“Enquiries have begun,” she said. “However, these weren’t disgruntled villagers, my lord, but self-made outcasts. And I need not remind you that there’s no shortage of hiding places out in the forests. I haven’t the soldiers to roust them all. Of course, if the Council were to strengthen the garrison . . .”

“The Council has greater concerns than reinforcing your failures, governor,” snapped Makrov. “Wolf’s-heads have family, friends. They rely on others for food, weapons and comfort. Choose a village. Make an example. Someone will talk. And as to what you can do, your grace? I expect you to denounce this assault in the strongest of terms as part of your noonday speech.”

Josiri suppressed a scowl. But at least Makrov had lost interest in Anastacia. There was always the possibility, however remote, that she might have let something unfortunate slip out. It wasn’t a question of loyalty, but of pride. Almost everything was.

“Are you certain that’s wise?” he asked.

“This was a provocation. A deliberate humiliation. I expect you to address it as such.”

This was safer ground, and a battle Josiri had prepared for. “Indeed. And the very best course of action is not to rise to the bait. I see no reason to drag your dignity through the mud.”

Makrov’s eyebrow curled in suspicion. “My dignity? I don’t follow.”

“At present, only a handful of people know of this. The patrol who found you. The outlaws themselves. Why change that? Why expose yourself to ridicule?”

“This is not about my pride.”

Anastacia’s black eyes gleamed. Josiri shot her a warning glance. For a mercy, she remained silent.

“Of course it isn’t,” he said. “It’s about that of those you represent: the Council, and Lumestra herself. But it’s your decision. I’ll abide by whatever course you think proper.”

Makrov folded his arms. “And the effigy on Gallows Hill?”

“A childish gesture. Ignore it.”

Rare uncertainty ghosted across Makrov’s brow. Josiri held his breath. This was it. The moment that would judge one of them for a fool. There was no containing Makrov’s humiliation, not now. By day’s end, it would have spread far and wide.

But truth mattered little when it came to pride. Josiri stared up at his mother’s portrait. If there was one lesson he’d learned from her death, it was that. And Makrov had sufficient pride to swell the delusions of a dozen men. He needed only to believe. It was Josiri’s fervent hope that he would. Otherwise his own pride would have consequences.

“There . . . There may be some wisdom in what you say,” Makrov said at last. “Perhaps it is better that your speech cleaves to broader topics.”

Josiri offered a shallow bow, more to conceal a relieved smile than to offer respect. “Of course, my lord archimandrite.”