The same small, brick-built house in the same unremarkable street that Glokta had visited so often before. The same house where I spent so many enjoyable afternoons. As close as I have come to comfort since I was dragged drooling from the Emperor's prisons. He slid his right hand into his pocket, felt the cold metal brush against his fingertips. Why do I do this? Why? So that drunken arsehole Hoff can mop his brow at a calamity averted? So that Jezal dan Luthar can sit a hair more secure on his puppet throne? He twisted his hips one way and then the other until he felt his back click. She deserves so much better. But such is the terrible arithmetic of power.

He pushed back the gate, hobbled up to the front door, and gave it a smart knock. It was a moment before the cringing maid answered. Perhaps the one who alerted our court drunkard Lord Hoff to the unfortunate situation? She showed him through into the over-furnished sitting room with little more than a mumble and left him there, staring at a small fire in the small grate. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the fireplace, and frowned.

Who is that man? That ruined shell? That shambling corpse? Can you even call it a face? So twisted and so lined, so etched with pain. What is this loathsome, pitiable species? Oh, if there is a God, protect me from this thing!

He tried to smile. Savage grooves cut through his corpse-pale skin, the hideous gap in his teeth yawned. The corner of his mouth trembled, his left eye twitched, narrower than the other, rimmed with angry red. The smile seems to promise horrors more surely even than the frown.

Has any man ever looked more of a villain? Has any man ever been more of a monster? Could any vestige of humanity possibly remain behind such a mask? How did beautiful Sand dan Glokta become… this? Mirrors. Even worse than stairs. His lip curled with disgust as he turned away.

Ardee stood in the doorway, watching him in silence. She looked well, to his mind, once he got over the awkward surprise of being observed. Very well, with perhaps the slightest swelling about her stomach already? Three months along now? Four perhaps? Soon there will be no disguising it.

'Your Eminence.' She gave him an appraising glance as she stepped into the room. 'White suits you.'

'Truly? You do not feel it makes the skull-like rings about my feverish eyes look all the darker?'

'Why, not at all. It perfectly matches your ghoulish pallor.'

Glokta leered his toothless grin. 'The very effect I was hoping for.'

'Have you come to take me on another tour of sewers, death and torture?'