Viktor couldn’t help but feel grudging admiration. Even now, her back to the wall and the howls of the hunt all about her, Ebigail was immovable.

“Fifteen years ago, the Council had me crush a woman for her dreams. I offered mercy. When she refused, her death opened a doorway onto all manner of suffering. I make you that same offer.”

“Mercy?” she sneered. “What use is mercy?”

“It grants opportunity to atone. You said it yourself, Ebigail. You’re a formidable force. One that could still serve the Republic.”

She gave a low, mocking laugh. “You dare compare me to Katya Trelan?”

“Not lightly. Katya Trelan was loved.”

“And I am a Kiradin. We raised this Republic out of Malatriant’s ashes. Parade me through the streets or throttle me here and now. But spare me your weakness.” She glared at him. The old, familiar stare that stripped flesh from bone to reveal the thoughts beneath.

Viktor shrugged. “Malachi said you’d refuse.”

“Oh yes? And did the high and mighty Lord Reveque have anything else to say for himself?”

“Only this.” Viktor stepped closer. “That if you refuse, the Privy Council will remove all trace of the Kiradin family from governance, and from history. You and your forebears will be forgotten. When your spirit looks onto Tressia from Otherworld’s mists you’ll see a Republic devoid of your reflection. You’ll no longer exist, not even as a cautionary tale.”

She drew back with a sharp intake of breath. “You wouldn’t dare . . .”

“Why not? History isn’t fact, Ebigail. It’s what we choose to remember . . . and what we choose to forget.”

“My line will go on,” she snapped. “My name will go on. Or do you intend to erase Sevaka?”

“Sevaka took the name Psanneque earlier tonight. Whatever betide, the Kiradin line is ended. Whether it is remembered, and how it is remembered, falls to you.”

Ebigail’s brandy glass shattered. Shards scattered onto the carpet. Shoulders quivering, she stabbed a bloody finger at the air between them.

“You made my daughter an exile?”

“She chose it for herself.” In his mind’s eye, Viktor still saw Sevaka’s earnest, smoke-blackened face as she made the declaration. “She hates you more than anyone.”

Ebigail grasped the mantelpiece. Ragged breaths slowed as she fought for control. “The way of guarded smiles and watchful tears. She’s learned more than I thought.”

She laughed, though Viktor heard little humour within.

“She’s made her choice,” he said. “Yours remains. I must have your answer, Ebigail.”

She straightened. When she spoke, her voice was again steady as stone. “And you shall.”

The wall dissolved into writhing mist. A dark shape sprang clear, steel flashing in the firelight.

Viktor flung himself aside. The lunge meant for his belly thudded into an armchair and tore free in a spray of goose-down. His shadow wailed. He staggered back, one hand clasped to his head to blot out its distress.