“Kindness?” she asked.

“On my nose. He fucking stinks.”

“I still reckon the moon would smile upon him face down in the mud.” Isern prodded at the bars with one blue finger, making the cage turn gently, the Great Wolf limp as a heap of filthy rags inside. “Remember when he chased us through the woods, all cold and hungry and gnat-nibbled? Remember how bitter your feelings then?”

“I’m not forgetting,” said Rikke.

“He said he’d send your guts to your father in a box. Break what they love, he said.”

“I’m not forgetting. But we might yet find a use for him.”

“I’ll admit he makes a fine adornment. Caged in the very cage he had forged, d’you see. Brought to naught in the very room where his hero the Bloody-Nine was brought to naught.” She gave a little chuckle. “My da would’ve laughed long at that one.” And she patted Rikke on her fur-clad shoulder as she passed and pushed the near-empty bottle into her hand.

“You’re always saying your da was an arsehole.”

“Most yawning arsehole in the whole Circle of the World.” She wagged that blue finger. “But he saw to the chilly heart o’ things, more often than not.” And she swaggered to the doorway, gave a great showy stretch and spat into the hall. “Don’t get cocky, now.” She pulled the doors shut and the latch dropped with an echoing clatter, leaving Rikke alone with the ex-King of the Northmen and the Nail, his pale eyes on her.

“Still say we should hit Black Calder while the hitting’s good,” he said.

“You would. You like hitting things.”

“You don’t?”

“Not for its own sake. I want to hit once, and that so hard I never have to hit again.”

“Thought your father swore to see Black Calder back to the mud?”

“So they say, but my father didn’t think much o’ vengeance, and since he’s dead into the bargain I feel sure he can wait a spell.”

The Nail gave a little grin, tip of his tongue stuck between his teeth. “You’re a clever one, ain’t you?”

“I do my humble best.” And Rikke realised she was threading her chain of emeralds through her fingers, feeling the cool stones tickle at the webs between them.

She gave the Nail a considering look. You could not have called him pretty, slouched long and loose against the wall with his thumbs in his belt and his elbows stuck out and his chin stuck forward. But then Rikke doubted pretty was the first word anyone would’ve picked for her these days. And there was something about him. All calm, and confident, and in no hurry. Like he was happy in his own skin, the very thing she’d never been. We’re always drawn to our opposites. Drawn to them and scared by them at once. And where’s the fun in someone who don’t scare you just a touch?

She got up and walked over, taking one more swallow from the bottle. Tasted worse than ever, mixed with chagga bitterness, but it wasn’t burning any more. Just glowing nicely, like the embers in the great fireplace.