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fear.
    Tresilian turned to her as if he had overheard her thoughts. “This parting won’t be for long.”
    “You ought not tempt fate, husband.”
    “I’ll take my chance with fate, as long as you are safe. Just think, you always wanted to cross the sea. Now you shall.” Tresilian reached out and pushed back her hood a fraction. Alwenna held herself aloof when he leaned in to press a hasty kiss to her lips.
    “Take good care of her, Ranald. Goddess speed you all.”
    Weaver led the way in silence across the slick cobbles of the inner ward to the gatehouse. Smoke from the torches in the keep hung in the still air, acrid, catching the back of Alwenna’s throat.
    The guard at the citadel gate let Weaver pass with a respectful salute but he eyed Alwenna with undisguised curiosity as she and Wynne followed behind him. The rain had cleared and the moonlight was strong enough to cast their shadows before them; every step meant placing her foot in an uncertain pool of darkness. Each time they passed beneath a flambeau shadows sprang up alongside them, then sank away into the night. Wynne was a reassuring presence at her side.
    They walked in silence through the narrow streets, boots scuffing on the cobbles. All decent folk were asleep at this hour. Somewhere in the distance cats yowled. A pebble clattered across the street behind them. Alwenna glanced over her shoulder, unable to shake off the unpleasant sensation of being watched. She turned back to catch Weaver’s attention, but he was already at her side.
    Weaver took hold of her arm and steered her down a side alley. Her feet slithered in mud and she bumped against Wynne as Weaver pushed them into the shadow of a low building. A stable, if Alwenna’s nose were to be trusted.
    “Our spy’s about to show his hand. Wait here.” Weaver strode back towards the street, shrugging his cloak back as three men spread out across the entrance.
    “Ho, Weaver! What brings you out at this time of night? Last I heard you were south of the pass.”
    With relief Alwenna recognised Stanton’s voice. He was another of the King’s Men: a favourite with the ladies at court, always ready with a smile and easy conversation. He couldn’t be the spy. Weaver, on the other hand: dour to the point of morose, withdrawn in company, did he deserve Tresilian’s trust?
    “My business is no concern of yours, Stanton.”
    The courtier took a step forward, still smiling. “Is your business so urgent you have no time for civility? Come now, I have a proposition for you. Let’s discuss it over a jug of ale.” He gestured towards the corner where Alwenna waited. “Bring your shy companions along. I might almost think you were trying to hide them from me.”
    “Well I might; your looks have broken too many ladies’ hearts already.” Weaver set his hand on the pommel of his sword. “My gift is for breaking skulls.”
    “Ever the commoner.” Stanton sighed. “We have you outnumbered three to one.”
    “I’m able to count. And I’ll thank all three of you not to importune the ladies.”
    “But what manner of lady would keep company with the likes of you? Step clear. It’s not too late for you to choose the victor’s side.”
    Weaver remained motionless.
    Was he considering the offer?
    Stanton seemed to think so. “I can make it worth your while.”
    Alwenna caught her breath. Impossible – Tresilian trusted Weaver. But he’d trusted Stanton, too.

CHAPTER FOUR
    Weaver registered the gasp from behind him; maybe now someone else would be convinced of Stanton’s treachery.
    “Enough talk. If you want them, come and get them.” He drew his sword, studying the opposition as they followed suit. Space was tight in the alley: they’d have to attack one at a time.
    Stanton muttered a command and the youth on his right charged forward, sword raised for an overhead blow. Too reckless. It was easy for Weaver to deflect the blade point down and use the momentum of the blow to bring his sword