“Rothe, my shieldman. Ess’yr and Varryn, of the Fox. And Hammarn, who came with us from Koldihrve.”

It was only Hammarn, Orisian noted, who seemed to earn some softening of the Elect’s demeanour. She nodded in the old man’s direction, to his embarrassment. He smiled, then frowned, then took on an empty, wide-eyed expression as if he had no idea what to do with his face.

“You have strange travelling companions, for a Thane of the Haig Bloods,” Cerys observed with a hint of a narrow smile.

“So I’ve been told before.”

It took Orisian a moment to realise that what he felt – a nagging sourness of the moment – was the crumbling of unacknowledged hopes. He had, without recognising it in himself, hoped he might find Inurian here: an echo of the warmth and understanding that he remembered. Ever since he had discovered that Highfast had once been Inurian’s home, he had vaguely imagined it to be a place of welcome and safety; a place suffused with all those things he had lost since Winterbirth, and since Inurian’s death. He felt, as those imaginings withered away, sadder and more like a child than he had done in a long time. He blinked at Cerys, and did not know what more to say.

“And what are these matters on which you seek our counsel, Thane?” she asked him softly.

“He came to speak of Aeglyss, Cerys,” Yvane said before Orisian could reply. “He’s as close to a friend as you’ll find outside the Tower of Thrones, and he’ll hear more of what you’ve got to say than Lheanor would.”

Slowly, deliberately the Elect turned her head to meet Yvane’s gaze with her own. To Orisian’s surprise, and unease, it was Yvane who looked away first.

“We did not expect to see you here again, Yvane. How many years have you been gone?”

“I told him he would be welcome here, even if I was not,” Yvane said. Still she kept her eyes down. “I’d rather you didn’t make me a liar.”

“Your preferences, and your reputation, are not our first concern here,” Cerys said.

“Elect,” Orisian said, a touch more sharply than he intended, “I came here because of what Bannain told me in Kolkyre. I wanted to learn what you know of Aeglyss, because he stands among enemies who have killed my family and my friends, and because na’kyrim whom I trust – Yvane, and Inurian too – judged him a danger to me and to my people. If you are willing to talk to me, I will listen. If you are not, tell me now so that I can go where I am needed.”

Cerys regarded him in silence for a moment or two. Rothe was glowering at her. The Elect’s hand had gone to the chain around her neck, her elegant fingers brushing the dark metal.

“Has Herraic given you chambers above?” she asked.

“He’s looking after the warriors who came with me. I would be grateful if we” – he glanced around, including Rothe, Ess’yr and the others – “could be found somewhere to rest here, with you.”

“Of course,” the Elect said, with a subtle nod. “We will find room for you. I don’t suppose Herraic particularly wants na’kyrim or Kyrinin taking up room in his keep. I’ll send him a message that we’ll take care of you. Bannain will show you where to go. You can rest a little; we’ll have some food brought to you. Then I will talk with you, Thane, and we will see what help we might be to one another.”

There were no windows in the chamber that Bannain found for them. The walls were damp, and every crevice seemed to have a spider’s web woven into it. It was as much cave as room. A dozen simple beds lined one wall. Rothe prodded one of the thin mattresses after Bannain had left them. It looked as smooth as a bag of hazelnuts.

“Straw,” the shieldman concluded. “Doesn’t smell too good.”

“It’ll do,” Orisian said. “We’ll not be more than one night here, with any luck.”

He sat on one of the beds, but promptly rose and moved further away from the oil lamp Bannain had left. The orange flame at its wick was giving off tendrils of noisome black smoke.

“I’m sure there’d be room for you with Torcaill and the rest,” Rothe muttered as Orisian tested another bed. “Herraic’d find better quarters for a Thane than this.”

Orisian glanced at Ess’yr and Varryn. The two Kyrinin were silently and methodically bedding down at the far end of the chamber. As always, they ignored the beds and made camp on the floor.

“No, Rothe. This’ll do. One night; that’s all.”

Rothe looked disappointed, but stretched himself out on his bed. He winced as he folded his injured arm across his lap.

“You might get some help for that here, you know,” Yvane observed. “Amonyn, one of the Council: he’s a gifted healer. It works better when the wound’s fresh, mind you, but he can fashion more mending out of the Shared than-”

“There’s no need for that,” Rothe said hurriedly. “It’s well on the way to healing itself. I don’t need that kind of help.”

Yvane shrugged and sat down opposite Orisian.

“I thought we might have a warmer welcome,” he said to her.

Yvane raised her fine eyebrows. “That was not so cold, by the standards of this place. Believe me, short of being na’kyrim yourself, you could not hope for much more. You’re a stranger, come to them in fraught times. It’s frightening for them. Don’t forget, there’s not many here have seen as much of the world as Inurian did, or as I have. They’re not used to outsiders. They hate any disturbance of the tight little circles they walk in here. Round and round and-”

“Frightening?” Orisian interrupted her.

“Of course they’re frightened,” Yvane said, and Orisian wondered if that was truly a hint of scorn he heard in her voice; and whether it was meant for him or for the na’kyrim of Highfast. “Do I need to list the reasons for you? There’s war, and not far away. Armies are marching hither and thither, none of them – whatever cause they fight for – filled with friends of na’kyrim. You turn up here with more warriors than have visited in however many years: a Thane, and one they’ve had no chance to take the measure of.

“Worse than all that, there’s Aeglyss. Everyone here is sick. You shouldn’t forget that, even if you can’t understand it, can’t feel it. I’m sick. His malice taints the Shared, and everyone here can feel it, every hour of every day. I’m tired before I get out of bed in the morning, because from the first instant of wakefulness I can hear his strength rumbling in the back of my mind. You folk with your pure blood, the gates of your minds are shut against the Shared; barred and bolted. Us poor na’kyrim, we’re open. There’s nothing between us and him. And he’s a horror, believe me.”

Orisian regarded her thoughtfully for a moment or two. She was afraid, he realised. What she described might or might not be true of Cerys and the others here in Highfast, but it was certainly true of Yvane herself. For days now, she had been on edge, and fear was part of what had put her there.

“I do believe you,” he said, hanging his head.

“Good.” She said it softly, almost gently.

Behind her, Hammarn was laying out half-finished woodtwines on the bed. He hummed to himself as he did so, nodding in agreement with some silent internal statement. Yvane glanced at him and smiled sadly.

“ Na’kyrim are no more perfect than anyone else. But we are different. There are kinds of understanding here that you’ll not find anywhere else. There is wisdom, if you can dig it out. You believed in Inurian, didn’t you? Trusted him?”

Orisian nodded.

“Remember that. What you believed in is here too, even if it’s not as obvious as it was in him. If you want to understand what Aeglyss means, this is the only place you might find an answer.”

“I know. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t know that.”

Two young na’kyrim brought platters of simple food. They were nervous. They averted their eyes, and watched the floor.

“I was told to wait,” one of them said. “When you have eaten, I am to escort the Thane to the library. The Elect will see him there. Just the Thane. No one else.”