'Harod?' Bayaz sneered in Jezal's face. 'Harod was an utter coward, and an utter fathead to boot! That idiot could scarcely dress himself without my help!'

'But—'

'It is easy to find men to lead charges.' The Magus pronounced each word with exaggerated care, as though addressing a simpleton. 'Finding men to lead nations is considerably more difficult. I do not intend that the effort I have put into you should be wasted. Next time you experience a yearning to risk your life, perhaps you might lock yourself in the latrine instead. People respect a man with a fighter's reputation, and that you have been fortunate enough to have been gifted. People do not respect a corpse. Not there!' roared Bayaz, limping past Jezal and waving one arm angrily at one of the smiths. The poor man started like a frightened rabbit, glowing embers spattering from his crucible. 'I told you, fool! You must follow the charts precisely! Exactly as I have drawn it! One mistake could be worse than fatal!'

Jezal stared after him, outrage, guilt, and simple exhaustion fighting for control of his body. Exhaustion won. He trudged over to the barrels and slumped down next to Ferro.

'Your fucking Majesty,' she said.

He rubbed at his eyes with finger and thumb. 'You do me too much honour with your kind attentions.'

'Bayaz not happy, eh?'

'It seems not.'

'Well. When is that old bastard happy with anything?'

Jezal gave a grunt of agreement. He realised that he had not spoken to Ferro since he was crowned. It was not as though they had been fast friends before, of course, but he had to admit that he was finding her utter lack of deference to him an unexpected tonic. It was almost like being, for a brief moment, the vain, idle, worthless, happy man he used to be. He frowned over at Bayaz, stabbing his finger at something in his old book. 'What ever is he up to, anyway?'

'Saving the world, he tells me.'

'Ah. That. He's left it a little late, don't you think?

She shrugged. 'I'm not in charge of the timing.'

'How does he plan to do it? With picks and forges?'

Ferro watched him. He still found those devil-yellow eyes as off-putting as ever. 'Among other things.'

Jezal planted his elbows on his knees, his chin drooping down onto his palms, and gave vent to a long sigh. He was so very, very tired. 'I seem to have done the wrong thing,' he muttered.

'Huh.' Ferro's eyes slid away. 'You've got a knack for it.'

Nightfall

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