“And it said?”

“That she was compelled through poison to assist Prince Ario’s murderers. That they included among their number a mercenary named Nicomo Cosca and a torturer named Shylo Vitari, and were led by none other than Murcatto herself. Very much alive.”

“You believe it?”

“Eider had no reason to lie to us. No letter will save her from his Excellency’s wrath if she is found, and she must know it. Murcatto was alive when she went over the balcony, that much I am sure of. I have not seen her dead.”

“She is seeking revenge.”

Ganmark gave a joyless chuckle. “These are the Years of Blood. Everyone is seeking revenge. The Serpent of Talins, though? The Butcher of Caprile? Who loved nothing in the world but her brother? If she lives, she is on fire with it. There are few more single-minded enemies a man could find.”

“Then I should find this woman Vitari, this man Cosca and this serpent Murcatto.”

“No one must learn she might still live. If it was known in Talins that Orso was the one who planned her death… there could be unrest. Revolt, even. She was much loved among the people. A talisman. A mascot. One of their own, risen through merit. As the wars drag on and the taxes mount, his Excellency is… less well liked than he could be. I can trust you to keep silent?”

Shenkt kept silent.

“Good. There are associates of Murcatto’s still in Talins. Perhaps one of them knows where she is.” The general looked up, the orange glow of the fire splashed across one side of his tired face. “But what am I saying? It is your business to find people. To find people, and to…” He stabbed again at the glowing coals and sent up a shower of dancing sparks. “I need not tell you your business, need I?”

Shenkt put away his half-finished carving, and his knife, and turned for the door. “No.”

Downwards

They came upon Visserine as the sun was dropping down behind the trees and the land was turning black. You could see the towers even from miles distant. Dozens of ’em. Scores. Sticking up tall and slim as lady’s fingers into the cloudy blue-grey sky, pricks of light scattered where lamps burned in high windows.

“Lot o’ towers,” Shivers muttered to himself.

“There always was a fashion for them in Visserine.” Cosca grinned sideways at him. “Some date all the way back to the New Empire, centuries old. The greatest families compete to build the tallest ones. It is a point of pride. I remember when I was a boy, one fell before it was finished, not three streets from where I lived. A dozen poor dwellings were destroyed in the collapse. It’s always the poor who are crushed under rich men’s ambitions. And yet they rarely complain, because… well…”

“They dream of having towers o’ their own?”

Cosca chuckled. “Why, yes, I suppose they do. They don’t see that the higher you climb, the further you have to fall.”