She appeared from the crowd, covered from head to toe in black cloth in the southern fashion, but her eyes were kind. ‘What is this?’ she said loudly. ‘A bride should not carry her own gifts on her wedding night!’ Around her, everyone froze, and the woman, her tone one of comfortable command, pointed to a few of the women who had already given her gifts. ‘Find tables to lay them on, that such precious things not touch this ground, hallowed by the blood of your people in alagai’sharak.’

The women nodded eagerly, drafting still others, and the gifts were pulled back from Renna’s hands. The Krasian woman looked at her, and from the crinkling around her eyes, Renna knew she was smiling. ‘Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Shamavah, First Wife of Abban, son of Chabin, of the line of Haman of Kaji.’ Arlen looked up sharply at that, and she met his eyes. ‘My husband was always a true friend to the Par’chin.’

Arlen looked at her a moment, then smiled and nodded. ‘It is good to see you again, First Wife of Abban. I hope your sister-wives and daughters are well.’

Shamavah bowed. ‘And to you, son of Jeph. It is my fondest wish that you and your honoured family have prospered in these years.’ She turned back to Renna. ‘If you will allow me to facilitate, it would be my great honour to assist the Jiwah Ka of the Par’chin on this sacred night.’

Renna blinked, then nodded, stuttering, ‘A-ay.’

Shamavah bowed again, producing a small writing board, paper, and a pen. When the next woman presented her gift to Renna, Shamavah recorded her name and the gift, then instructed her to lay it on the tables that the folk were putting together and covering in white cloth.

‘I can set guards on the tables if you wish,’ Shamavah said when she caught Renna looking.

‘No need,’ Arlen said. ‘Ent no one gonna steal anything here.’

Shamavah nodded. ‘As you wish.’

It went on for some time, and Renna felt herself slowly unclenching as the Krasian woman handled everything with smooth efficiency. Whoever this Shamavah wife of whatever was, she was a lifesaver.

There was a shout, and a group of Wooden Soldiers broke through the crowd, their lacquered armour and polished shields shining as they pushed the revellers back. Renna felt Arlen tense a moment, and even Shamavah stiffened. But then the soldiers split, opening a path for Count Thamos, looking as dashing in silk and velvet as he did in his armour. His heavy medallion of office hung at his chest, and he wore a golden circlet of ivy in his hair, a mind ward moulded at its centre.

The count walked right up to Renna, dropping smoothly into a court bow that had one knee hovering barely an inch off the cobbles.

‘Congratulations to you on your wedding night.’ He kissed her hand. ‘Please accept this small token from the people of Hollow County.’ He waved behind him, and Arther ran forward, looking a bit breathless. He, too, wore finery, but it seemed more hastily thrown on. He held out a box of black velvet that the count took, opening it as he turned, still bowing, to present it to Renna.

There, on a bed of silk, was a necklace of delicate gold, at its centre a cluster of gemstones surrounding an emerald the size of a dog’s eye. Renna was still getting used to the idea of money – something they had little use for in Tibbet’s Brook – but she knew a fortune when she saw it.

She reached out, brushing the sharply cut stones with her fingertips. ‘It’s beautiful.’

Arther came smoothly forward once more, taking the box as Thamos lifted the necklace high for all to see. ‘It will look more beautiful still about your throat,’ he said loudly.

It was an incredible gift, worth more by far than all the others, but something about it rang false. The Hollowers were giving the most personal things they had. Thamos, his fingers bedecked with gem-studded rings, was just giving her money. Did he really care she was married, or was this just politics?

With the pad of her thumb, Renna rubbed at the woven band about her finger. The necklace was indeed beautiful, but she had all the jewellery she would ever need.

She smiled, raising her voice to match the count’s. ‘Thank you, Your Highness. I would be honoured to wear it tonight, but I cannot accept such a gift while folk still go hungry in Hollow County.’

Shamavah hissed, and there was a slight twitch at the corners of Thamos’ smile, but he recovered smoothly, bowing again as he fastened it about her throat. ‘It is yours to do with as you please, Mrs Bales. Sell it on the morrow, and you will fill many an empty belly.’

Renna smiled and nodded, and the crowd cheered again. Arlen took her hand, squeezing. She could feel his love in that simple gesture.

Leesha looked up as Wonda came to the door, knocking at the same time she opened it as was her habit. She and Rojer were back at the table, having spent the better part of an hour staring at their cups, lost in thought.

‘Sorry to disturb, Mistress Leesha,’ Wonda said, ‘but there’s a commotion down in town. Dunno what’s goin’ on, but you can hear it all the way out here, so I doubt it’s good.’

Leesha set down her cup and reached for the half-warded cloak she had been making to replace the one she had given Ahmann. The ever-present headache, faded for a moment, flared back to life. ‘Creator, is a quiet night too much to ask?’

Rojer was out of his chair in an instant, grabbing his cloak and fiddle case. ‘Amanvah and Sikvah are down there’ was all he said, going for the door.

‘Rojer, wait!’ Leesha cried, but he was already gone, running like all the Core was at his heels.

Wonda watched him go and sighed. ‘Hope those Krasian girls know what they’ve got. Give anything for a man to feel like that about me.’

Leesha put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Magic’s put you in body of a woman, Wonda, and I know you’ve been with boys in the … heat that follows a demon hunt, but you’re only sixteen. There’s time still to figure out men and try a few on for size. And you don’t need a man to run and save you like most girls.’

Wonda nodded. ‘Ay, think that’s the problem.’ She waved a hand over her scarred face. ‘That and this. I’m good for a sticking, ay, but no one’s looking to bring me to the solstice dance.’

‘If any man looks at you and only sees the scars, he doesn’t deserve you,’ Leesha said.

‘Might be better off stuffing a sock in my trousers and chasing girls than waiting for one who does,’ Wonda said as they started out along the path to town.

‘Nonsense,’ Leesha said. ‘You keep your head held high, and they’ll be fighting over you before long, Wonda Cutter. You mark me.’

They set a strong pace, but Leesha resisted the urge to break into a run. Years of keeping pace with Bruna’s slow shuffle had taught her patience. ‘If folk can’t live long enough for me to get to ’em, there isn’t much I could do anyway,’ her teacher used to say. ‘No good to anyone if I fall and break my hip.’

There was a large rock beside the path about halfway to town, and a silhouette stood atop it, barely visible in the wardlight. Wonda trained her bow on it as they approached, but as they drew nearer they saw it was only Rojer, listening intently.

‘Whatever it is, it ent trouble,’ Rojer said, hopping down beside them. ‘Sounds like a party.’ His relief was visible, but – never one to miss a party – he pressed for them to quicken the pace even more.