“No you don’t.” A woman coming through the ruins of the door, loaded flatbow levelled, hair scraped back from a soft-looking round face. A man turned from standing over Shivers and towards Monza, sword in hand. She could scarcely see more of him than the outline of his armour, his helmet. Another soldier stomped through the door, lantern in one fist and an axe in the other, curved blade gleaming. Monza let her twisted fingers open and the Calvez clattered down beside the bed half-drawn.

“That’s better,” said the woman.

Shivers gave a groan, tried to push himself up, eyes narrowed against the light, blood trickling down his face from a cut in his hair. Must have been clubbed with the flat. The one with the axe stepped forwards and swung a boot into his ribs, thud, thud, made him grunt, curled up naked against the wall. A fourth soldier walked in, some dark cloth over one arm.

“Captain Langrier.”

“What did you find?” asked the woman, handing him the flatbow.

“This, and some others.”

“Looks like a Talinese uniform.” She held the jacket up so Monza could see it. “Got anything to say about this?”

The jolt of cold shock was fading, and an even frostier fear was pressing in fast behind it. These were Salier’s soldiers. She’d been so fixed on killing Ganmark, so fixed on Orso’s army, she hadn’t spared a thought for the other side. They’d got her attention now, alright. She felt a sudden need for another smoke, so bad she was nearly sick. “It’s not what you think,” she managed to croak out, acutely aware she was stark naked and smelled sharply of fucking.

“How do you know what I think?”

Another soldier with a big drooping moustache appeared in the doorway. “A load of bottles and suchlike in one of the rooms. Didn’t fancy touching ’em. Looked like poison to me.”

“Poison, you say, Sergeant Pello?” Langrier stretched her head to one side and rubbed at her neck. “Well, that is damn suspicious.”

“I can explain it.” Monza’s mouth was dry. She knew she couldn’t. Not in any way these bastards would believe.

“You’ll get your chance. Back at the palace, though. Bind ’em up.”

Shivers grimaced as the axeman dragged his wrists behind his back and snapped manacles shut on them, hauled him to his feet. One of the others grabbed Monza’s arm, twisted it roughly behind her as he jammed the cuffs on.

“Ah! Mind my hand!” One of them dragged her off the bed, shoved her stumbling towards the door and she nearly slipped, getting her balance back without much dignity. There wasn’t much dignity to be had in all of this. Benna’s little glass statue watched from its niche. So much for household spirits. “Can we get some clothes at least?”

“I don’t see why.” They hauled her out onto the landing, into the light of another lantern. “Wait there.” Langrier squatted down, frowning at the zigzag scars on Monza’s hip and along her thigh, neat pink dots of the pulled stitches almost faded. She prodded at them with one thumb as though she was checking a joint of meat in a butcher’s for rot. “You ever seen marks like that before, Pello?”