‘Oh, spare me,’ she replied. ‘You fling them into the teeth of battle and think only of the outcome, the groaning shift of vast unseen scales. Does it nudge you a step closer to what you seek? That is your only concern, captain.’

Beneath heavy lids, he studied her for a moment, and then shook his head. ‘You are wrong. We seek recognition. For the sacrifices we made.’

‘Oh? And did the Houseblades of the Great Houses not make the same sacrifices? Why then do they not rate in your esteem?’

‘But they do. Soldiers, little different from us. It is their masters with whom we have a disagreement. In fact, High Priestess, it would not surprise me to find, on the day of battle, many of those Houseblades refusing to draw weapons, refusing indeed what their lords and ladies would demand of them.’

‘Is this your dream, Hunn Raal? A true uprising of the commoner, the lowborn, the ignorant and the witless? If so, then High House Light is not for you.’

Smiling, he held up a pallid hand and studied it. ‘The gift made no such distinctions, Syntara, and certainly not those you would now impose. How quickly a faith is corrupted.’

Anger flashed through her, but she bit it back. ‘Consider this, then. If there are none to serve, if, in the elevation of everyone, litter fills the streets, meals remain uncooked, crops lie unharvested, clothes unmended, the dust left to choke us all in our repasts, how fares this new paradise of yours, Hunn Raal?’

He scowled across at her.

She continued. ‘You wear a sword, captain, hinting at the threat behind your every request. But not just requests – after all, we need not mince words’ meaning here – no, behind your expectations. Of obedience. Of compliance. Of the continuation of the way things are, provided that the way things are sets you above those others, and makes solid your claim to rule over them.

‘As for your soldiers, why, I would think each dreams an identical dream – no different from your own. A retinue of servants for each soldier, slaves even, as proof of that “recognition” you so desire. Every ploughed field will sprout some new estate, as your beloved soldiers scramble to carve out their rightful place in the new scheme. As for the peasants, why, their lives will not change. They were never meant to change, not by your reckoning, in any case. You would shake the order, but not so much as to send the framework down into crashing ruin. This war of yours, Hunn Raal, is but a shuffling of the pieces. That and no more.’

‘And what is it that you seek, High Priestess, if not the same, as you elbow your way to the table?’ He snorted behind his cup. ‘You dance well, but it is in the same fire as the rest of us.’