Thamos stood with military precision, dipping into a tight bow. The sudden formality would have seemed cold, but his eyes never left hers, and he had a mischievous grin splitting his handsome bearded face. ‘Dinner, then. Tonight.’

Leesha smiled. ‘Your reputation as a hunter is not unwarranted, it seems.’

Thamos winked at her. ‘I’ll send my coachman at gloaming.’

It was nearly sunrise when the receiving line dwindled, and many of the Hollowers were still dancing. The Cutters and Sharum had returned infused with magical energy, leaving a pile of demon bones as tall as a man in the centre of the Corelings’ Graveyard and breathing new life into the celebration.

Arlen drew a deep breath and went to the Jongleur’s sound shell. He sprang lightly onstage without the need of steps, though the platform was six feet high. The performers ceased their playing and gave him the floor. The crowd cheered, and Arlen held his hand out to Renna. She, too, leapt onstage effortlessly, and he wrapped an arm around her.

‘Know it sounds crazy,’ Renna said, ‘but swear I can see the love these people have for you like a halo around ’em. Ent never seen anything so beautiful.’

‘For us,’ Arlen corrected, giving her a squeeze. ‘And ay, it’s like looking at the sunrise.’

‘Can’t last, can it?’ Renna said. ‘Not with what’s coming.’

Love you, Renna Tanner. Arlen shook his head. ‘Gonna be a bloody honeymoon.’

Renna leaned her head on his shoulder. ‘Glad we got to dance first.’

‘Ay,’ Arlen agreed, giving one last squeeze before letting go to raise his hands and pat the air. The crowd quieted, though it didn’t really matter. Arlen sketched a couple of sound wards in the air and his voice carried far and clear.

‘Want to thank everyone for this amazing night,’ Arlen called. ‘Me and Renna din’t tell anyone our plans, yet the Hollow threw us the best party any couple could hope for.’ There was a roar with that, people cheering and stamping their feet.

The sky was lightening now, stinging and burning Arlen’s skin. He was no stranger to pain at dawn, but now he knew how to pull the power away from the surface of his skin, shielding it from the light and preserving as much as he could hold.

Still, the sun burned the excess that clung to his wards, making them feel etched in flame. There had been a time – not so long ago – when he took the pain to mean he was being rejected by the sun. But now he understood the truth, and gloried in it.

Beside him, Renna gasped.

Pain teaches, Par’chin, Jardir had once told him, and so we give it freely. Pleasure teaches nothing, and so must be earned.

Arlen took her hand. ‘Pain’s the price of walking in the sun, Ren. Earn it.’ She nodded, breathing deeply. The warriors felt the sun’s effect as well, but with no wards on their flesh or ichor in their blood, the magic burned off them quickly. They paced a bit, scratching at their exposed flesh as if they had a rash. Sparks flew here and there as spots of demon ichor on their thick leathers ignited with flashes and pops. One Cutter who had been well doused in the stuff had his leathers actually catch fire. Arlen was about to go to him when the man picked up a half-empty cask of ale and dumped it over himself. Around him, folk jeered.

‘Next time, save the ale and we’ll just piss on you!’ one Cutter cried. Laughter.

‘Hollow’s been good to us,’ Arlen went on, ‘but now it’s time I was alone with my wife.’ Renna squeezed his hand at the word, and a thrill ran through him. ‘And time we were all back to our business. A night’s dancing did us a world of good, but new moon’s ten dawns away, and there’s work to be done. Demons are gonna be out in force, and Hollow County needs to be prepared to stomp them right back down to the Core where they belong.’

He pointed to the great mound of demon horns just as the sunlight struck it. The pile burst into a bonfire so bright it hurt to look at, and the Cutters roared, lifting their axes. Even the Sharum gave a shout, thrusting fists in the air.

With that sound, Arlen knew the demon princes were right to be afraid. But he had seen, too, what the Core could bring to bear. When he thought on it too much, it was he that feared.

Renna touched him. ‘You okay?’

Arlen placed his hand over hers. ‘Fine, Ren. I’m fine.’

‘Everything has been delivered,’ Shamavah said as she escorted them back to their rooms at Smitt’s tavern. She opened the door to show their marriage gifts placed neatly around their room. The roses had been cut properly and arranged in the ancient painted pot, the fresh food laid out in buffet. Other treasures were placed atop dressers and nightstands.

Arlen had lived in the Hollow more than a year now, getting to know the Cutters well as he trained them to defend themselves against demons. He knew how prized the possessions arrayed around the room were. But he had seen, too, the fierce pride in the auras of the givers. The sincere gratitude and love. The … faith.

It was the last that struck him the most. These people would do anything he asked of them, not out of worship, but out of trust. He had proven himself to them, fighting by their sides, and they honestly believed he would never let them down.

And I won’t, he silently promised. Demons take the Hollow at new moon, it’ll be because I died trying to stop them.

Shamavah went to the roses, holding up a string around the pot with a slip of paper attached. ‘Each is tagged with the name of the giver. I will consult with Ernal Paper and have the appropriate letters of appreciation drawn up for your signatures.’

Renna stiffened, and her scent changed. It was primitive compared with reading auras, but even in daylight, Arlen’s enhanced senses gave him a never-ending stream of information about everything around him. He could smell her fear like dung on a boot.

He felt a pang of sympathy, not needing to see an image to know the cause. Like most folk from Tibbet’s Brook, Renna couldn’t read or write.

Arlen turned from Shamavah, speaking so softly only Renna, her hearing as enhanced as his own, could hear. ‘Don’t worry, Ren. Teach you to write your name before then, and have you reading soon enough.’

Renna’s eyes flicked to him and she smiled, her scent giving off gratitude and love. ‘Oughta do somethin’ nice for Gared, too. For standing for us.’

‘Ay,’ Arlen said.

‘I would be honoured to select a gift for the baron,’ Shamavah said.

Arlen shook his head. ‘Got this one myself, thanks.’

Shamavah bowed. ‘The necklace the count gave you is very beautiful,’ she told Renna. ‘Are you certain you wish to part with it?’

Here it comes, Arlen thought.

Renna went to the mirror, admiring the necklace as she stroked the jewels with the tips of her fingers. Arlen could smell the pleasure it gave her, hear her quiet sigh.

It was a last caress. Renna nodded and removed the necklace. ‘Ent right to flaunt something like this when so many are wanting.’

‘Do not underestimate the inspiration people may draw from a leader bedecked in finery,’ Shamavah said. ‘But if that is truly your most generous wish, I would be happy to purchase it. I can pay you in coin or, if you prefer, food and livestock delivered directly to those in need.’