Base impulses rode wine-heavy fumes, and there was no need to glance across at her guest to glean his musings. A drunk’s appetites were blind to every edge. Plates could crash, the young woman could cry out, as in his mind he flung her to the floor, and made blurred the boundaries of his desire.

It was no easy thing, to spar with a man like Hunn Raal. While her sober cleverness could slip in and around, past and through, a drunk was prone to sudden, unexpected moves. The dance was always uncertain.

For the moment, however, in this satiated silence following food and too much wine, she could ignore Hunn Raal and contemplate the necessity of people beneath notice. Only a deluded fool had the audacity to assert the notion that all were equal – no matter the arbiter, the final judge of such things; the sheer idiocy of such a claim earned no serious contemplation. Judgement was no crime in itself, and hardly a thing to shy away from, if the alternative was a levelling of all things to some idyllic, but impossible, ideal.

She had heard Urusander drone on about justice, as if by proscription and delineation law could be made to stand in place of what was both undeniable and wholly natural. If in earning privilege, in attaining mastery over others, we find ourselves waging perpetual war to keep all things in their proper place – lesser people included – is it any wonder that we select few come to live a life under siege? And who can be surprised when desperation drives us to despicable acts of cruelty?

Such laws as Urusander would impose fashion for us the enemy’s face. It can be no other way. Things are not equal. People are not equal. There are those few who will rule, while the rest must follow.

Hunn Raal can have this woman, this maid, should he so choose. Her life is in his hands. In mine, too, for that matter. But we need no laws to force upon us the ethics of our comportment. Virtue never stands outside awaiting invitation like a stranger at a gathering. It is born of the light within us.

In any case, see how bright it burns in some, but not others.

The maid departed.

‘She is new?’ Hunn Raal asked.

Syntara sighed. ‘Many young women now come to me. It is my task to interview them, and find their place in things, be it household or temple.’

‘Ah,’ Hunn Raal said, slowly nodding. ‘She did not pass muster then, as a priestess in waiting.’

‘Lowborn and ignorant,’ Syntara said, settling back on the cushions. ‘Wholly lacking in any spark.’

Hunn Raal reached for his cup. ‘Most of the soldiers in my legion would share that assessment, should you make it of them. Lowborn. Not knowing much. And yet, are they not valuable? Are they not worth fighting for? Their lives, High Priestess, should not be a waste.’