“No!” she squawked. “No! N—” The piece of wood was wedged into her mouth, wet with Shivers’ spit.

Langrier loomed into Monza’s blurry vision, shaking one arm out. “My damn shoulder! I swear I’m in more pain than anyone, but no one has mercy on me, do they?” She dragged a fresh iron clear of the coals, held it up, yellow-white, casting a faint glow across her face, making the beads of sweat on her forehead glisten. “Is there anything more boring than other people’s pain?”

She raised the iron, Monza’s weeping eye jammed wide open and fixed on its white tip as it loomed towards her, fizzing ever so softly. The breath wheezed and shuddered in her throat. She could almost feel the heat from it on her cheek, almost feel the pain already. Langrier leaned forwards.

“Stop.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a blurry figure in the doorway. She blinked, eyelids fluttering. A great fat man, standing at the top of the steps in a white dressing gown.

“Your Excellency!” Langrier shoved the iron back into the brazier as though it was her it was burning. The grip round Monza’s neck was suddenly released, Pello’s boot came off the back of her calves.

Grand Duke Salier’s eyes shifted slowly in his great expanse of pale face, from Monza, to Shivers, and back to Monza. “Are these they?”

“Indeed they are.” Nicomo Cosca peered over the duke’s shoulder and down into the room. Monza couldn’t remember ever in her life being so glad to see someone. The old mercenary winced. “Too late for the Northman’s eye.”

“Early enough for his life, at least. But whatever have you done to her skin, Captain Langrier?”

“The scars she had already, your Excellency.”

“Truly? Quite the collection.” Salier slowly shook his head. “A most regrettable case of mistaken identity. For the time being, these two people are my honoured guests. Some clothes for them, and do what you can for his wound.”

“Of course.” She snatched the dowel out of Monza’s mouth and bowed her head. “I deeply regret my mistake, your Excellency.”

“Quite understandable. This is war. People get burned.” The duke gave a long sigh. “General Murcatto, I hope you will accept a bed in my palace, and join us for breakfast in the morning?”

The chains rattled free and her limp hands fell down into her lap. She thought she managed to gasp out a “yes” before she started sobbing so hard she couldn’t speak, tears running free down her face.

Terror, and pain, and immeasurable relief.

The Connoisseur

Anyone would have supposed it was an ordinary morning of peace and plenty in Duke Salier’s expansive dining chamber, a room in which his Excellency no doubt spent much of his time. Four musicians struck up sweet music in a far-distant corner, all smiling radiantly, as though serenading the doomed in a palace surrounded by enemies was all they had ever wished for. The long table was stacked high with delicacies: fish and shellfish, breads and pastries, fruits and cheeses, sweets, meats and sweetmeats, all arranged as neatly on their gilded plates as medals on a general’s chest. Too much food for twenty, and there were but three to dine, and two of those not hungry.