She heard and looked up, then offered a tight, momentary smile. ‘Indeed. One meeting remains to us.’ Tucking the scroll under one arm, she strode towards a small side door. ‘Come.’

The room beyond was low-ceilinged, its walls virtually covered in tapestries. Thick rugs silenced their steps as they entered. A modest round table occupied the centre, beneath an ornate oil lamp that was the only source of light. There was a second door opposite, low and narrow. The table was the chamber’s sole piece of furniture.

Tavore dropped the scroll onto its battered top as Gamet shut the door behind him. When he turned he saw that she was facing him. There was a sudden vulnerability in her eyes that triggered a clutching anxiety in his gut – for it was something he had never before seen from this daughter of House Paran. ‘Adjunct?’

She broke the contact, visibly recovered. ‘In this room,’ she quietly said, ‘the Empress is not present.’

Gamet’s breath caught, then he jerked his head in a nod.

The smaller door opened, and the Fist turned to see a tall, almost effeminate man, clothed in grey, a placid smile on his handsome features as he took a step into the chamber. An armoured woman followed – an officer of the Red Blades. Her skin was dark and tattooed in Pardu style, her eyes black and large, set wide above high cheekbones, her nose narrow and aquiline. She seemed anything but pleased, her gaze fixing on the Adjunct with an air of calculating arrogance.

‘Close the door behind you, Captain,’ Tavore said to the Red Blade.

The grey-clad man was regarding Gamet, his smile turning faintly quizzical. ‘Fist Gamet,’ he said. ‘I imagine you are wishing you were still in Unta, that bustling heart of the empire, arguing with horse-traders on behalf of House Paran. Instead, here you are, a soldier once more—’

Gamet scowled and said, ‘I am afraid I do not know you—’

‘You may call me Pearl,’ the man replied, hesitating on the name as if its revelation was the core of some vast joke of which only he was aware. ‘And my lovely companion is Captain Lostara Yil, late of the Red Blades but now – happily – seconded into my care.’ He swung to the Adjunct and elaborately bowed. ‘At your service.’

Gamet could see Tavore’s expression tighten fractionally. ‘That remains to be seen.’

Pearl slowly straightened, the mockery in his face gone. ‘Adjunct, you have quietly – very quietly – arranged this meeting. This stage has no audience. While I am a Claw, you and I are both aware that I have – lately – incurred my master Topper’s – and the Empress’s – displeasure, resulting in my hasty journey through the Imperial Warren. A temporary situation, of course, but none the less, the consequence is that I am at something of a loose end at the moment.’