“Do me one favour.” Cosca had a sad smile, almost as if he guessed her thoughts.

“You came back for me, didn’t you? I can stretch to one.”

“Forgive me.”

She made a sound—half-snort, half-retch. “I thought I was the one betrayed you?”

“What does it matter now? Treachery is commonplace. Forgiveness is rare. I’d rather go without any debts. Except all the money I owe in Ospria. And Adua. And Dagoska.” He weakly waved one bloody hand. “Let’s say no debts to you, anyway, and leave it at that.”

“That I can do. We’re even.”

“Good. I lived like shit. Glad to see at least I got the dying right. Get on.”

Part of her wanted to stay with him, to be with him when Orso’s men broke through the gate, make sure there really were no debts. But not that big a part. She’d never been prone to sentiment. Orso had to die, and if she was killed here, who’d get it done? She pulled the Calvez from the ground, slid it back into its sheath and turned without another word. Words are poor tools at a time like that. She limped to the rope, tied it off under her hips the best she could, twisted it around her wrist.

“Let’s go!”

From the roof Monza could see right across the city. The wide curve of the Visser and its graceful bridges. The many towers poking at the sky, dwarfed by pillars of smoke still rising from the scattered fires. Day had already got a pear from somebody and was biting happily into it, yellow curls blowing on the breeze, juice gleaming on her chin.

Morveer raised one eyebrow at the carnage down in the garden. “I am relieved to observe that, in my absence, you succeeded in keeping the slaughter under tight control.”

“Some things never change,” she snapped at him.

“Cosca?” asked Vitari.

“Not coming.”

Morveer gave a sickening little grin. “He failed to save his own skin this time? So a drunkard can change after all.”

Rescue or not, Monza would have stabbed him at that moment if she’d had a good hand to do it with. From the way Vitari scowled at the poisoner, she was feeling much the same. She jerked her spiky head towards the river instead. “We should have the tearful reunion down in the boat. The city’s full of Orso’s troops. High time we were floating out to sea.”

Monza took one last look back. All was still down in the garden. Salier had slid from the fallen statue’s pedestal and rolled onto his back, arms outstretched as if welcoming a dear old friend. Ganmark knelt in a wide slick of blood, impaled on The Warrior’s great bronze blade, head dangling. Cosca’s eyes were closed, hands resting in his lap, a slight smile still on his tipped-back face. Cherry blossom wafted down and settled across his stolen uniform.

“Cosca, Cosca,” she murmured. “What will I do without you?”