She waited for her chance, and dropped down into the open window. Marid was asleep in a four-poster bed covered in white mosquito netting. The only sound came from large fans beating slowly and water dribbling from a bamboo channel built into the top of the wall. The water dropped down into a tumbler that tipped over as it filled with water, then righted itself to be filled again. This machine was attached to the fans, giving Marid an endless cool breeze. Simple and clever.

She snuck over to peer through the netting. This was Marid? He was barely more than a child. Hope chafed at taking orders from a common wizard, but Brunhilde was being ordered around by a child. A side table by his bed held his rings, gold and silver with fine cut gemstones. She gathered them up silently and made her way out.

Meanwhile, Brunhilde took a wander through the city before returning to their temporary home. She didn’t fancy seeing Hope again soon, a walk would help her cool her temper.

Flowers were everywhere, wrapped in fat wreaths above doorways, on the brows of market-sellers. Fallen petals scurried across the streets in the breeze. Anticipation was in the air, for the festival was only beginning. Laughter and songs sounded from open doorways and streets.

She came to the central piazza, dominated by a great cathedral. It was a huge battleship of a building, built from white marble blocks. Its square towers bristled with spires and carvings of people and creatures that Brunhilde had no knowledge of. She wondered at the number of stories that must be carved into it, and hidden inside its vaults.

Stone steps led up to the great doorway, where worshippers slowly came in and out. Great figures stood around the steeples staring down into the square, she counted twelve of them. In the central spire there shone a great bronze casing, like a great pumpkin.

At the foot of the stairs, guards appeared before her. She had mistaken them for worshippers, they were dressed in silk trousers and doublets like nobles, with colours of one house or another. But long stilettos sat snugly in their belts and their chests puffed out.

“Are you in service to a Family?” one said. He was young, his curly black hair was finely waxed and even with his weapon he would not have looked out of place at a ball.

“No.”

“The cathedral is only for the Families and their vassals,” the other said. He waved his hand for her to move away.

She could push past them, but saw another young man perched at the top of the stairs, a longsword resting across one knee. No doubt there were more servants of the Families in the crowd, armed and ready to enforce their rules.

“I’m no vassal, I wander freely.”

The two men tensed.

“But today, I’ll wander elsewhere.” She was curious, but she’d had enough fighting for the day. She made her way back out of the square.

“You wanted to see the Cathedral?” The voice was an old man was sitting on a doorstep, peeling an apple with a small but sharp knife. His hands worked the fruit like a craftsman, the peel came away in one long loop. His tongue licked his cragged lips and lonely tooth.

“What’s that on top?” She pointed to the central spire.

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“The Godbloom. It blooms during summer, twelve petals, one for each Family. It’s the source of our fortune.” His eyes became misty as he stared up at it. His face was protective and respectful like a youth watching over a sleeping grandmother. “Ah if you stay here and join a Family, you can go into the cathedral and pray, feel its protection.” He carved a slice from his apple and proffered it to her. She took it and felt his hands for a brief moment. Strong like wood and rough like leather, hands that had worked a lifetime.

“My thanks.” She popped the slice into her mouth, it was perfectly crunchy and tart. “But I think my destiny is elsewhere. I have family I will return to one day.”

He looked at her closely, arms muscled and scarred, red hair tied tight into two braids. “You’ve travelled a long way to come here?”

“Yes.” She sat and told him stories of her travels, and listened to his tales of growing up in Elova.

In the evening, Alexander’s kitchen was rosy and warm, there was stew on the stove. Alexander ladled generous helpings out to his son and daughter.

“My friends,” Brunhilde loud voice boomed through the tiny room. She ducked through the doorway. “I spoke to Jeppe, a man who fathered six children and once saved the life of a pregnant donkey. Hands weathered like the hull of ship but careful enough to peel an apple in one go. He had many fines stories, remember his name.” She accepted a bowl of stew from Alexander. “My thanks.”

“Did you fight anybody today?” Yusuf said. He was eager for tales of adventure and combat.

“Yes.” Hope appeared from the stairs; she had snuck in through the open skylight. “I won.” She slid into her seat and grabbed Brunhilde’s bowl.

Brunhilde pulled her meal back firmly. “We fought to a draw.” She dipped bread in her stew and sucked the meaty broth out of it before chewing it to savour the taste. Alexander’s cooking made the thought of her wounds fall away. “Mmm, is this beef?”

“Yes, I found some nice cuts in the market.” Alexander placed a bowl down in front of Hope.

Hope took the bowl and blew on it to cool it. “I would have won if we weren’t pretending.”

“Don’t you think it’s dangerous to get involved like this? Why not take up a courier’s job, or maybe even unloading cargo?” Alexander said. He sat down to join them for their meal. “You could work together.”

Yusuf and Miray ate and watched the back and forth between the adults.

“We have to decide our winner.” Brunhilde said. She grinned at Hope.

“I don’t carry messages around or haul cargo like a donkey. I’m a princess, I fight with my own wits and magic.” Hope took small sips from the stew. “And I stand up for myself when insulted.”

“Only wolves fight after a battle.” Brunhilde broke some bread off and gave it to Hope, who took it without looking.

Alexander rotated his bowl around, the dipped his spoon into it. He eyed Hope, who was sitting stiff and stern as she ate. She looked like she might erupt into a fight right here in his kitchen. “Eat your supper,” he chided Yusuf, who was staring at Hope.

“We owe you some coin. Mercenary work is the best way to make it,” Brunhilde said. She took half her payment in coin and pressed it into Alexander’s hands.

“Ah stop, please, please. You owe me nothing. We could have been killed by those bandits if you weren’t there. I’m happy to feed you.” He pushed the coin away, but Brunhilde was relentless. He gave in and accepted the money.

Brunhilde crushed a chunk of bread in her fist. “When I find that wagon driver, Malkor, I’ll finish wringing his neck. Abandoning us in a storm, taking all that treasure. I hope the gold sticks to his hands so he can never scratch his own-”

Alexander coughed loudly. “Children.”

Brunhilde noticed the children and finished her sentence “-arse.” She nodded respectfully to Alexander.

Alexander sighed. Princesses and barbarians, which were worse?

That night Hope and Brunhilde settled down without words. Hope had refused to join in with Brunhilde’s jokes during supper, and the barbarian had given up trying to lighten her mood. Brunhilde turned her broad back to Hope, and fell into sleep.

In the moonlight, Hope turned to look at Brunhilde. She was unsurprisingly fast asleep; her muscled side rose and fell as she snored. She reached out her hand, for a second it hovered over Brunhilde’s shoulder. Then she drew it back and wrapped herself up in her blanket.

A princess does not apologise to a barbarian. Was that her own thought, or her harsh programming? What could she do? She gnashed on her blanket in a silent scream.