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‘I understand the cloth can get in the way of a crutch,’ said Lessa. ‘And I saw you had your trews adjusted to accommodate your prosthesis. But I can prepare one if you prefer? I’m not bad with a needle …’ She put a palm up to Kissen as if to measure her, and Kissen snorted.

‘No, thank you,’ she said, pulling the bundle apart. The shirt was pale blue and printed with tessellating patterns in curls and flourishes. The cloak was even more rich, a brighter green than Lessa’s dress, lined with yellow, and embroidered with silver birds.

‘This …’ Kissen said. ‘My lady, this is too much.’

‘It’s a loan,’ said the lady. ‘You’ll be hard pressed to find much of mine from the last few years not covered in the symbols of our House.

When we greet the Irisian council, the Mithrik, we will ask for their aid in finding your family.

As a Craier representative, they will be bound to give it to you. ’

‘I don’t belong to your House.’

‘It owes you a debt.’

The lady’s long hair was fluttering at her waistline.

She didn’t move as the crew of her ship sprinted past, calling and waving.

Small boats had come out to greet them, flying Irisian wave-and-claw flags of white and blue dyed fabric.

They must have come from the country’s council. The Silverswift was expected.

‘You saved our lives,’ said Lessa.

Kissen tongued her gold tooth. ‘I would have tried for anyone,’ she said.

The lady shook her head. ‘That’s beside the point.’ She sighed. ‘More than that …’ Her mouth twisted, and Kissen waited, quite enjoying Lessa’s squirming.

‘You saved my daughter,’ the lady said at last. ‘In so many ways. I am,’ she twisted her nose, ‘… grateful for it.’

Gratitude? From Lady Craier? She really had warmed to her. ‘I don’t know,’ Kissen said, smiling crookedly. ‘She’s a feisty little thing. She’d have thought of something.’

Lessa laughed, and lifted her hand to touch her ears, as if unused to the weight of the gold earrings that now adorned them. ‘I should have been there for her more,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you were. Are.’

Kissen bit her tongue to stop saying something stupid.

Like declare undying loyalty or swear fealty to the beautiful lady and her terrifying daughter.

That was what fools did in stories. Kissen was no fool.

Their paths would not stay together forever, one day the two of them would go where Kissen did not, could not belong.

But she could put on the nice shirt, the pretty cloak, and decide later whether she would beg a ride with them to join a fight she was no longer sure Elo could win.

‘Do you need help?’ asked Lessa. ‘Your wounds are …’

Kissen paused. Lifting her arms in and out of a shirt made her wince to think about it. She could do with the assistance. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Please.’

Lessa put her hands to the ties that went down Kissen’s chest, unthreading them one after the other till Kissen’s belly was exposed.

She wasn’t shy; on open water like this a bare chest was a common offer to the cooling wind, where shirts could be expensive and quick to wear.

Lessa helped pull her sleeves down over her shoulders then folded the shirt onto the deck, glancing up at Kissen as she did.

Her eyes raked the wounds that had stopped bleeding, the red stain where steam had peeled her skin raw, the scars beneath it.

‘They look worse than they are,’ said Kissen.

Lessa took the new shirt from Kissen’s hands and lifted it over her head.

Not a tied one this, it came in one piece, billowing out at the bottom like a dancing skirt.

There was no pity in Lessa’s eyes, only acknowledgement, interest, warmth.

Their eyes met, and Kissen felt her own breath quicken, a rush of heat in her belly, descending.

Those dark eyes, that crooked nose. Did the lady know how captivating she was?

‘Inara told me,’ said Lessa softly, ‘what happened to your birth family.’

Kissen blinked in surprise.

‘They’re not the first,’ she said looking down and tucking the shirt into her girdle and sword belt. She had only her cutlass and Osidisen’s dagger again. She needed more weapons. But she gave the shirt credit; its cloth felt kind on her brutalised skin. ‘Nor will be the last.’

‘I had heard of such things,’ said Lessa, ‘but had never known it to happen outside of Blenraden. I did think Satuan would help us.’

‘Gods only help when it serves them,’ said Kissen, then hesitated, thinking of Skedi, and of Osidisen, who needed to show no affection to his lover’s children, but did. ‘Most of them.’

‘I’ve only ever known goodness in gods,’ said Lessa, helping her on with the cloak now. This was a fine piece of work. Its silver birds flashed brightly, as if flying through a leafy forest, caught in beams of sunlight.

‘Even gods who take advantage of young women?’ Kissen asked.

Lessa paused, her hands around the clasp of the cloak, her warm hands tenderly close to Kissen’s throat. Kissen didn’t dare to breathe.

