“And I want something for myself.”

Leo squeezed Jurand’s shoulder. “You deserve it.”

“One thing even my enemies will concede,” said Savine, “I always pay my debts.”

“We could begin with seats in the Assembly.” Leo tickled his daughter under the chin and made her squirm. “For you, and for Glaward, then…

our success will be your success.”

The side of Jurand’s face twitched as he set his jaw. “How do we begin?”

The ground trembled. A moment later came the echoing rumble of another explosion.

Quarrels

She slapped him as hard as she could. It made her hand sing with pain, so she was pretty sure his face must’ve felt worse.

“You fucking arsehole!” she screamed.

“You mad bitch!” he roared back, spraying spit in her face. “That’s it! I’m done!” And he kicked the door wide and stomped from the bedchamber which had once been Bethod’s, once been Scale Ironhand’s, once been Stour Nightfall’s, and now was Sticky Rikke’s.

Corleth, who’d been waiting outside, flattened herself against the wall as the Nail stormed past.

“You’re mad as a bootful o’ bees!” he snarled over his shoulder, trying to do his sword-belt up at the same time and making a mess of both.

Rikke’s bare feet slapped at the steps as she chased after him. “Better bloody mad than bloody stupid, say I!”

“No need to pick! You’ve managed the pair!” He stalked out into grey daylight, raindrops prickling the chill puddles scattered about the yard, and she followed.

“Running away, are you?”

“Aye,” he growled, “’fore I wring your twig of a neck.”

Folk all about had perked up at the shouting. A girl with an armload of firewood was gawping at them from under a dripping oilcloth.

“Back to the West Valleys!” The Nail jerked his arm at his men and they fell in with him, tramping in a sullen crowd out of Bethod’s fortress and into the city, dark stone turned darker with wet, dark roofs glistening with rain. “You can fight Black Calder on your own.”

“I’ll do that, and I’ll bloody beat him, too!”

“You’ll bloody lose and piss away all you took.”

“My da always said the West Valleys were a fucking sty!” she shrieked at his back. “And you don’t need the Long Eye to see they’ve birthed a litter of swine wi’ you lot!”

“Long fucking Eye?” The Nail spun about, looming over her, face so twisted with rage she stumbled back and almost slipped on her arse. “Don’t make me laugh!” And he stuck his great scarred forefinger in her face so hard it near went up her nostril. “You can’t see what’s right under your nose, you half-blind witch!”

“Well, at least one of us has something long.” She started forwards and jabbed her little finger in his face. “Guess we know why they call you the Nail now!”

“My cock’s… decent-sized!” He spat at her feet. “Used to shit yourself all over Uffrith, now you’re shitting yourself all over Skarling’s Chair!” And he gave a bark of fury that nearly made her slip over again, then stomped off faster’n ever, his dour-faced family crowding after him.