He did not bother with a response, but looked across to a divan.

‘You’ll have to drag me,’ she said, ‘so the reality will be plain, so plain you won’t be able to pretend this is anything but the rape it is.’

He looked disappointed. ‘Wrong again, Challice. You are going to walk over there and undress. You are going to the lie back and spread your legs. It should be easy now; you’ve done it often enough. Your lowborn lover is going to have to share you, I’m afraid. Before long, I expect you’ll not even be able to tell the dif-ference.’

How could he force her to do such things? She did not understand, although-without doubt-he did. Yes, Shardan Lim understood things far too well.

She walked to the divan.

She was still sore, achy, from the morning’s lovemaking. Before long, that ache would be deeper, more raw than it was now. Pain and pleasure, yes, entwined like lovers. She could feed them both again and again, for ever and again.

And so she would. Until the time came when she… awakened.

Crokus, never mind my husband. There is no point. I will tell you that the next time. I promise.

I promise.

Shardan Lim used her then, but in the end it was he who did not understand, after all. And when she thanked him afterwards, he seemed taken aback. As he hurried to dress and depart, she remained lying on the divan, amused at his con-fusion, at peace With the way of things now.

And she thought of her glass globe with its trapped moon, that gift of a youth long lost, and she smiled.

In a near tropical city, the dead are quickly dressed. A distraught Coll, half-mad with grief, arrived in a carriage. Meese came down from the room where she had sat with the body, and Coll sent one of his aides to crack open the family crypt.

There would be no delays permitted. Grief was transformed into fury when Coll discovered who had been responsible for Murillio’s death.

‘First blood drawn’s never enough for Vidikas. He likes killing-under any other circumstances he’d be on his way to the High Gallows. Damn these anti quated duelling laws. The time’s come to outlaw duels-I will address the Council-’

‘Such a thing will not pass,’ Kruppe said, shaking his head. ‘Coll knows this as well as does Kruppe.’

Coll stood like a man trapped, cornered. ‘Where’s Rallick?’ he asked in a growl.

Sighing, Kruppe poured the second to last goblet full and handed it to Coll. ‘He will be here soon, Kruppe believes. Such is this day, in no hurry to end, and will any of us sleep this night? Kruppe aleady dreads the impending solitude. Ah, here is Rallick.’

They watched as Irilta stumbled to the assassin, very nearly collapsing into Rallick’s arms. His expression of shock quickly darkened as she spoke, her voice muffled since her face was pressed against his shoulder-but not so muffled that he did not comprehend.

His gaze lifted, met Kruppe’s, and then Coil’s.

There was no one else left in the bar-the poisoned atmosphere had driven away even the most insensate drinkers. Sulty and Chud the new cook stood in the doorway leading to the kitchen, Sulty quietly weeping.

Kruppe poured the last goblet and then sat down, his back to the scene. Coll slumped down beside Kruppe, draining down the wine with the practised ease of an alcoholic reacquainting himself with his deadly passion, but Kruppe had chosen this wine with such risks in mind-its headiness was an illusion, the taste of alcohol a clever combination of spices and nothing more. This was, Kruppe understood, but a temporary solution. He knew Coll well, understood the self-serving cycle of self-pity that now loomed before the man, sauntering in wearing that familiar smirk, like an old, deadly lover. She would open wide her arms, now, to fold Coll in once more-the days and nights ahead would be difficult indeed.

After a long moment Rallick joined them, and although he remained standing he reached down for the goblet. ‘Crokus should be here,’ he said.

‘He was, but he has left.’

Coll started. ‘Left? Did Murillio mean so little to him that he’d just walk away?’

‘He left,’ said Kruppe, ‘to find Gorlas Vidikas.’

Coll swore and rose. ‘The fool-Vidikas will slice him to pieces! Rallick-’

And the assassin was already setting the goblet back down and turning away.

‘Wait!’ snapped Kruppe in a tone that neither man had ever heard before-not from Kruppe, at least. ‘Both of you! Take up that wine again, Rallick.’ And now he too rose. ‘There is the memory of a friend and we will drink to it. Here, now. Rallick, you will not catch Crokus, you will not make it in time. Listen well to Kruppe, both of you. Vengeance need not be rushed-’

‘So Rallick should just let Vidikas kill yet another friend of ours?’

Kruppe faced the assassin. ‘Do you lack faith as well, Rallick Nom”

‘That is not the point,’ the man replied.

‘You cannot halt what has already happened. He has already walked this path. You discovered that, did you not? Outside this very inn.’

Coll rubbed at his face, as if waiting to find the numbness a bellyful of wine should have given him. ‘Is Crokus truly-’

‘He has a new name,’ Rallick interrupted, finally nodding. ‘One he has clearly earned the hard way.’

‘Cutter, yes,’ said Kruppe.

Coll looked back and forth between the two of them, and then thumped back down into his chair. All at once he looked a century old, shoulders folding in as he reached for the bottle and refilled his goblet. ‘There will be repercussions. Vidikas is… not alone. Hanut Orr, Shardan Lim. Whatever happens is going to ripple outward-gods below, this could get messy.’

Rallick grunted. ‘Hanut Orr and Shardan Lim. I can get in their way when the time comes.’

Coil’s eyes flashed. ‘You’ve got Cutter’s back. Good. We can take care of this-you can, I mean. I’m useless-I always was.’ He sank back, the chair creaking, and looked away. ‘What’s with this wine? It’s doing nothing.’

‘Murillio,’ said Kruppe, ‘would not be pleased at you standing drunk when his body is carried into the crypt. Honour him, Coll, now and from now on.’

‘Fuck off,’ he replied.

The back of Rallick Nom’s gloved hand snapped hard against Coil’s face, rock-ing him back. He surged upright, outraged, reaching for the ornate knife at his belt. The two men stood glaring at each other.

‘Stop this!’

A bottle smashed against the floor, the contents spraying the feet of Coll and Rallick, and both turned as Meese snarled, ‘There you go, Coll, lap it up and choke to death! In the meantime, how ‘bout the rest of us pay our respects and walk him to the crypt-the undertaker’s cart’s arrived. It’s time-not for any of you, but for him. For Murillio. You chew up this day and it’ll haunt you for ever. And Hood’s breath, so will I.’

Coll ducked his head and spat blood, and then said, ‘Let’s get this done, then. For Murillio.’

Rallick nodded.

Behind the bar, Irilta was suddenly sick. The sounds of her gagging and cough-ing silenced everyone else.

Coll looked shamefaced.

Kruppe rested a hand on the man’s shoulder. And all at once the councillor was weeping, so broken that to bear witness was to break deep within oneself. Rallick turned away then, both hands lifting to his face.

Survivors do not mourn together. They each mourn alone, even when in the same place. Grief is the most solitary of all feelings. Grief isolates, and every ritual, every gesture, every embrace, is a hopeless effort to break through that isolation.

None of it works. The forms crumble and dissolve. To face death is to stand alone.

How far can a lost soul travel? Picker believed she had begun in some distant frozen world, struggling thigh- deep through drifts of snow, a bitter wind howling round her. Again and again she fell, crusted ice scraping her flesh raw-for she was naked, her fingers blackening from the tips as they froze into solid, dead things. Her toes and then her feet did the same, the skin splitting, the ankles swelling.

Two wolves were on her trail. She did not know how she knew this, but she did. Two wolves. God and Goddess of War, the Wolves of Winter. They scented her as they would a rival-but she was no ascendant, and certainly no

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