Zhira followed her gaze. Another small group of guards had arrived. One whose dark hair was damp with melted snow had bands of white linen around the biceps of his navy jerkin. He had a flat face and defined jaw. All the guards in the room had quietened at his entrance. The music sounded ominous as Etna’s children played on despite the falling hush.
The guardsman was double his width and he stood over a head taller than Rhyode. The barman had greeted him, and the pair spoke in hush frantic tones as they stood toe to toe. But as the uneasy hush broke over the crowd like a wave, their conversation blasted suddenly across the room.
‘I owe no more, Harik!’ Etna’s husband had turned red in the face. He glanced furtively at the silent room. The flute and fiddle had been lowered. All eyes were
