The shrillest of the brood stepped towards her, fists clenched. “I will not listen to one word more of this, you… you devil! My father died at Sweet Pines!”

It seemed everyone had their own wrongs to avenge, but Monza had too many wounds of her own to be much stung by other people’s. “Thank you,” she said.

“What?”

“Since your father was presumably among my enemies, and the aim of a battle is to kill them, I take his death as a compliment. I shouldn’t have to explain that to a soldier.”

His face had turned a blotchy mixture of pink and white. “If you were a man I’d kill you where you stand.”

“If you were a man, you mean. Still, since I took your father, it’s only fair I give you something in trade.” She curled her tongue and blew spit in his face.

He came at her clumsily, and with his hands, just as she’d guessed he would. Any man who needs to be worked up to it that hard isn’t likely to be too fearful when he finally gets there. She was ready, dodged around him, grabbed the top and bottom rims of his gilded breastplate, used his own weight to swing him, caught his toe with one well-placed boot. She grabbed the hilt of his sword as he stumbled helplessly past, bent almost double, part running and part falling, and whipped it from his belt. He squawked as he splashed into the pool, sending up a fountain of shining spray, and she spun round, blade at the ready.

Rogont rolled his eyes. “Oh, for pity’s—” His men bundled past, all fumbling their swords out, cursing, nearly knocking the table over in their haste to get at her. “Less steel, gentlemen, if you please, less steel!” The officer had surfaced now, or at least was fighting to, splashing and floundering, hauled down by the weight of his ornamental armour. Two of Rogont’s other attendants hurried to drag him from the pool while the rest shuffled towards Monza, jostling at each other in their efforts to stab her first.

“Shouldn’t you be the ones retreating?” she hissed as she backed away past the pillars.

The nearest jabbed at her. “Die, you damned—”

“Enough!” roared Rogont. “Enough! Enough!” His men scowled like naughty children called to account. “No swordplay in the bath, for pity’s sake! Will my shame never end?” He gave a long sigh, then waved an arm. “Leave us, all of you!”

His foremost attendant’s moustache bristled with horror. “But, your Excellency, with this… foul creature?”

“Never fear, I will survive.” He arched one eyebrow at them. “I can swim. Now out, before someone hurts themselves. Shoo! Go!”

Reluctantly they sheathed their swords and grumbled their way from the hall, the soaked man leaving a squelching trail of wet fury behind him. Monza grinned as she tossed his gilded sword into the pool, where it vanished with a splash. A small victory, maybe, but she had to enjoy the ones she got these days.