Cosca sat on his field chair, in the only part of the gardens that was still anything like intact, and watched his goat grazing on the wet grass. There was something oddly calming about her gradual, steady progress across the last remaining bit of lawn. The wriggling of her lips, the delicate nibbling of her teeth, the tiny movements that by patient repetition would soon shave that lawn down to stubble. He stuck a fingertip in his ear and waggled it around, trying to clear the faint ringing that still lurked at the edge of his hearing. It persisted. He sighed, raised his flask, heard footsteps crunching on gravel and stopped. Monza was walking towards him. She looked beyond tired, shoulders hunched, mouth twisted, eyes buried in dark pits.
“Why the hell do you have a goat?”
Cosca took a slow swig from his flask, grimaced and took another. “Noble beast, the goat. She reminds me, in your absence, to be tenacious, single-minded and hard-working. You have to stick at something in your life, Monzcarro.” The goat looked up, and bleated in apparent agreement. “I hope you won’t take offence if I say you look tired.”
“Long night,” she muttered, and Cosca judged it to be a tremendous understatement.
“I’m sure.”
“The Osprians pulled out of Talins. There was a riot. Panic.”
“Inevitable.”
“Someone spread a rumour that the Union fleet was on its way.”
“Rumours can do more damage than the ships themselves.”
“The crown was poisoned,” she muttered.
“The leaders of Styria, consumed by their own lust for power. There’s a message in there, wouldn’t you say? Murder and metaphor combined. The poisoner-poet responsible has managed to kill a chancellor, a duke, a countess, a first citizen and a king, and teach the world an invaluable lesson about life all in one evening. Your friend and mine, Morveer?”
She spat. “Maybe.”
“I never thought that pedantic bastard had such a sense of humour.”
“Forgive me if I don’t laugh.”
“Why did he spare you?”
“He didn’t.” Monza held up her gloved right hand. “My glove did.”
Cosca could not help a snort of laughter. “Just think, one could say that by crushing your right hand, Duke Orso and his cohorts saved your life! The ironies pile one upon the other!”
“I might wait for a more settled moment to enjoy them.”
“Oh, I’d enjoy them now. I’ve wasted years waiting for more settled moments. In my experience they never come. Only look around you. The Affoians almost all deserted before daybreak. The Sipanese are already splitting into factions, falling back south-to fight each other, would be my guess. The army of Puranti were so keen to get their civil war under way they actually started killing each other in the trenches. Victus had to break it up! Victus, stopping a fight, can you imagine? Some of the Osprians are still here, but only because they haven’t a clue what else to do. The lot of them, running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Which I suppose they are. You know, I’m eternally amazed at just how quickly things can fall apart. Styria was united for perhaps the length of a minute and now is plunged into deeper chaos than ever. Who knows who’ll seize power, and where, and how much? It seems an end may have been called to the Years of Blood…” and Cosca stuck his chin out and gave his neck a scratch, “somewhat prematurely.”
Monza’s shoulders seemed to slump a little lower. “The ideal situation for a mercenary, no?”
“You’d have thought. But there’s such a thing as too much chaos, even for a man like me. I swear, the Thousand Swords are the most coherent and orderly body of troops left up here. Which should give you some idea of the utter disorder that has struck your allies.” He stretched his legs out in front of him, one boot crossed over the other. “I thought I might take the brigade down towards Visserine, and press my claims there. I very much doubt Rogont will be honouring our agreement now-”
“Stay,” she said, and fixed her eyes on his.
“Stay?”
“Stay.”
There was a long pause while they watched each other. “You’ve no right to ask me that.”
“But I am asking. Help me.”
“Help… you? It’s coming to something when I’m anyone’s best hope. What of your loyal subjects, the good people of Talins? Is there no help to be had there?”
“They aren’t as keen for a battle as they were for a parade. They won’t lift a finger in case they get Orso back in charge and he hangs every man of them.”
“The fickle movements of power, eh? You’ve raised no soldiers while you had the throne? That hardly seems your style.”
“I raised what I could, but I can’t trust them here. Not against Orso. Who knows which way they’ll jump?”
“Ah, divided loyalties. I have some experience with them. An unpredictable scenario.” Cosca stuck his finger in his other ear, to no greater effect. “Have you considered the possibility of… perhaps… leaving it be?”
She looked at him as if he was speaking in a foreign tongue. “What?”
“I myself have left a thousand tasks unfinished, unstarted or outright failed across the whole breadth of the Circle of the World. In the end, they bother me considerably less than my successes.”
“I’m not you.”
“No doubt a cause of constant regret for us both. But still. You could forget about revenge. You could compromise. You could… be merciful.”
“Mercy and cowardice are the same,” she growled, narrow eyes fixed on the black gate at the far end of the blasted gardens.
Cosca gave a sad smile. “Are they indeed?”
“Conscience is an excuse not to do what needs doing.”
“I see.”
“No use weeping about it. That’s how the world is.”
“Ah.”
“The good get nothing extra. When they die they turn to shit like the rest of us. You have to keep your eyes ahead, always ahead, fight one battle at a time. You can’t hesitate, no matter the costs, no matter the-”
“Do you know why I always loved you, Monza?”
“Eh?” Her eyes flickered to him, surprised.
“Even after you betrayed me? More, after you betrayed me?” Cosca leaned slowly towards her. “Because I know you don’t really believe any of that rubbish. Those are the lies you tell yourself so you can live with what you’ve done. What you’ve had to do.”
There was a long pause. Then she swallowed as though she was about to puke. “You always said I had a devil in me.”
“Did I? Well, so do we all.” He waved a hand. “You’re no saint, that much we know. A child of a bloody time. But you’re nothing like as dark as you make out.”
“No?”
“I pretend to care for the men, but in truth I don’t give a damn whether they live or die. You always did care, but you pretend not to give a damn. I never saw you waste one man’s life. And yet they like me better. Hah. There’s justice. You always did the right thing by me, Monza. Even when you betrayed me, it was better than I deserved. I’ve never forgotten that time in Muris, after the siege, when you wouldn’t let the slavers have those children. Everyone wanted to take the money. I did. Faithful did. Even Benna. Especially Benna. But not you.”
“Only gave you a scratch,” she muttered.
“Don’t be modest, you were ready to kill me. These are ruthless times we live in, and in ruthless times, mercy and cowardice are entire opposites. We all turn to shit when we die, Monza, but not all of us are shit while we’re alive. Most of us are.” His eyes rolled to heaven. “God knows I am. But you never were.”
She blinked at him for a moment. “Will you help me?”
Cosca raised his flask again, realised it was empty and screwed the cap back on. The damn thing needed filling far too often. “Of course I’ll help you. There was never the slightest question in my mind. I have already
