‘Barring those who have committed crimes in my name.’

Indeed? And will you now do our enemy’s work for them? Execute the majority of your officers? Whether Ilgast Rend heard your promise or not, he would have been sceptical. Your justice, Urusander, thrives best in imagination. It remains an ideal, unsullied by any real world.

Scud over us if you will. I chose the land below you, and choose it still.

They continued on, skirting the edge of the high ground as they made their way to the front gatehouse. The setting sun on their left was a red smear on a horizon made dark by the burned grimace of the forest. Above that smear, the sky was streaked in gold.

She thought again about Urusander’s last promise. Justice shone fierce and blazing in the man walking at her side. Should he seek to impose it, however… in the face of this man’s justice, mortal flesh will simply melt away. No, he would be blunted at every turn. What had begun with the slaying of Enesdia – the slaughter at the wedding site – was a cascade of retribution. Too many aggrieved agencies to see anything like proper justice in what was to come. She was not even certain that Urusander could regain control of his own Legion. Not while Hunn Raal lives.

The Issgin line lived under its own curse, and Hunn Raal was but the latest in its filial list of fools. But such stains had a way of spreading outward.

Urusander’s justice was without subtlety. There was not just one war being waged here. Surely he must comprehend that. And what of me? Have I now committed myself to Vatha Urusander? Am I not nobleborn? What harsh choice awaits me, should this all unravel?

No, now was not the time to decide. For this moment, she would hold to honour, and her duty to her commander. For as long as he seemed fit to command. If there came a time when she must cut herself loose, she would be ready.

‘Sharenas,’ Urusander said, ‘I am pleased that you are back.’

* * *

There was value in keeping close those who dwelt in all company, mostly unseen, always beneath regard, who served the single purpose of cleaning up whatever mess had been left behind. This notion lingered in the mind of High Priestess Syntara as she idly watched the maid gathering up the meal’s leavings. She knew, as well, how a man’s thoughts would set off down entirely different paths, gauging and perhaps even reflective, as eyes fixed on the swell of the girl’s behind, the thinness of her skirt.