Though she had to admit they weren’t usually.

The three most senior captains left in the great brigade stood close to the improvised dais, muttering to each other. Sesaria, Victus, Andiche. The three Benna had persuaded to make her captain general. The three who’d persuaded Faithful Carpi to take her place. The three she needed to persuade to give it back to her. They looked up, and they saw her, and they straightened.

“Well, well,” rumbled Sesaria.

“Well, well, well,” muttered Andiche. “If it isn’t the Serpent of Talins.”

“The Butcher of Caprile herself,” whined Victus. “Where’s Faithful?”

She looked him right in the eye. “Not coming. You boys need a new captain general.”

The three of them swapped glances, and Andiche sucked noisily at his yellowed teeth. A habit Monza had always found faintly disgusting. One of many disgusting things about the lank-haired rat of a man. “As it happens, we’d reached the same conclusion on our own.”

“Faithful was a good fellow,” rumbled Sesaria.

“Too good for the job,” said Victus.

“A decent captain general needs to be an evil shit at best.”

Monza showed her teeth. “Any one of you three is more than evil enough, I reckon. There aren’t three bigger shits in Styria.” It was no kind of joke. She should’ve murdered these three rather than Faithful. “Too big a set of shits to work for each other, though.”

“True enough,” said Victus sourly.

Sesaria tipped his head back and stared at her down his flat nose. “We need someone new.”

“Or someone old,” said Monza.

Andiche grinned at his two fellows. “As it happens, we’d reached the same conclusion on our own,” he said again.

“Good for you.” This was going more smoothly even than she’d hoped. Eight years she’d led the Thousand Swords, and she knew how to handle the likes of these three. Greed, nice and simple. “I’m not the type to let a little bad blood get in the way of a lot of good money, and I damn well know that none of you are.” She held Ishri’s coin up to the light, a Gurkish double-headed coin, Emperor on one side, Prophet on the other. She flicked it to Andiche. “There’ll be plenty more like that, to go over to Rogont.”

Sesaria stared at her from under his thick grey brows. “Fight for Rogont, against Orso?”

“Fight all the way back across Styria?” The chains round Victus’ neck rattled as he tossed his head. “The same ground we’ve fought over the past eight years?”

Andiche looked up from the coin to her, and puffed out his acne-scarred cheeks. “Sounds like an awful lot of fighting.”

“You’ve won against longer odds, with me in charge.”

“Oh, that’s a fact.” Sesaria gestured at the tattered flags. “We’ve won all kinds of glory with you in the chair, all kinds of pride.”

“But try paying a whore with that.” Victus was grinning, and that weasel never grinned. Something was wrong about their smiles, something mocking in them.