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themselves. It will set people talking.’
    â€˜What do I care for such talk? If I don’t go they’ll talk, too. They’ll say I didn’t love my father.’ Rose became aware Heath was watching them squabble. She felt small.
    â€˜I can accompany Rose,’ Heath said, slowly.
    Rose’s skin hummed. Wengest considered. Her imagination formed the journey a thousand times in a moment: flashes of caresses, kisses, embraces that crushed her ribs ...
    â€˜Wengest,’ Heath said, ‘when Æthlric dies, Bluebell will rule in his place. She would want her sisters about her.’
    A sour expression crossed Wengest’s face. Rose knew what he thought of women rulers. And yet, he was as afraid of Bluebell’s power as any of the kings in Thyrsland. She was capable of raising a passionately loyal army quickly and deploying it with devastating brilliance. And her ability on the battlefield was legendary: rumours circulated that the raiders spoke of dying by her sword — known as the Widowsmith — as the only honourable way to die at the hands of a Thyrslander.
    â€˜You are right, Heath,’ Wengest said. ‘It’s a politically important moment. I need you there to represent my interests. Rose can accompany you.’
    Rose was careful not to say anything at all, lest her desire be betrayed by her voice.
    Heath nodded. ‘I’ll speak to the stable hands and have two fresh horses for us to ride in the morning.’
    Rose took a deep breath. ‘Will you join us for a meal?’ she asked Heath.
    â€˜I ... I’ve been riding non-stop for two days,’ he said, glancing away.
    Her heart thudded uncertainly.
    â€˜Not a moment to sit and talk to your favourite uncle?’ Wengest said, slapping his shoulder.
    Heath smiled weakly. ‘Let me bathe. Perhaps it will restore me.’
    Rose watched him leave. The promise of his presence over dinner was a delicious thrill in her heart. Wengest slid his arm around her. ‘You should go to Nyll. Pray for your father’s soul.’
    Rose turned and caught him in her gaze. ‘My father does not believe in Nyll’s religion.’ Æthlric ruled through love, not fear. Æthlric was a leader who rode out into the battlefield to protect his people. Wengest sat at home and ate too much pork fat.
    Wengest shrugged. ‘Your hot tone suggests you take offence. I mean none. But you will go to evening-thought with Nyll tonight.’ He released her roughly and moved off, closing the doors behind him with a thud. Rose stood in the hall alone.

    The inside of the chapel was dim and smelled of mould. It was the last place Rose would have thought a soul could feel closer to the vast and powerful gods, and yet Nyll claimed all the trimartyrs built little chapels like this. And then they enforced daily, dreary observances like Æfenthenken. Every afternoon at dusk, Rose, Wengest and Rowan came to kneel on the bare floor of the chapel to contemplate the fate of their souls. Nyll, the head of the faith in Netelchester, knelt with them. He seemed to enjoy kneeling on the hard ground, as though the bruises on his knees provided the proof of his god that was everywhere else lacking. Maava was a lone male god who ruled without balance and with a rather cruel set of directives. Little wonder the faith wasn’t catching on.
    And yet, this was the decision Wengest had made for Netelchester three years ago. He had perceived the expedience of a religion that held kings as divine. The citizens of Netelchester became trimartyrs overnight, but in name only. While the people here in Folcenham knew what was expected of them, most of the people in the countryside had no idea they were to believe anything other than the common observances. Most in the small towns quietly and subtly continued as they always had.
    Rose glanced at Rowan. The trimartyrs also believed women were unfit to rule. Rowan would never be queen of