“What do your friends call you?” asked Rikke, handing him the bottle.

He frowned at the little dribble in the bottom, more spit than spirits. “The Nail.”

“Aye, but folk who are close.”

He took a swig of his own, watching her all the way. “Don’t have anyone that close. Not now my da’s dead.”

“What did he call you?”

A pause. “The Nail.”

“Can I borrow that cloak o’ yours?”

He raised those pale blond brows, and undid the buckle, and tossed it over to her. She wandered to the corner of the hall, taking her time. Felt tense in there, like there was something about to happen, and she enjoyed it. She reckoned she’d earned just a streak of cockiness, whatever Isern said. She went up on her tiptoes to hang the cloak over Stour’s cage.

“Don’t really want him looking.” And she bent down and pulled one of her boots off, left it lying. Kicked the other off into the corner, and it bounced from the wall and fell on its side.

The Nail frowned over at it. “Why you taking your boots off?”

She undid her belt buckle. “’Cause I can’t get my trousers off over ’em.”

That was when she realised, skirts have many downsides but you can step right out of the bastards. Or pull ’em up in a pinch. But there’s no slick way out of trousers. She got ’em down past her knees all right, then nearly fell over pulling her right foot free, and had to hop along dragging the other leg off.

Not quite the sultry swagger she’d planned. Maybe she’d got too cocky after all. But there was nothing for it now but to see it through. She wriggled into Skarling’s Chair, trying to arrange her fine new cloak in a manner that preserved the delicate balance between too much mystery and not enough.

The Nail considered this performance, then Stour’s covered cage, then scratched the back of his head. “Fair to say the afternoon has took an unexpected turn.”

A brief silence. Outside, the river thundered. Bad idea, this. One of her worst. She wondered where her trousers ended up, and how far the shameful shuffle would be to squirm back into ’em so she could pretend it never happened. “Not planning on turning me down, are you? ’Cause that’d be quite an embarrassment.”

“Fuck, no.” And he cracked out a grin. “Just thought I’d fix the scene in my mind, while I’ve got the chance.” He tapped the side of his head with the bottle. “It’s a good one.” Then he sucked the last drops from it and walked over, undoing his sword-belt on the way and kicking it off. Which was a hell of a relief, ’cause apart from anything else the chill breeze through the window was spreading gooseflesh up her thighs.

“It don’t bother you?” He planted one big boot between her bare feet, then glanced over towards the cage in the corner, creaking slightly, with his cloak over it. “Knowing he’s under there?”