“Dig in,” said Rikke.

He started to fork sausages onto a plate, mouth thoroughly watering. “Is there anything better than a good meal after lean times?”

“There’s a few in the North who’d swear by a good revenge after a long feud.”

He closed his eyes in simple pleasure as he chewed. “Revenge won’t fill your belly.”

“You sound like my father.”

“By all accounts a shrewd man.”

“He was all heart,” said Rikke, nudging some crumbs about her plate.

Orso felt that need to lift the mood again. “Have an egg,” he said, plucking one from a dish and holding it out. Not much of a gift, especially when it had been hers in the first place. But then the whole North was hers now. She was the one with the power, while he had nothing to

recommend him but his winning sense of humour. “You don’t look…

entirely happy,” he said.

She plucked the egg from his fingers and started tapping it against the edge of the table, gently breaking the shell. “Lots to think about.”

“Regrets, eh?”

She looked up sharply. Looking into the gaping pupil of that Long Eye still scared him and excited him at once. As though she might see some secret truth in him that he had never guessed at. “Why d’you say that?”

“I’ve a few of my own. I recognise a fellow sufferer. It can’t be easy. To know what’s coming.”

“No.” She started to pick away the broken shell with her fingernails. “I’ve often argued with Isern over whether it’s a blessing or a curse. I swing back and forth.”

“Don’t we all? Just flags, tugged wherever the breeze pleases.”

“Even when it does open, the Long Eye never gives you all the answers. It’s mist and whispers. You have to find your own way to the truth.” She looked up at him again, and again he felt that excitement. And that fear. “You want the painful truth? A secret I haven’t dared tell anyone?”

“Well… as long as it doesn’t hurt too much.”

She leaned towards him, dropping her voice. “The truth is… I used to see things. Before my father died. Before I stole the North. Before I killed Stour and Calder. Before I was Black Rikke and I was… a girl you gave an egg to.” She waved a hand at her tattooed face. “But since the runes were written, nothing.” She bit into the egg and sat back, speaking around a mouthful. “Reckon my Long Eye’s closed for good.”

“So… you pretend?”

“I do what my father tried to. Give his people at least a bit of what they want. Folk like the notion of someone who knows what’s coming. That way they don’t have to worry about it.”

Orso puffed out his cheeks. “I’d never know you had doubts. You seem so sure of yourself.” He gave a snort of laughter. Perhaps he had a type, after all. “You remind me of Savine, in a way.”