“Revenge.” For Benna and for herself. She was the Butcher of Caprile, merciless, fearless. She was the Snake of Talins, deadly as the viper and no more regretful. Kill Ganmark, and then…

“Whoever’s next.” And her hand was steady.

Running footsteps slapped hard along the hallway outside and away. She heard someone shout in the distance, couldn’t make out the words, but couldn’t miss the edge of fear in the voice. She crossed to the window and pulled it open. Her room, or her cell, was high up on the north face of the palace. A stone bridge spanned the Visser upstream, tiny dots moving fast across it. Even from this distance she could tell people running for their lives.

A good general gets to know the smell of panic, and suddenly it was reeking. Orso’s men must have finally carried the walls. The sack of Visserine had begun. Ganmark would be on his way to the palace, even now, to take possession of Duke Salier’s renowned collection.

The door creaked open and Monza spun about. Captain Langrier stood in the doorway in a Talinese uniform, a bulging sack in one hand. She had a sword at one hip and a long dagger at the other. Monza had nothing of the kind, and she found herself acutely aware of the fact. She stood, hands by her sides, trying to look as if every muscle wasn’t ready to fight. And die, more than likely.

Langrier moved slowly into the room. “So you really are Murcatto, eh?”

“I’m Murcatto.”

“Sweet Pines? Musselia? The High Bank? You won all those battles?”

“That’s right.”

“You ordered all those folk killed at Caprile?”

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Duke Salier says he’s decided to do it your way.” Langrier dumped the sack on the floor and it sagged open. Metal gleamed inside. The Talinese armour Friendly had stolen out near the breach. “Best put this on. Don’t know how long we’ll have before your friend Ganmark gets here.”

Alive, then. For now. Monza dragged a lieutenant’s jacket from the sack and pulled it on over her shirt, started to button it up. Langrier watched her for a minute, then started talking.

“I just wanted to say… while there’s a chance. Well. That I always admired you, I guess.”

Monza stared at her. “What?”

“A woman. A soldier. Getting where you’ve been. Doing what you’ve done. You might’ve stood on the other side from us, but you always were something of a hero to—”

“You think I care a shit?” Monza didn’t know which sickened her more—being called a hero or who was saying it.

“Can’t blame me for not believing you. Woman with your reputation, thought you’d be harder in a fix like that—”

“You ever watched someone have their eye burned out of their head and thought you’d be next?”

Langrier worked her mouth. “Can’t say I’ve sat on that side of the issue.”

“You should try it, see how fucking hard you end up.” Monza pulled some stolen boots on, not so bad a fit.