“Those same priests preach that my folk are both rebellious and shiftless,” said Josiri. “Where we find the energy for the one if we’re the other, I don’t know.”

“Did you ever wonder what came first – the hatred, or the lies? Or perhaps we fascinate? Nothing breeds hatred like desire.”

He winced. “I’ve answered your question. Tell me about my sister.”

“Not yet.”

Tired of her games, Josiri reached for the canvas flap. “Then I’ll wish you good night.”

“No!”

For the first time, a note of desperation crept through. Josiri halted.

“I asked you here to propose a trade,” said Melanna softly. “My father took wounds in the battle. He sleeps feverishly elsewhere.”

“You want me to send a physician?”

“I want you to set him free.”

Josiri laughed. “Your father’s responsible for more deaths than I can tally. How much pity do you suppose I feel?”

“He harmed no one who didn’t oppose him under arms. That should count for something.”

“Perhaps. But not enough.”

She stared at the rutted, straw-strewn floor. “You’d have the architect of today’s battle face justice?”

“Not I. The Council.”

“And we all know Trelans always do as the Council demands.”

With iron will, Josiri kept his face expressionless. She knew too much of him, and his mood. “On this occasion, our interests align. There must be a reckoning.”

“And there will be. But I’d spare my father the humiliation of being paraded through your streets. And the indignity of the noose.”

“I doubt he’ll get the noose,” said Josiri. “They’ll probably burn him alive.”

Melanna met his gaze, her eyes afire. “And you’d call that justice?”

“It doesn’t matter what I call it. You’re heathens. Heathens get the pyre.”

She shuddered and with visible effort brought herself under control. “My father is not the architect you seek. I am.”

Josiri frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Aedrun called me Ashanal because I bear the favour of the goddess. With her blessing, I swept aside those in our path. I brought us to the cusp of victory. Let my father go.”

Josiri wasn’t sure how much to believe, or even if he should believe. Hadari womenfolk never took to the battlefield, so Melanna was already unusual. As for the rest, Josiri had woken from the arms of a serathi-turned-spirit, turned . . . well, he wasn’t sure, but it certainly encouraged him to discount little of what he heard.

“Even if what you say is true, you offer to trade with something I already possess.”

She took a deep breath, no longer the proud princessa, but something vulnerable. Josiri wasn’t sure which to believe, if either. In fact, he was starting to suspect that neither aspect held more than a portion of the true Melanna Saranal. He’d spent too long playing a role not to recognise the masquerade in another.