‘In the early morning,’ Urusander said, ‘I can look down upon the pickets. The camp’s guards, standing so still in the whiteness. As if carved from marble. I stand here, a sculptor of these creations, the maker of an army of stone. Three thousand stone hearts in three thousand stone breasts. And I tremble – as I have always done, when I am about to give the command to march, to find battle, to see my creations shattered, broken.’ He lifted a hand and settled it against the cold lead pane. ‘This is a dreadful truth: much as I would like to imagine an army of such perfection that it need never draw a blade, need never deliver death and have death delivered unto it, I recognize the brutal truth. Each and every soldier out there has had his or her flesh hacked away, everything soft – all gone. Leaving nothing but stone, cold and hard. Intent on feeling nothing. Existing only in order to destroy.’

There was silence in the chamber, until Sheltatha stretched on the divan and spoke in a loose tone. ‘More likely the nobles will surrender, milord. There’ll be no battle. Simply show the sword and the will behind it, and your enemies will kneel.’

‘If they do,’ Urusander replied, ‘they will leave the field with their Houseblades intact. We but delay the clash.’ He faced the chamber, eyed both women. ‘This is what Hunn Raal does not understand. Nor the High Priestess. The marriage wins us nothing but an uneasy delay. Which of the noble families will be the first to yield a portion of its land?’ He waved a hand. ‘The two thrones are meaningless. These conjoined hands, dark and light, cannot win us peace.’

Sheltatha slowly sat up, her eyes bright on Urusander. ‘You mean to betray them. Your own soldiers.’

‘I wanted peace. All I ever wanted.’

‘Hunn Raal will see you dead. High Priestess Syntara will hand him the dagger, with every blessing of Light she can conjure.’

‘We march to battle,’ Urusander said to her, voice suddenly cold. ‘We will force the nobles to fight us. We will shatter the Houseblades, and leave the highborn with no choice but to negotiate. And then there will be restitution.’

‘All to keep Hunn Raal from your back.’

‘I will see peace forged.’

‘Hunn Raal—’

‘Is an outlaw and a murderer. I will hand him over to the Hust Legion, with my blessing.’

Sheltatha smirked. ‘Your first gesture of reconciliation.’