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The gardens out front, I was saddened to see, had been left untended in my absence. They were overtaken by brambles and weeds. Only a few scattered skeletons remained of my beloved hydrangeas, lilacs, and forsythias. Gruoch had never been fond of the gardens; she said they interfered with the atmosphere of the place. I’ll agree it was incongruous to have star jasmine flowers twining up into the spiked iron cages hanging from the battlements.

As we passed by the gardens’ remains, I wandered just far enough away from Yudit to let a single pansy grow before I hastened back.

“This is where I head to my paddock,” Sunbeam said when we neared the entrance gate. “I’m not welcome in the castle these days. Someone doesn’t like getting a reprimand from her older and wiser advisors.”

“Not even when it comes straight from the horse’s mouth?” Yudit asked.

Sunbeam looked pained. “Find me when you’re done talking with her. If you survive.”

“We will,” I said. “Come by the paddock, I mean. But also survive.” I hoped so, anyway.

“Oh, you’ll drop by, will you?” he muttered as he walked off. “A year and a half without writing me a letter, but now that you happen to be in the neighborhood, sure, let’s hang out.”

“You can’t open a letter! You have hooves!” I called after him, receiving no response.

The guards keeping watch glowered at us, but since we were with Lulach, they let us in without much fuss. Most likely, they didn’t recognize me or Yudit—personnel turnover at the castle was always high. Gruoch liked to recruit staff based on how big they were and how menacingly they could loom rather than going by petty considerations like reliability or skill at their jobs.

The interior of the castle is no prettier than the outside. The hallways we walked through were low-ceilinged tunnels of damply sweating stone, half-lit by irregularly placed sconces. Every once in a while, a wall would be pierced by a door made of iron or thick oak. I knew this part of the building well, and was very aware of what lay in wait behind each door. I listed them off to myself as we passed. The Rotating Saw Chamber. The Eyeball Piercing Salon. The Swarm of Rabid Skunks Laundry Room. The Stab in the Buttocks with a Giant Flaming Cactus Privy. You get the gist, I’m sure. The few servants we met scowled at us malevolently as they stomped through the halls bearing their burdens of slashed-up clothes and bloodstained linens. Well, red-paint-stained linens. There was never enough actual blood around to use. The paint was still wet; they must have freshened it up just this morning. That kind of attention to detail really adds to the overall ambiance.

When we came across Gruoch herself, she was in her study. Her ordinary study, no flaming arrows or starving weasels or suchlike. She had to keep some rooms safe or the staff turnover would be even higher, and hiring new ones that much more difficult. One of the squinty windows was behind her. Usually, you can see the whole of the town through it, all the way to the strait. That day, the only thing visible was the top of the fogbank; it covered everything beneath it like a heavy white duvet.

As we entered, Gruoch glanced up from whatever document she’d been reading. Her eyes immediately narrowed, more with calculation than surprise. Her expression remained calm, but I could see her fingers whiten as they pressed into the desk.

“Ah,” she said. “So this explains that wee accident with the key.” Lulach looked abashed.

Yudit inclined her head. “Hi, sis. Long time no see.”

“Hello, Yudit,” Gruoch replied. “And hello…whatever name ye’r going by these days.”

“Jules,” I said.

We studied each other. Gruoch should have looked very much like Yudit and me, or at least how we’d be in ten years’ time. Perhaps she had, at some point. But her skin was stretched tight across her bones, and her face was distorted by a permanent scowl. Her hair had gone prematurely gray. I’d always thought that whatever internal fire drove her must burn nonstop, consuming everything else as fuel in the process.

Or maybe she just didn’t eat enough. She wanted her cooks to look terrifying with a bloody cleaver in hand; it was a complete coincidence if they could put an edible meal together as well.

“So what brings the two of ye here?” Gruoch asked. “I assume it isnae for a social call.”

There wasn’t much point in beating around the bush. “Don’t send Lulach to the Red Empire,” I said. “Send us instead.”

She didn’t hesitate for a moment. “Nae chance.”

Chapter Eight

Homecoming Games

“Why let them take Lulach when we’re willing to go?” I asked. “You have to know he’s not suited for it. He’ll chop his own limbs off before he manages to stab an enemy.”

“I’m nae that clumsy!” Lulach protested. He crossed his arms resentfully and tried to lean against the doorframe, but misjudged the distance and ended up thumping his skull into the wall.

“You’re graceful at sea, sweetie,” Yudit said as he rubbed the back of his head, “but not so much on land.”

Gruoch sighed, and pushed aside the document in front of her. “First, and I cannae believe I hae to say it, they only take men in the Red Empire army.”

Yudit laughed. “We dressed as men for months when we went to Tailliz, and not a soul noticed.”

“So I heard. It was a popular tale for a while.” Gruoch’s hands balled into fists. “ ‘The Twelve Huntsmen’ and the daring adventures they had. Efter ye were stolen from me.”

“They won the bet, so we left with them.” Very willingly, I didn’t add. To get away from you. “You set the terms of the wager yourself.”