inhaled his lovely scent, trying to clear her head of the stench of gunpowder. Christopher murmured something and chuckled softly in his sleep. Wynter took his hand. The ragged ends of his woollen bracelet tickled her wrist. His slim body was warm against hers, a warm strength and a comfort to counteract the terrible chill of her dream.
Razi was asleep beside them, stretched out long and motionless, flat on his back. She watched carefully for the rise and fall of his chest – making sure that he was still alive. Gradually the horror of the dream began to fade.
The warhound growled softly again, his chain clinking. The hounds were tethered just outside the tents, dauntless guardians in the dark. Wynter shifted her head, trying to see them, but they were nothing but grey shades at the dim hollow of the door. Outside, the first robin trilled in anticipation of the day. He was a touch premature, as the sky had hardly begun to grey and the camp was lifeless and still.
Razi sighed. He dropped his arm from across his face and Wynter saw his eyes flash in the gloom. He was awake, staring at the ceiling.
‘Wyn?’ he whispered.
‘Aye.’
‘He plans making some of Lorcan’s machines and gifting them to the Midland Reformists.’
Wynter shot to her elbows. Damn it, the brothers had stayed up talking! She had assumed they would go directly to bed, but they must have continued their conversation long after she had stumbled off. She shook her head in grim frustration and cursed herself for having missed out.
‘Midlanders!’ she whispered. ‘The occupants of the blue tent, I assume?’
‘Aye,’ breathed Razi, looking up at her. ‘In return for your father’s weapons, the Midlanders have promised to keep Tamarand off Marguerite’s back. While she is usurping her father’s throne, they will use the machines against Tamarand, their own King. They hope to pummel him into signing the Reformer’s Charter of Rights and so bring an end to his terrible inquisitions.’
Wynter thought about that for a moment. She had to admit, it was quite a good plan. With Tamarand distracted by internal conflict, he would be unlikely to leap to Shirken’s aid. It was possible that Marguerite could have her father dethroned and herself crowned before anything could be done about it.
‘You know, if they carry this off, it is quite possible that the Midland Reformists will succeed in ending Tamarand’s tyranny. My father suspected that the reform had much secret support within Tamarand’s court. His people are long weary of his madness.’
Razi sighed and she barely made out the tired shake of his head in the darkness. He did not approve this toppling of yet another royal house.
‘There are Combermen here too, Razi. What of them?’
‘They are Comberman liberals, sympathisers to the Midland Reform. They come to pledge their support. Should the Midland Reform succeed, the Combermen have assured the reformists that there will be no reprisals from them.’
‘Have they the power to make such a promise? The Comberman Sect is terribly strong in Comber’s ruling classes; I find it unlikely that any liberal faction would have much foundation for . . .’ A cold possibility occurred to her and she faltered in shock. ‘Oh, Razi, is Alberon offering them a machine, too?’
Razi’s silence told her that he suspected so.
Wynter did not like the vista this unfolded. Those mighty weapons, kept firmly in Southlander control, would be a terrific boon for Jonathon’s frail little kingdom. But proliferated willy-nilly among the surrounding factions? It took all the advantages of sole possession from the Southlanders and put the kingdom right back into a position of inferior strength.
Razi shifted quietly beside her. ‘Wyn? Can you imagine those machines in the hands of the Comberman Sect or, God forbid, if Tamarand himself got his hands on one? And worse, can you imagine Marguerite Shirken and what she might do with them?’
‘I am sure Alberon must have considered this,’ she whispered. ‘Why do we not—’ Behind her, Christopher groaned and rolled onto his back. ‘Good Frith,’ he sighed. ‘What are you two yelling on about at this hour of the night?’
Wynter smiled down at him. He was barely awake. ‘Albi is convinced that King Shirken has lost his reason,’ she whispered.
‘Wouldn’t be surprised,’ mumbled Christopher sleepily. ‘The old bastard has always been cracked in his brainpan.’
‘Marguerite plans to overthrow her father,’ she whispered. ‘Albi plans to support her. He thinks she will be a stabilising force in the North.’
Christopher lost his drowsy loose-limbed torpor and lay