a dog who’d run through a river, raindrops flying from her wet hair. “Now his arse is in ruins and I didn’t see him smile all night.”

“Might be I was too sharp with him,” fretted Rikke. “Come all this way to heal wounds and all I did was rub salt in ’em.” Partly it was the pearl dust, which had made her feel quick-tongued, numb-faced and also rather frisky. “Might be I should’ve grovelled more.”

“Shit on that.” Isern turned the doorknob and they spilled into the hall together, leaving a crooked trail of wet footprints. “You’re the North now, and the North kneels to no one. Besides, a man who’s moved by grovelling will never get enough grovelling for his taste. Let him once set his foot on your back and you’ll have a fucking bootprint ’twixt your shoulder blades till the day you’re buried. What’re you doing still up?”