‘You know the signal of the flags for certain, Prok?’

He nodded. ‘For my crimes. Somewhere to the east, the standard has been tilted. The defenders of Mother Dark have been broken.’ He shrugged. ‘Victory and defeat. Both states are frozen in time. The moment is flushed, and yet the bloom quickly fades.’

‘You have seen too many battles,’ Sorca observed.

‘Yes I have, but I assure you, one is too many.’

She sparked alight her pipe. ‘So, now. A wedding.’

Prok nodded. ‘A celebration too solemn, too false. I see husband and wife standing inside a circle of sword-points. Shall they now smile? Clasp hands? Will the thrones indeed sit side by side? A royal chamber one half painted in light, the other drenched in darkness? Drink fails my powers of imagination, as ever, which I deem a blessing.’

‘Is your curiosity as dull?’

‘Not dull, just cold and lifeless. And you?’

‘It will be awkward,’ she said after a moment’s contemplation. ‘Fitful. Uneasy witnesses will struggle for words, strain to conjure the necessary smiles and congratulations. The ceremony strives but fails in the end. I for one am pleased to avoid invitation.’

He smiled at her with little humour. ‘Us commonfolk will be spared the ordeal, although I imagine some public display will be in the offing. These symbols are necessary, if only to ease our anxiety.’

‘Lady Sandalath’s mind is broken,’ said Sorca, squinting at the bowl of her pipe.

‘There is a steep toll to trauma,’ Prok replied. ‘Her mind must distance itself, find a place of retreat. Possibly,’ he mused, ‘a childhood memory, some refuge.’

‘She speaks like no child, surgeon.’

‘No, I suppose not. Something has twisted in her soul.’

‘Do you fear for the child?’

He shot her a glance. ‘Which one?’

Sorca looked away, said nothing as she smoked. Then, abruptly, she spoke again, though her tone was laconic. ‘How fares the ledger, I wonder?’

‘Excuse me? What ledger?’

She made a face. ‘Who died, I mean. Lord Anomander? Captain Ivis? What of Lord Draconus himself?’ When he made no answer, she continued. ‘I like the gate sergeant, Yalad. So very earnest, don’t you think? And considerate, of the lady, and the girl-child. I hope he still lives.’

‘It falls to that, doesn’t it? Details of administration now, with you clerks and list-makers venturing out from the shadowy alcoves. Who gets what, who pays, who gets paid. Missives sent out to families in the countryside, regretful in tone, yet urging an everlasting pride in the ones who sacrificed their lives defending… whatever.’

She studied him through the smoke. ‘You dislike my kind, don’t you?’