“Sorry to disappoint you.” The dead knew she disappointed herself enough.

“Me? Oh, quite the reverse, I assure you. We are none of us made from flint, eh?”

If only. Monza gagged down more wine and scowled at the glass. A year ago, she’d had nothing but contempt for Rogont. She remembered laughing with Benna and Faithful over what a coward he was, what a treacherous ally. Now Benna was dead, she’d murdered Faithful and she’d run to Rogont for shelter like a wayward child to her rich uncle. An uncle who couldn’t even protect himself, in this case. But he was far better company than the alternative. Her eyes were dragged reluctantly towards the bottom of the long table on the right, where Shivers sat alone.

The hard fact was he sickened her. It was an effort just to stand beside him, let alone touch him. It was far more than the simple ugliness of his maimed face. She’d seen enough that was ugly, and done enough too, to have no trouble at least pretending to be comfortable around it. It was the silences, when before she couldn’t shut him up. They were full of debts she couldn’t pay. She’d see that skewed, dead ruin of an eye and remember him whispering at her, It should’ve been you. And she’d know it should have been. When he did talk he said nothing about doing the right thing anymore, nothing about being a better man. Maybe it should have pleased her to have won that argument. She’d tried hard enough. But all she could think was that she’d taken a halfway decent man and somehow made a halfway evil one. She wasn’t only rotten herself, she rotted everything she touched.

Shivers sickened her, and the fact she was disgusted when she knew she should have been grateful only sickened her even more.

“I’m wasting time,” she hissed, more at her glass than anyone else.

Rogont sighed. “We all are. Just passing the ugly moments until our ignominious deaths in the least horrible manner we can find.”

“I should be gone.” She tried to make a fist of her gloved hand, but the pain only made her weaker now. “Find a way… find a way to kill Orso.” But she was so tired she could hardly find the strength to say it.

“Revenge? Truly?”

“Revenge.”

“I would be crushed if you were to leave.”

She could hardly be bothered to take care what she said. “Why the hell would you want me?”

“I, want you?” Rogont’s smile slipped for a moment. “I can delay no longer, Monzcarro. Soon, perhaps tomorrow, there will be a great battle. One that will decide the fate of Styria. What could be more valuable than the advice of one of Styria’s greatest soldiers?”

“I’ll see if I can find you one,” she muttered.

“And you have many friends.”

“Me?” She couldn’t think of a single one alive.

“The people of Talins love you still.” He raised his eyebrows at the gathering, some of them still glowering at her with scant friendliness. “Less popular here, of course, but that only serves to prove the point. One man’s villain is another’s hero, after all.”