Amanvah watched the Cutters muster and head off into the night, and she sighed, taking Rojer’s arm.

‘Father is right,’ she said. ‘Your people are not so different from ours.’

Wonda had done as Leesha asked, bringing her a small bottle of amber liquid. Leesha was not used to strong drink and had no idea what it was, but it burned her throat and warmed her limbs like the couzi Abban had given her, and soon she was in a comfortable fog, taking joy in the excited faces of children and adults alike in her displays of flamework.

But when they paraded Arlen and his new bride around the whole ripping graveyard three times before taking them to the wedding pavilion, it almost seemed like her children were mocking her. They all knew she shined on Arlen Bales. It had been the talk of the town.

Just like it had been with Marick. And Gared. It seemed no matter what she did, her love life was always the subject of whispers at her back.

The Hollowers’ raucous laughter cut at her. Did they delight in humiliating her so? Had she truly become her mother?

Again she saw Elona with Gared in her mind’s eye. But then Gared vanished and it was Arlen, whose bare warded flesh she had spent so many hours studying, holding her mother aloft with little more than his cock. Elona looked at Leesha and laughed, continuing to grind her hips and bounce atop him. Then her mother was replaced with Renna Tanner, shrieking with delight as Arlen thrust into her.

She could swear she heard the sound of them coupling in the wedding pavilion, even over the roar of the crowd. She set off festival crackers, but it did no good. She pulled a large rocket from her dwindling supply of flamework and set its stick base between a pair of loose cobbles, hoping the boom would put a ringing in her ears for the next few hours.

But she had trouble getting the rocket to stand straight, and when she struck the match, she burned her fingers and dropped it with a yelp, sucking them as tears ran down her face.

‘Night, look at you, you’re piss drunk,’ a voice said, and Leesha turned to see Darsy looming over her.

‘Give me those,’ Darsy said, snatching the matches from Leesha’s hand. ‘They call me woodbrained, but even I know drink and flamework don’t mix. Are you trying to lose a few fingers? Set a house on fire? Kill someone?’

‘Don’t you lecture me, Darsy Cutter,’ Leesha snapped. ‘I am Gatherer of the Hollow, not you.’

‘Then act like it,’ another voice said, and Leesha saw Elona come to stand beside Darsy. The last person in the world she wanted to see. ‘What would Bruna say if she saw you like this?’

We guard the secrets of fire for a reason, Bruna said. Men cannot be trusted to respect such power.

Suddenly Leesha felt horribly ashamed. Bruna would have spat at her feet right now, or struck her with her stick for the first time.

And Leesha knew she deserved it. The idea of letting down her mentor so was too much, and she shook, beginning to weep.

Darsy caught her and held her close, hiding the moment of weakness from the crowd. ‘S’all right, Leesha,’ she whispered. ‘We all have our moments. You go on with your mum. I’ll handle the flamework.’

Leesha sniffed and nodded, wiping her eyes and standing up straight as they broke apart. She walked slowly over to her mother, trying hard not to stumble on the uneven cobbles. When Elona offered her arm, Leesha took it with dignity. Only her mother knew how heavily she leaned on it.

‘Just a bit farther and you can rest,’ Elona said. They moved over to one of the many benches that surrounded the cobbles, and the goodwives there quickly rose, dipping quick curtsies as they yielded the seat.

‘All right,’ Elona said. ‘How much have you had?’

Leesha shrugged. She fumbled in her apron, pulling out the bottle Wonda had given her and handing it to her mother. Elona held it to the light, then pulled the cork and sniffed at it. She snorted and took a pull. ‘I’d be starting to feel a tingle myself if I drank that much, so I’d wager you must be ready to slosh up everything you’ve eaten since the morning purge.’

Leesha shook her head. ‘Just need a minute to catch my breath.’

‘Well you’re not going to get it,’ Elona said, straightening and giving the laces of her dress a subtle tug to lower her neckline the way she did any time a man entered the room. ‘Eyes in front. Don’t slosh.’

Leesha looked up, seeing Count Thamos approaching, looking splendid in his fine clothes and jewels. A few Wooden Soldiers shadowed his steps, but the count seemed not to notice them, his handsome smile relaxed and easy. He made a leg in that smug way Royals had, bowing when their station did not demand it.

‘A pleasure to see you again, mistress,’ he said, and turned to Elona. ‘Surely I would have heard if you had a sister, so this beautiful woman must be your mother, infamous Mrs Paper.’

Leesha rolled her eyes. She had at least expected the prince to be more original. If she had a klat for every time a man used that line to ingratiate himself with Elona, she’d be richer than Duke Rhinebeck.

Elona’s response was likewise identical each time, tittering like she had never heard such cleverness while looking down and blushing fetchingly. Leesha doubted anything could truly make Elona blush, but her mother could do it on command.

Elona offered her hand for the count to kiss. ‘I’m afraid the stories are all true, Your Highness.’

That’s honest word, Leesha thought, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

Thamos’ smile was positively predatory, like the wolfish grin of Messenger Marick. Leesha could not stand the thought of Thamos looking at her mother like that. Not when she was right here. Not tonight. She put a smile on her face and gave her own dress laces a tug.

‘Enjoying the festivities, Highness?’ she asked, pulling his eyes back to her and holding his gaze as best she could. His eyes kept dipping lower and then flicking back, but like Elona, she pretended not to notice.

‘I’ve never been to a wedding in the hamlets,’ Thamos said, ‘and I see now what a loss that is. This makes court balls seem dreary by comparison.’

‘Oh, you flatter,’ Leesha said. ‘How can Hollow women in their homespun dresses compare to painted courtesans in silk and gold?’

Thamos’ eyes flicked downward again, and Leesha felt her smile widen. ‘Courtesans care more for themselves than anyone else.’ He smiled and held out a hand as the Jongleurs struck up another dance. ‘They may tumble, but they never reel.’

The next few hours were a blur as Leesha danced and laughed with the handsome count. He shared her with the other dancers grudgingly, always keeping close, and his kisses in the carriage as he drove her home were warm and full of passion. His member was stiff and hard in his breeches, and she pressed close, grinding into it with her hips and thighs. She felt herself growing wetter by the moment, and was considering the mechanics of taking him right there in the carriage when they pulled up to her cottage and the coachman hopped down to set the steps and open the door.

Thamos stepped down first, giving Leesha his hand to lean on as she wobbled unsteadily to the ground.

‘Head back to the revel,’ Thamos said to the coachman. ‘I’ll walk back.’

‘Highness,’ the coachman said. ‘It is night and these woods are full of Krasians …’