‘You heard that?’ said the lady, and Kissen regretted the coolness that crept into her voice.

‘Heard what?’ Kissen asked. It seemed she had missed something, some revelation. She shook her head, then dared raise her hand to touch Lessa’s elbow. ‘I heard nothing,’ she said. ‘I only … I have my own history with gods taking humans as lovers.’

Lessa bit her lip and tugged Kissen’s cloak better around her shoulders, sweeping it so it rested over one side, then fastened the clasp. ‘I don’t need you to be angry for me,’ she said. ‘I made my choices. I loved a god, and he loved me.’

‘He should have loved you enough to leave you alone,’ said Kissen.

‘Perhaps. But no matter how Inara came to me, I chose her. She is a gift.’

Kissen didn’t have a response to that. Instead she sighed and ran her fingers through her salt-tangled hair.

‘Oh don’t do that,’ said Lessa catching her hand. ‘Let it be.’

‘It’s a mess.’

‘You’ll make it messier. Just don’t touch it. Or let me fix it.’

‘You want to fix my hair?’ said Kissen incredulously.

‘No. Well …’ It was Lessa who was blushing now.

A horn sounded, and they both turned to the shore. The crew were tossing ropes to the flotilla of small boats that caught them and began to tug them towards the high-walled fortress harbour.

The fort itself was like nothing Kissen had seen: red stone sloped up from brilliant blue water in high, angled walls that surrounded imposing round towers studded with beams. Across the stone hung great, bold banners in reds, yellows and blues.

Kissen swore she could smell Elo’s bread, the nameen and the herb and oil mix he insisted on carrying with him, and wished he had come.

‘Is there some sort of festival?’ she asked, as Lessa’s gaze went up toward the watchtowers for the smaller harbour they were approaching.

There were patrols armed with Irisian longbows on top of the harbour walls, and in the towers that guarded the entrance.

Was it to stop folk getting in, or getting out?

‘There’s always something,’ said Lessa, answering her question.

‘Do you see the braided grass in the eaves?’ She pointed up towards the fort.

In the sloping walls were small windows of dark wood, the same as the roofs that topped them.

There, dangled long trains of braided grass that must have taken some daring to hang.

‘They’re for the spring change,’ said Lessa, ‘or the dry season in southern Irisia. At midsummer replace them with palm leaves.’

The Silverswift slid into the closed harbour, and as they passed the watchtowers, the music and noise of outside was cut off.

Now, instead of the chatter of fishing boats and the heavy swaying of scruffy merchant vessels, they were surrounded by fine ships, clean scrubbed and carefully kept.

Kissen felt as if a prison door was closing behind them.

Despite the cheer and welcome of hazy Wsirin, Irisia had once been a nation of war, and now she was reminded of that.

‘I’ll stay,’ Kissen offered, ‘and guard you. In case something goes wrong.’ She caught sight of a prow shape she had last seen in the light of Hseth’s flames: Restish. Moored in the harbour, no one visible aboard. Lessa had seen it too; she frowned.

‘It’s not violence I fear,’ she said. ‘It is inaction. Irisia, Middren and Restish signed the treaty of Belhaven, promising not to arm our enemies or each other, and keep the balance of peace between us. The only times this was broken before was the war on the Talician kerls with Pinet, and the God War. Both agreed by all three states, the latter regretted by our allies.’

‘Restish has been supplying Talicia with ships,’ Kissen protested. ‘Is that peace?’

‘We have no proof,’ said Lessa calmly and surely. ‘And if Restish say they are neutral, then Irisia may remain so as well.’

‘Sounds like fucking nonsense,’ said Kissen. ‘If people ask for help, you give it.’

‘The Trade Sea has long put profit over people,’ said Lessa. ‘They turned from their gods of safety and love to gods of fortune and trade. Many will not reach out a hand unless you put a coin in it first. Like people, like gods.’

‘On that we agree,’ said Kissen. She longed to explore this woman’s mind, her knowledge of the seas and their history, her view of the gods neither clouded by hatred, nor choked with devotion.

But they were reaching the dock. The ropes from the small boats had been passed to folk on a long wooden jetty, who were pulling the ship in closer.

Sallath and Slim had swung themselves down to the boards and were helping make fast the ship, while several others were preparing the gangplank for their descent.

‘ Yameti’i melikami yataghayar! ’ shouted one of the people down below in shining saffron robes who had just finished tying off one of the ropes. ‘The god of change brings good tidings!’

‘ Kama alaik yatagha ,’ responded Lessa confidently. ‘As tidings change with the god!