Sinter softly grunted and she turned to see a figure approaching from the camp. Swaying hips, and everywhere a whole lot of what men liked. A Dal Honese for sure, which was why Sinter had invited her in the first place. But since when did three Dal Honese women agree about anything?

Madness. Sinter, this won’t work. You remember the histories. It’s us women who start most of the wars. Snaring the wrong men, using them up, humiliating them. Throwing one against another. Whispering blood vengeance beneath the furs at night. A sly comment here, a look there. We’ve been in charge a long time, us women of Dal Hon, and we’re nothing but trouble.

Masan Gilani was from a savannah tribe. She was tall, making her curvaceous form all the more intimidating. She had the look of a woman who was too much for any man, and should a man get her he’d spend his whole life convinced he could never hold on to her. She was a monster of sensuality, and if she’d stayed in her tribe the whole north half of Dal Hon would be in the midst of a decades-long civil war by now. Every Dal Honese god and mud spirit tossed in on this one, didn’t they? She’s got pieces of them all.

And here I thought I was dangerous.

‘Sinter,’ she said under her breath, ‘you have lost your mind.’

Her sister heard her. ‘This one is far on the inside, Kiss, way farther in than anyone we know.’

‘What of it?’

Sinter did not reply. Masan Gilani had drawn too close for any exchange now, no matter how muted.

Her elongated eyes flitted between the sisters, curious, and then amused.

Bitch. I hate her already.

‘Southerners,’ she said. ‘I’ve always liked southerners. Your sweat smells of the jungle. And you’re never as gangly and awkward as us northerners. Did you know, I have to special-order all my armour and clothes-I’m no standard fit anywhere, except maybe among the Fenn and that’s no good because they’re extinct.’

Kisswhere snorted. ‘You ain’t that big,’ and then she looked away, as she realized how petty that sounded.

But Gilani’s smile had simply broadened. ‘The only real problem with you southerners is that you’re barely passable on horseback. I’d not count on you to ride hard as me, ever. So it’s a good thing you’re marines. Me, I could be either and to be honest, I’d have jumped over to the scouts long ago-’

‘So why didn’t you?’ Kisswhere asked.

She shrugged. ‘Scouting’s boring. Besides, I’m not interested in always being the one delivering bad news.’

‘Expecting bad news?’

‘Always.’ And her teeth gleamed.

Kisswhere turned away. She was done with this conversation. Sinter was welcome to it.

‘So,’ Masan Gilani said after a moment, ‘Sergeant Sinter. Rumour has it you’re a natural, a talent. Tell me if that’s true or not, since it’s the only thing that brought me out here-the chance that you are, I mean. If you’re not, then this meeting is over.’

‘Listen to her!’ Kisswhere sneered. ‘The Empress commands!’

Masan blinked. ‘You still here? Thought you went to pick flowers.’

Kisswhere reached for her knife but Sinter’s hand snapped out and closed on her wrist. Hissing, Kisswhere yielded, but her eyes remained fixed on Gilani’s.

‘Oh, it’s all so amusing to you, isn’t it?’

‘Kisswhere, yes? That’s your name? I’ll say this once. I don’t know what’s got the stoat in your breeches so riled, since as far as I know I ain’t never done anything to cross you. Leaves me no choice but to assume it’s just some kind of bizarre bigotry-what happened, lose a lover to a willowy northerner? Well, it wasn’t me. So, why not drop the hackles? Here, will this help?’ And she drew out a Dal Honese wineskin. ‘Not wild grape from our homeland, alas-’

‘It ain’t that rice piss from Lether, is it?’

‘No. It’s Bluerose-an Andiian brew, originally, or so the trader claimed.’ She shrugged and held out the skin. ‘It’s drinkable enough.’

Kisswhere accepted the skin. She knew overtures when they arrived, and she knew that Masan had given her a way through without too much damage to her pride, so it’d be stupid not to take that path. She tugged loose the gum stopper and took a mouthful. Swallowed and then gasped. ‘That’ll do,’ she said in a suddenly husky voice.

Sinter finally spoke: ‘Everyone’s claws retracted? Good. Masan, you want to know if I’m a talent. Well, not in the way of Dal Honese witches. But I’ve got something, I suppose.’

‘All right. So what’s that “something” telling you?’

Sinter hesitated, and then reached out to intercept the wineskin. She took two deep draughts. ‘Aye, you’re a northerner and we’re not, but we’re all still Dal Honese. So we understand each other, and when I say I’m going to give you something I don’t need to add that I expect something back.’

Masan Gilani laughed, but it was not a mocking laugh. Not quite. ‘You just did.’

‘You been a soldier longer than us,’ Sinter countered, ‘so I was just reminding you of the ways you’ve maybe forgotten, or at least not used in a while.’

‘Go on, then.’

‘I get senses of things about to happen, or maybe could happen-if we don’t do something to make sure they don’t.’

‘You’re a seer.’

But Sinter shook her head. ‘Not so clear as that.’

‘What is about to happen to us, Sergeant?’

‘We’re about to be abandoned.’

Kisswhere joined Masan Gilani in regarding Sinter with alarm. What was all this? ‘Sister,’ she said, ‘what does that mean? Abandoned? By who? Do you mean just us? Or the Bonehunters?’

‘Yes,’ answered Sinter. ‘Bonehunters. All of us, the Adjunct included.’

Masan Gilani was frowning. ‘You’re talking about the Burned Tears? The Perish? Or the Letherii escort?’

‘I’m not sure. Maybe all of them.’

‘So wherever we end up,’ Masan said slowly, ‘we’ll be fighting on our own. No one guarding our backs, no one on our flanks. Like that?’

‘I think so.’

Masan rubbed at her neck. When Kisswhere offered her the skin she shook her head. ‘Hard to know, Sinter, how much shit should be freezing with that, since nobody has a clue about who we’ll be fighting. What if it’s some noseplug savages cowering behind a bamboo palisade throwing rocks at us? We’d hardly need help knocking on that door, would we?’

‘But you know we’re not heading for anything so easy,’ Sinter said.

Masan’s lovely eyes narrowed. ‘This is what you want back from me? You think I’ve got my ear against the Adjunct’s tent?’

‘I know you know more than we do.’

‘And if I do? What difference would it make to you?’

Kisswhere’s breath caught as she saw her sister’s hands clench into fists at her sides. ‘I need a reason, Masan Gilani. I need to know it’s all worth it.’

‘And you think what little I know can give you that? You must be desperate-’

‘Yes! I am!’

‘Why?’

Sinter’s mouth shut, her jaw setting.

Masan Gilani looked over at Kisswhere, as if to ask: What’s her problem here? What’s so hard to say?

But Kisswhere had no answers. Well, not satisfying ones. ‘My sister,’ she said, ‘is a very loyal person. But she holds that loyalty in highest regard. She’ll give it, I mean-’

‘But,’ cut in Masan Gilani, ‘whatever or whoever she’s giving it to had better be worthy of it. Right. I think I’m beginning to understand this. Only, Kisswhere, you should look to your own feelings about that.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, you sounded pretty bitter right there. As if loyalty is a curse and not one you want any part of. I’d wager your sister dragged you here as much to convince you of something as to convince me. Sinter, would that be a good guess?’

‘That’s between me and her,’ Sinter replied.

Kisswhere glared at her sister.

‘All right,’ said Masan Gilani, ‘I’ll give you what little I know. What Ebron and Bottle and Deadsmell and Widdershins have put together. Maybe it’ll help, maybe it won’t. That’s for you to decide. Here’s what we think.’ She paused, reached for the skin.