“Then make one. The legacy I offer is one of magnitude, not intent. I was a tyrant because I allowed times to shape me thus. For centuries I brought an end to war, to suffering. An Age of Dark, where all were one and wanted for nothing.”

“Save for want itself?” growled Viktor. “Or do your puppets retain desire? Have they any hope of freedom?”

Elda dipped her head and cast a sidelong glance at the nearest thrall: a young lad, barely of recruiting age. “Belenzo stripped that away when he set my ashes dancing on the winds. In betraying me, he also betrayed those he wished to save. Hold your anger for him.”

“He couldn’t have foreseen what would happen!”

“So his intent matters, where mine does not?”

She shrugged. Melancholy stole across her features. For the first time since his return to Eskavord, Elda Savka resembled a frail, old woman.

“I’ll not deny that I was afraid. That I could have handled matters differently. It will be different for you, if you let it.” With that, the vulnerability passed and calculation filled the void. “I know you feel the lure. Your shadow has grown so vibrant. I feel it throbbing beneath your skin. I know you long to embrace it.”

“That’s not true.” Viktor didn’t even convince himself.

“Then why have you sought to call on it so many times since arriving in Eskavord?”

“Out of need. I’ve only ever used my shadow out of need.”

“Are you certain? Or is that simply what you tell yourself? Did you never wonder why you so often get what you desire? Even sealed in Belenzo’s cage, my whispers shaped the Southshires, pushed men and women along paths they would never have trod without me. Are you certain you haven’t done the same?”

Elda’s words burrowed into Viktor’s thoughts like maggots. Apara. Bound to him by strings of shadow. A woman who’d killed for him, kidnapped for him, and none of it by her own will. And Josiri. At that first meeting. He’d almost done to him what he’d done to the kernclaw. But still, that wasn’t so bad. There was justice to Apara’s servitude, and he’d stopped short of binding Josiri. He remained a moral man, for he’d overcome temptation.

But no sooner had that thought formed than doubt slithered coldly in. Comments once thought innocuous took on fresh significance. Akadra the charmer, as Vladama Kurkas had taken to calling him behind his back. Malachi’s good-natured complaints that he was “always right”. The easy authority he’d taken for granted all his career. The reason of a rational man, or something ominous? Josiri. Revekah. Anastacia. Malachi. He’d convinced them all to go against their better judgement. And Calenne . . . Lingering on that thought was like thrusting his hand into a fire.

“You,” he growled. “You did this. You’ve manipulated me.”