It was as impressive a disarmament as Josiri had ever witnessed. A few words and Malachi had bled Rosa’s hostility away. The woman left behind had neither the fire of the one who’d marched Viktor away the previous evening, nor the starchily formal manner of she who’d approached them moments before. Now, Rosa just seemed drained.

“What do you want, Malachi?”

“To talk. Only to talk. To hear, in your words, what you’ve found and what you believe.”

“You do want to convince me I’m wrong.”

“I want to hear your side of things. As I did after Aske Tarev died.”

Josiri noted Rosa’s flinch – as soon hidden as seen – and wondered what it meant.

“I have duties,” she said.

He heard more excuse than substance in the reply. Judging by the wry upturn at the corner of Malachi’s mouth, it hadn’t gone unremarked by him either. “Tonight, then? At my home? Constans was upset that you left without saying goodbye. This will give you a chance to make it up to him.”

“Did you just wield your child as a weapon?”

“I’m a politician,” sniffed Malachi. “No tactic is beneath me.”

Rosa regarded him sadly. “That’s just it, old friend. You’re too kind. You always have been. You’re not cynical enough to see the truth.”

“Then make me see. Tonight.”

She hesitated. “If that’s what you want.”

Marek was on his feet, serving tray in his hands, before the bell stopped. He’d expected it. Welcomed it, even. How swiftly routine bedded in. Adapting to new duties was the mark of a good servant. Even when those duties left a sour taste.

An elbow’s jab sprung the door, and then he was out of the kitchen and into the hall. Lady Kiradin met him there as she had in past days. As before, her expression gave little clue to the sorrow she had to be feeling. But wasn’t that the mark of true nobility? To stay the course even through stormy seas?

Without waiting for instruction, Marek descended the stairs into the basement. There, he set the tray down and turned the heavy key. As the door swung open, he reclaimed the tray and stepped into the dim space beyond.

He stood for a time, waiting for his eyes to adjust. The high, frosted windows gave little light to work with, and left the sheet-draped furnishings little more than ghosts. A room of echoes, where possessions once treasured lurked beyond enquiring eyes.

The chamber’s sole inhabitant sat on the narrow bed, back against the wall and one knee braced against the other. Unfriendly eyes gleamed in a filthy face. Rose-petal scent couldn’t disguise the bitter stench of a slops bucket.