He gasped and flailed and tried to twist away but her grip was merciless, two points of agony stabbing right into the midst of his cramping sinews. “Ah! You fucking… you…” The wasted muscle went suddenly soft, and he went soft with it, dropping back against the mattress. And now being splattered with my own shit begins to seem just the slightest bit embarrassing.

He lay there for a moment, helpless. “I didn’t want you to see me… like this.”

“Too late. You married me, remember. We’re one body, now.”

“I think I got the better part of that deal.”

“I got my life, didn’t I?”

“Hardly the kind of life that most young women hanker for.” He watched her, the strip of sunlight wandering back and forth across her darkened face as she moved. “I know that I’m not what you wanted… in a husband.”

“I always dreamed of a man I could dance with.” She looked up and held his eye. “But I think, perhaps, that you suit me better. Dreams are for children. We both are grownups.”

“Still. You see now that not dancing is the least of it. You should not have to do… this.”

“I want to do it.” She took a firm grip on his face and twisted it, somewhat painfully, so he was looking straight into hers. “I want to do something. I want to be useful. I want someone to need me. Can you understand that?”

Glokta swallowed. “Yes.” Few better. “Where’s Barnam?”

“I told him he could have the mornings off. I told him I’d be doing this from now on. I’ve told him to move my bed in here, as well.”

“But—”

“Are you telling me I can’t sleep in the same room as my husband?” Her hands slid slowly over his withered flesh, gentle, but firm, rubbing at the scarred skin, pressing at the ruined muscles. How long ago? Since a woman looked at me with anything but horror? Since a woman touched me with anything but violence? He lay back, his eyes closed and his mouth open, tears running from his eye and trickling down the sides of his head into the pillow. Almost comfortable. Almost…

“I don’t deserve this,” he breathed.

“No one gets what they deserve.”

Queen Terez looked down her nose at Glokta as he lurched into her sunny salon, without the slightest attempt to hide her utter disgust and contempt. As though she saw a cockroach crawling into her regal presence. But we will see. We know well the path, after all. We have followed it ourselves, and we have dragged so many others after. Pride comes first. Then pain. Humility follows hard upon it. Obedience lies just beyond.

“My name is Glokta. I am the new Arch Lector of his Majesty’s Inquisition.”

“Ah, the cripple,” she sneered. With refreshing directness. And why do you disrupt my afternoon? You will find no criminals here.” Only Styrian witches.

Glokta’s eyes flickered to the other woman, standing bolt upright near one of the windows. “It is a matter we had better discuss alone.”

“The Countess Shalere has been my friend since birth. There is nothing you can say to me that she cannot hear.” The Countess glared at Glokta with a disdain little less piercing than the queen’s.

“Very well.” No delicate way to say it. I doubt that delicacy will serve us here in any case. “It has come to my attention, your Majesty, that you have not been performing your duties as a wife.”

Terez’ long, thin neck seemed to stretch with indignation. “How dare you? That is none of your concern!”

“I am afraid that it is. Heirs for the king, you see. The future of the state, and so forth.”

“This is insufferable!” The queen’s face was white with fury. The Jewel of Talins flashes fire indeed. “I must eat your repulsive food, I must tolerate your dreadful weather, I must smile at the rambling mutterings of your idiot king! Now I must answer to his grotesque underlings? I am kept prisoner here!”

Glokta looked round at the beautiful room. The opulent hangings, the gilt furnishings, the fine paintings. The two beautiful women in their beautiful clothes. He dug one tooth sourly into the underside of his tongue. “Believe me. This is not what a prison looks like.”

“There are many kinds of prison!”

“I have learned to live with worse, and so have others.” You should see what my wife has to put up with.

“To share my bed with some disgusting bastard, some scarred son of who knows what, to have some stinking, hairy man pawing at me in the night!” The queen gave a shiver of revulsion. “It is not to be borne!”

Tears shone in her eyes. Her lady-in-waiting rushed forward, dress rustling, and knelt beside her, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. Terez reached up, pressed her own hand on top of it. The queen’s companion stared at Glokta with naked hatred. “Get out! Out, cripple, and never come back! You have upset her Majesty!”

“I have a gift for it,” muttered Glokta. “One reason why I am so widely hated…” He trailed off, frowning. He stared at their two hands on Terez’ shoulder. There was something in that touch. Comforting, soothing, protective. The touch of the committed friend, the trusted confidante, the sisterly companion. But there is more than that. Too familiar. Too warm. Almost like the touch of… Ah.

“You don’t have much use for men, do you?”

The two women looked up at him together, then Shalere snatched her hand away from the queen’s shoulder. “I will have your meaning!” barked Terez, but her voice was shrill, almost panicked.

“I think you know my meaning well enough.” And my task is made a great deal easier. “Some help here!” Two hulking Practicals barged through the doors. And as quickly as that, everything is changed. Amazing, the spice that two big men can add to a conversation. Some kinds of power are only tricks of the mind. I learned that well, in the Emperor’s prisons, and my new master has only reinforced the lesson.

“You would not dare!” shrieked Terez, staring at the masked arrivals with wide eyes. “You would not dare to touch me!”

“As luck would have it, I doubt it will be necessary, but we will see.” He pointed at the Countess. “Seize that woman.”

The two black-masked men tramped across the thick carpet. One moved a chair out of his way with exaggerated care.

“No!” The queen sprang up, grabbing Shalere’s hand in hers. “No!”

“Yes,” said Glokta.

The two women backed away, clinging to each other, Terez in front, shielding the Countess with her body, teeth bared in a warning snarl as the two great shadows approached. One might almost be touched by their evident care for one another, if one was capable of being touched at all. “Take her. But no marks on the queen, if you please.”

“No!” screamed Terez. “I’ll have your heads for this! My father… my father is—”

“On his way back to Talins, and I doubt he’ll be starting a war over your friend since birth, in any case. You are bought and paid for, and Duke Orso does not strike me as the type to renege on a deal.”

The two men and the two women lurched around the far end of the room in an ungainly dance. One of the Practicals seized the Countess by one wrist, dragged her away from the queen’s clutching hand and forced her down onto her knees, twisting her arms behind her, snapping heavy irons shut on her wrists. Terez shrieked, punched, kicked, clawed at the other, but she might as well have vented her fury on a tree. The huge man barely moved, his eyes every bit as emotionless as the mask below them.

Glokta found that he was almost smiling as he watched the ugly scene. I may be crippled, and hideous, and in constant pain, but the humiliation of beautiful women is one pleasure I can still enjoy. I do it now with threats and violence, instead of with soft words and entreaties, but still. Almost as much fun as it ever was.

One of the Practicals forced a canvas bag over Shalere’s head, turning her cries to muffled sobs, then marched her helplessly across the room. The other stayed where he was for a moment, keeping the queen herded into the corner. Then he backed off towards the door. On his way he picked up the chair he had moved and carefully put it back exactly as he had found it.