Normally Astrid’s a good lookout; but that’s out in the outdoors, where she’s watching for quarry or movement in the woods, listening to the wind rustling through the trees, the crack of a twig, a sudden silence in the animals. Here, amongst winding Nevarran stone streets without malleable dirt beneath her boots, with only two dull arguing noblemen to keep an eye on, she’s bored and less vigilant. Good thing Teren’s keeping an eye out.

“Badly,” she says, cheerful. “Mum always found him afterwards and kicked his arse for it.”