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Hate could feel strangely like something else.

Aurienne didn’t usually have toapply her emotion-regulation strategies to life outside the wards, but it occurred to her that if she were going to, for example, decide that sleeping on Osric Mordaunt’s shoulder was a good idea, she would be wise to. A bit of suppression wouldn’t go amiss.

“Sorry,” said Aurienne, pulling away from the man in question.

“It’s all right,” said Mordaunt. His throat sounded dry; he cleared it.

They both found their feet. Mordaunt shook his cloak as though airing it out.

Aurienne ran sore fingers through disorderly curls and pinned them back into place with her silver curette. “The tide’s well and truly come in. How long did I sleep?”

“Not sure,” said Mordaunt. “An hour, maybe.”

“We’re stuck here for at least another few hours, then.”

“Goody.”

Aurienne peered downwards. “With the sea this high, those men won’t come back—not unless they’ve got a boat.”

“I wish they would,” said Mordaunt. “I’d have some entertainment.”

“I suppose you’ve got to kill people regularly or go wild with boredom.”

“Mad with it,” said Mordaunt. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” said Aurienne. “I never leave Swanstone without a few snacks in my satchel, but my departure was so rushed, I haven’t anything at all— Erm, where are you going?”

Mordaunt was halfway down the spiral staircase. “The kitchen. You need to eat.”

“I’m not going to steal anyone’s food,” said Aurienne.

Mordaunt’s sigh echoed towards her. “They stole the food from someone else. Does that make it better?”

“It compounds the problem.”

“No—it cancels itself out. Basic maths.”

Aurienne, still feeling a bit lightheaded, decided that she couldn’t afford to be picky. She therefore did not further argue about the Fyren’s questionable mathematics.

The lantern room’s intermittent light faded as she descended the stairs. She discovered the placement of the kitchen worktop by smashing her hip into it.

“I forgot,” came Mordaunt’s voice. “You’re useless in the dark.”

Aurienne raised the cold light of her tacn. “How are you seeing anything at all?”

“Trade secrets,” said Mordaunt.

“Is it to do with shadow-walking?”

“None of your business.” Mordaunt found a gas lamp and lit it. “Stop wasting your seith; you’re meant to be recovering it.”

“The output for a bit of light from my tacn is absolutely minimal—but, all right. Thank you for the light,” said Aurienne. She reserved Mordaunt’s trade secrets for future prying.

Mordaunt clattered about the worktop and assembled the bandits’ supplies into a heap. He and Aurienne studied them in the lamplight. Itwas a pile of icebox debris, really—grey potatoes, overripe grapes, things too elusive for identification. The scent of bin juice wafted towards them.

“Lucullan magnificence,” said Mordaunt.

“How to choose from among all these delights?” asked Aurienne.