She heard the door open and shut behind her. Writing out her confession once more, she set the brush down and rose. Leaned over the odd little box with its pivoting two-headed insect. Round and round you go. Do you know dismay? Helplessness?

A commotion somewhere below. Voices, something crashing to the floor.

The door behind her was flung open.

She turned.

Karos Invictad walked in, straight for her.

She saw him twist the lower half of the sceptre, saw a short knife-blade emerge from the sceptre’s base.

Nisall looked up, met the man’s eyes.

And saw, in them, nothing human.

He thrust the blade into her chest, into her heart. Then twice more as she sagged, falling to strike the chair.

She saw the floor come up to meet her face, heard the crack of her forehead, felt the vague sting, then darkness closed in. Oh, Tissin-

Bruthen Trana shouldered a wounded guard aside and entered Invictad’s office.

The Master of the Patriotists was stepping back from the crumpled form of Nisall, die sceptre in his hand-the blade at its base-gleaming crimson. ‘Her confession demanded-’

The Tiste Edur walked to the desk, kicking aside the toppled chair. He picked up the sheet of vellum, squinted to make out the Letherii words. A single line. A statement. A confession indeed. For a moment, he felt as if his heart stut-tered.

In the corridor, Tiste Edur warriors. Bruthen Trana said without turning, ‘K’ar Penath, collect the body of the First Concubine-’

‘This is an outrage!’ Karos Invictad hissed. ‘Do not touch her!’

Snarling, Bruthen Trana took one stride closer to the man, then lashed out with the back of his left hand.

Blood sprayed as “Karos Invictad staggered, sceptre flying, his shoulder striking the wall-more blood, from mouth and nose, a look of horror in the man’s eyes as he stared down at the spatter on his hands.

From the corridor, a warrior spoke in the Edur language. ‘Commander. The other woman has been beheaded.’

Bruthen Trana carefully rolled the sheet of vellum and slipped it beneath his hauberk. Then he reached out and dragged Karos Invictad to his feet.

He struck the man again, then again. Gouts of blood, broken teeth, threads of crimson spit.

Again. Again.

The reek of urine.

Bruthen Trana took handfuls of the silk beneath the flaccid neck and shook the Letherii, hard, watching the head snap back and forth. He kept shaking him.

Until a hand closed on his wrist.

Through a red haze, Bruthen Trana looked over, met the calm eyes of K’ar Penath.

‘Commander, if you continue so with this unconscious man, you will break his neck.’

‘Your point, warlock?’

‘The First Concubine is dead, by his hand. Is it for you to exact this punishment?’

‘Sister take you,’ Bruthen Trana growled, then he flung Karos Invictad to the floor. ‘Both bodies come with us.’

‘Commander, the Chancellor-’

‘Never mind him, K’ar Penath. Wrap well the bodies. We return to the Eternal Domicile.’

‘What of the dead Letherii below?’

‘His guards? What of them? They chose to step into our path, warlock.’

‘As you say. But with their healer dead, some of them will bleed out unless we call upon-’

‘Not our concern,’ Bruthen Trana said. K’ar Penath bowed. ‘As you say, Commander.’

Half blind with terror, Tanal Yathvanar approached the entrance to the headquarters. She was gone. Gone, from that place, that most hidden place-her shackle snapped, the iron bent and twisted, the links of the chain parted as if they were nothing but damp clay.

Karos lnvictad, it was your work. Again. Yet another warn-ing to me-do as you command. You know all, you see all. For you, nothing but games, ones where you make certain you always win. But she was not a game. Not for me, you bastard. I loved her-where is she? What have you done with her?

Slowly, it registered upon him that something was amiss. Guards running in the compound. Shouts, wavering torchlight. The front entrance to the building yawned wide-he saw a pair of boots, attached to motionless legs, prone across the threshold.

Errant take us, we have been attacked!

He hurried forward.

A guard emerged, stepping over the body.

‘You!’ shouted Tanal. ‘What has happened here?’

A rough salute. The man’s face was pale. ‘We have called for healers, sir-’

‘What has happened, damn you?’

‘Edur-a vicious ambush-we did not expect-’

‘The Master?’

Alive. But beaten badly. Beaten, sir, by a Tiste Edur! The liaison-Trana-Bruthen Trana-’

Tanal Yathvanar pushed past the fool, into the hallway, to the stairs. More bodies, guards cut down without so much as their weapons drawn. What initiated this from the Edur? Did they catch word of our investigations? Bruthen Trana does his file remain? Damn him, why didn’t he just kill the bustard? Choke the life from him-make his face as red as those damned silks? Oh, I would run this differently indeed. Given the chance-

He reached the office, stumbled to a halt upon seeing the spattered blood on the walls, the pools of it on the floor. The reek of piss was heavy in the air. Looking small and broken, Karos Invictad sat hunched in his oversized chair, stained cloths held to his swollen, bruised face. In the man’s eyes, a rage as sharp as diamonds. Fixing now upon Tanal Yathvanar.

‘Master! Healers are on the way-’

From mashed lips, muffled words: ‘Where were you?’

‘What? Why, at home. In bed.’

‘We arrested Nisall tonight.’

Tanal looked about. ‘I was not informed, sir-’

‘No-no-one could find you! Not at your home-not anywhere!’

‘Sir, has Bruthen Trana retrieved the whore, then?’

A hacking, muffled laugh. ‘Oh yes. Her cold flesh-but not her spirit. But he carries her written confession-by the Holds, it hurts to speak! He broke my face!’

And how many times did your fist do the same to a prisoner? ‘Will you risk some wine, sir?’

A glare above the cloths, then a sharp nod.

Tanal went quickly to the cabinet. Found a clay jug containing undiluted wine. A better smell than-the piss of your terror, little man. He poured a goblet, then hesitated-and poured another for himself. Damn you, why not? ‘The healers will be here soon-I informed the guards that any delay risks their lives.’

‘Swift-thinking Tanal Yathvanar.’

He carried the goblet over to Karos Invictad, not sure if there was irony in that last statement, so distorted was the voice. ‘The guards were struck unawares-vicious betrayal-’

‘Those that aren’t yet dead will wish they were,’ the Master of the Patriotists said. ‘Why weren’t we warned? Chancellor or no, I will have his answer.’

‘I did not think we’d take the whore yet,’ Tanal said, retrieving his own wine. He watched over the rim of the goblet as Karos pulled the soaked cloth away, revealing the terrible assault done on his face as he gingerly sipped at the wine-wincing as the alcohol bit into gashes and cuts. ‘Perhaps the Edur should have been first. Bruthen Trana-he did not seem such a viper. He said not a word, revealed nothing-’

‘Of course not. Nor would I in his place. No. Wait, observe, then strike without warning. Yes, I underestimated him. Well, such a failing occurs but once. Tonight, Tanal Yathvanar, a war has begun. And this time the Letherii will not lose.’ Another sip. ‘I am relieved,’ he then said, ‘that you got rid of that academic-too bad you did not get Nisall to play with, but I needed to act quickly. Tell me how you disposed of her-the academic. I need some satisfying news for a change…’

Tanal stared at the man. If not you…

From the corridor, rushing feet. The healers had arrived.

‘Commander,’ K’ar Penath said as he hurried alongside Bruthen Trana, ‘do we seek audience with the Emperor?’

‘No. Not yet. We will watch all of this play out for a time.’