Arkhan grabbed her wrists with alien swiftness. ‘Are you offering yourself, Neferata?’

She frowned coquettishly. ‘Perish the thought. What use would Nagash have for a mere woman? No, but I can offer you the services of another…’

There was a scrape of metal on stone. Something heavy was being dragged across the floor of the hall. Arkhan turned with one hand on the hilt of his sword. Neferata leaned her chin on his shoulder and pointed, and said, ‘And there he is now.’

Arkhan stepped down from the dais, sweeping aside the curtains. Four brawny ghouls dragged forwards an oblong box, crafted from iron and ringed by silver bands. From inside came a muffled howl. Neferata clucked her tongue. ‘Even after all this time, he still weeps for her. I do as well, but he was always quite extravagant about such things. Quite the beast for grand gestures, my Kontoi…’

The ghouls set the box down before them and backed away hurriedly, as if they feared what was inside. ‘Two hundred years or so. I wonder what he will look like, my handsome warrior-prince,’ Neferata murmured, sweeping down from the dais and running her fingers along the edge of the box. It trembled as if something was thrashing wildly within. There was another muffled howl and she laughed.

She looked at Arkhan. ‘He is yours, if you want him. Make of him a gift from the Queen of Mysteries to the King of Death. Or perhaps he is a replacement — a lieutenant for a lieutenant.’

‘What?’ Arkhan said.

Neferata laughed. ‘You still do not listen! Even after all these years, you never listen.’ She flicked her fingers. ‘Take him, Arkhan the Black, Arkhan of Khemri. Though all debts were settled between us long ago and I owe you nothing, I give you this last gift. Give it to Nagash, and be free, my gambler.’

‘I don’t understand,’ he said, looking at the box.

Neferata did not reply. She simply laughed and stepped past him. Her laughter remained long after she had left, sweeping into the darkness, her courtiers following her. Arkhan was left only with the ghouls and the moaning thing in its silver-banded box. When silence fell, save for the desolate cries of Khaled al Muntasir in his prison, Arkhan shook himself.

‘Thank you,’ he said, the words escaping from his mouth like a sigh. Then, he turned to go.

His master was waiting, and Arkhan had a prize to deliver.