Glokta bowed his head to whisper in her ear. 'I'm reasonably sure that he did not kill anyone. I suspect he is guilty of nothing more than being a courageous man, who came to us speaking truth and holding out the hand of peace.'

Her eyes widened. 'Then why hang him?'

'Because the Crown Prince has been murdered. Someone has to hang.'

'But… who really killed Raynault?'

'Someone who wants no peace between Gurkhul and the Union. Someone who wants the war between us to grow, and spread, and never end.'

'Who could want that?'

Glokta said nothing. Who indeed?

You don't have to admire that Fallow character, but he can certainly pick a good chair. Glokta settled back into the soft upholstery with a sigh, stretching his feet out towards the fire, working his aching ankles round and round in clicking circles.

Ardee did not seem quite so comfortable. But then this morning's diversion was hardly a comforting spectacle. She stood frowning out of the window, thoughtful, one hand pulling nervously at a strand of hair. 'I need a drink.' She went to the cabinet and opened it, took out a bottle and a glass. She paused, and looked round. 'Aren't you going to tell me it's a little early in the day?'

Glokta shrugged. 'You know what the time is.'

'I need something, after that…'

'Then have something. You don't need to explain yourself to me. I'm not your brother.'

She jerked her head round and gave him a hard look, opened her mouth as though about to speak, then she shoved the bottle angrily away and the glass after it, snapped the doors of the cabinet shut. 'Happy?'

He shrugged. 'About as close as I get, since you ask.'

Ardee dumped herself into a chair opposite, staring sourly down at one shoe. 'What happens now?'

'Now? Now we will delight each other with humorous observations for a lazy hour, then a stroll into town?' He winced. 'Slowly, of course. Then a late lunch, perhaps, I was thinking of—'

'I meant about the succession.'

'Oh,' muttered Glokta. 'That.' He reached round and dragged a cushion into a better position, then stretched out further with a satisfied grunt. One could almost pretend, sitting in this warm and comfortable room, in such attractive and agreeable company, that one still had some kind of life. He nearly had a smile on his face as he continued. 'There will be a vote in Open Council. Meaning, I have no doubt, that there will be an orgy of blackmail, bribery, corruption and betrayal. A carnival of deal-making, alliance-breaking, intrigue and murder. A merry dance of fixing, of rigging, of threats and of promises. It will go on until the king dies. Then there will be a vote in Open Council.'