‘Why did you want to see me?’

Mordach shrugged. ‘It felt polite. To close the loop.’

‘Maybe. Or maybe you had one more thing to give.’

‘I think I’m past giving.’

‘Closure, then. Something you have to unload.’

Mordach looked at him, half-smiling, half-frowning. His powers had faded, like a flower caught in a tox-haze, but there was still something there – a residual viciousness. ‘The thing about Udmil is, well, she’s not exactly… maternal. No one asks about her life before the Combine, and that’s fine – we wanted it that way. She never wanted children, after we formed our partnership. She didn’t even want to keep her family name, and took mine in a shot. Strange, you might think – a proud woman, with slate of her own. You think little of me, probator, of my morals, of my choices. But it’s one thing to be casual with the lives of strangers. It’s another to be casual with your own bloodline. She thinks she’s won, I guess. Or part of her does. But she carries it with her, something that can’t be outrun, no matter how much slate she accumulates, or how many rich old fools she takes to her bedchamber. It’ll be waiting for her, when all is done.’ The half-smile disappeared, and his expression became as cold as the wind over the empty land. ‘I relish that, now. There’ll be a reckoning for all of us, at the end. I am content to stand before the Throne, to plead my case before the Eternal Judge. She never will be. She knows what He will tell her.’

Zidarov held his gaze the whole time. ‘You want to be more specific?’

‘Not really. I never knew just what haunts her. But I do know it consumes her, and always will. It eats her happiness, sucks it out of the world. She never loved. Not like I did. I don’t think she was capable of it. So, then, knowing that, knowing what she’s done to achieve this, which of us is the victor, in the end?’

Zidarov thought about that. Eventually, he shook his head, and got up. He looked out at the rain, and then at the surroundings. The sparseness of it, the bone-cold emptiness, reflected the character of its owner.

‘Neither of you,’ Zidarov said. ‘That’s what I’d reckon. I think you’ll both burn, one day, soon, or not so soon. You deserve to, for what you’ve done. If I had the torch, I’d light the fire myself.’

‘But that’s the difference between you and me, probator,’ said Mordach, not getting up. ‘I could light a fire, once. You never could, and never will.’

Zidarov started to walk. He didn’t look back.

‘Don’t count on that,’ he said, flatly. ‘I’ll keep plodding. Maybe something’ll turn up.’