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‘Che, I don’t know why either of them is still with us. Allow me my suspicions, and I’ll let you remain trusting as a newborn, and we’ll agree to differ.’

She glanced at him, and could not suppress a tired smile. ‘Looking after me, is it?’

‘Someone has to. I’m only surprised I’ve not had to rescue you from something over the last few days.’ His tone, delivering acerbic banter calculated to hide whatever deeper feelings were hidden there, reminded her irresistibly of their time in Khanaphes together, first as ambassadors and then as fugitives.

‘I don’t know what I’d do without you,’ she said, trying to put a smile into it, but the words came out as far too solemn, and he gave no reply.

That night, after an argument over how hidden they should remain, Varmen stubbornly set a fire, albeit low down in a dip between trees. The pantries of Suon Ren had come up with some peculiar travelling provisions: a spiced hotchpotch of seeds, nuts, shreds of meat and dried fruit that could be eaten dry or cooked up into a kind of stew. It was filling, but promised to become dull eating after a while.

‘Honey would set this off well,’ Che opined, between heavily chewed mouthfuls. ‘They don’t seem to like it much around here, though.’

‘It was one of the commodities the army shipped in by the ton, during the war,’ Thalric agreed. ‘That and good wine, since Commonweal drink is an acquired taste.’

‘I’m sure you managed to acquire it.’ The simple act of eating was wearing her out, and she glanced up to offer her half-finished bowl around, but found Varmen and Maure were both missing.

‘Where are . . .?’ she started, but, on registering Thalric’s look, she abruptly understood. ‘That was quick work.’ She felt a sudden and irrational stab of envy that such casual liaisons had never been something open to her: raised as she was in Collegium, city of propriety, under the guidance of a respectable public figure and, besides, when had she ever even had the opportunity?

Of course, Tynisa had never let Stenwold’s high station stop her enjoying herself . . .

You are not here for that, anyway, she told herself. You have a higher purpose. If she closed her eyes, she could feel the faint thorn-point that was the spectre of Tisamon, penetrating Tynisa’s mind like a wound that could only suppurate with time. It seemed very far off, and she seemed altogether too weak a vessel to provide any great aid to her wayward sister.

The night was cold, and Che felt very alone just then, so when Thalric put his arms about her, she gave herself up to his embrace, leaning into his chest, feeling his chin butt gently against the back of her head. His hands rested across her stomach, and she felt a little shiver at the thought of their killing power, the Art that slept within them. Reclining against him, his arms seemed to form a barrier keeping the world at bay. His very Apt ignorance was a shield, and she felt that she would not dream whilst he held her. Some part of him would stand sentry, and burn down any dreadful revelations that tried to ambush her.

His breath was at her ear, and so it was simple enough to tilt her head back and find his mouth with her own, expecting him to start with surprise, but the pointed absence of Varmen and Maure must have led his thoughts along the same path, for he kissed her hungrily in return. A moment later, and his hands were moving up to cup her breasts, brashly at first but hesitant just before they came to rest, a fulcrum moment when he was plainly unsure whether she had meant to allow him so much.

Then she was slipping to one side, but only so she could draw him down over her, one hand working at his belt, and their lips never quite parting, no matter what contortions they went through. His killing hands remained firm on her, like another Imperial conquest.

There was a moment, the inevitable moment, Achaeos! as she contrasted the gentle touch of the Moth with Thalric’s fierce strength. And after that came the thought of what Stenwold would say if she took this