‘I won’t!’ Alessinaxa stood up, balling her fists and slamming them on the tabletop. ‘And you never meant me to complete this. What’s the point in paying for it, if you never meant me to join?’

Milija watched her, her expression hardening. ‘There’s the defence forces. There’s the enforcers, like your father. There’s the–’

‘Why would I want to be an enforcer? Why? I could see the entire Imperium, and you want me stuck on this shithole world running down topaz-feeders.’ She flashed her angry eyes at Zidarov. ‘I’m going. I’m going to do it. You can’t stop me.’

Zidarov felt a headache start up again. He felt his scar itch. He felt his age, and his weariness. He remembered Mordach speaking, the man who could pay for anything, who could obtain anything and get anything done, desperate for news, for some sign that fate still lay within his grasp. Once they were gone, they were gone.

‘You’re not going into full training this year, Naxi,’ he said, firmly. ‘Complete your term at the scholam. Get your standard certification. We’ll talk again then.’

She glared at him. For a moment, he thought she might leap across the table and go for his throat. With what she knew now, he wasn’t sure how well he’d handle that.

‘You don’t believe,’ she told him, coldly, coolly. That was worse than anything. ‘That’s your problem. You don’t believe.’

Then she stomped off, pushing past her mother’s half-hearted attempt to hold her back, down the narrow corridor, the door slamming hard and making the paintwork flake off a little more.

Milija looked at him. ‘Just like old times,’ she said.

‘Yeah, I missed these little chats.’

‘If you’d been here more…’

‘Not now, Lija. Not now.’

She started to clear up. ‘What do you think she meant? You don’t believe?’

Zidarov wanted to stay at his seat. The weight that had been pressing down on him for so long seemed to have got heavier. Eventually, he hauled himself to his feet. He picked up a plate and walked over to the worktop.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘She’ll get over it. She’ll be fine. But I don’t know.’

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

The next day brought more rain, scything down, properly streaming now, running through the gutters and the drains in foaming volume. Urgeyena’s buildings darkened further, the gaudy signs had their stains picked out more clearly, the transitways became glistening ribbons under the grey-pink sky.

Cuo’s message came in early, beamed to Zidarov’s iris over a barely secure thread. Zidarov took it in while he was still blinking, lying on his back in the darkness, in that strange mugginess that happens after the first long sleep for a while.