“Now if you’ll excuse me, you have guests and I have duties. We can’t serve unpalatable food, and there are so many dishes that need tasting.”

And no doubt fruits to be “checked” for proper sweetness and wines to be sampled, lest they’d gone sour. Josiri fought the urge to apologise. In their peculiar world, “sorry” was seldom more welcome than “love”. The passage of time would ease the wound.

“Thank you. Please tell Governor Yanda I’ll see her out here.”

The clouds broke. Anastacia offered the glimmer of a smile. “Of course, your grace.”

She went inside, leaving Josiri alone with his thoughts, chief among them being the resentment he felt at the coming parting. But Anastacia was right. The first of many sacrifices, no doubt, but this one cut deep. She was bound to Branghall’s stones, and his destiny – good or ill – lay beyond. He could leave whenever he wished, if Anastacia opened the hallowgate for him.

The last of the chimes faded into echo. Little by little, life returned to Eskavord’s streets. Hesitant townsfolk emerged in ones and twos, wary lest looming kraikons drag them away. Blue uniforms gathered in the main thoroughfares. Flesh and blood guards to replace those of metal and seething magic. Normality – or as close to it as Eskavord had – was returning.

The balcony door creaked open. “Your grace?”

Governor Yanda stood in the doorway, ward-brooch sparkling on her uniform breast, and her expression fixed in a mask of wary politeness. Two soldiers lingered close by – a rare escort, and another reminder of recent troubles.

“Governor.” Josiri let bitterness bloom. “Are you proud of what your soldiers have done?”

She joined him on the balcony. “We’ve suffered losses of our own. A few deaths. Most were defending themselves. For those that weren’t, I tender my apologies.” She took a deep breath. “I can’t imagine what you were thinking.”

“I did what the archimandrite demanded.”

“True, but I can’t help but wonder about the detail.”

Josiri frowned to conceal alarm. Yanda wasn’t a fool. She wouldn’t have lasted in her position otherwise. How much did she know? Or guess? He’d been careful in conspiracy, but there was no accounting for stolen glances, or misspoken words.

“Governor, I’m trying to be polite, but there are limits. It’s one thing for Makrov to insist on pettiness. It’s quite another for him to blame me for the consequences.”

“Leave us.”

The guards straightened at Yanda’s order and retreated inside. A little of the stiffness slipped from Yanda’s shoulders. Scabbard tapping against her thigh, she leaned on the balustrade and stared out across Eskavord.

“I knew your mother,” she said. “Did I ever tell you?”

Josiri relaxed, but only a little. Yanda’s tone warned that the conversation’s end lay far distant from where it had begun. Still, he was curious.

“Not so I recall.”