Okash’s thin cheeks colour. ‘I beg forgiveness, inquisitor, but it’s not so simple.’

Ravara does not break eye contact. ‘Enlighten me,’ she says.

‘The stress of sailing is killing the Navigator,’ Okash says. ‘According to the medicae staff assigned to her care, Lady Oraylis has suffered seizures and multiple minor heart failures.’ Okash pauses. He takes a breath. ‘They have had to bind her arms to her throne to prevent her from scratching out her seer’s eye.’

‘Does she refuse to sail?’ Ravara asks.

Okash blinks. He looks down at the slate. ‘No, lord.’

‘Then I don’t see the issue.’

Okash looks to Elivia as if to plead with her, but the Canoness merely shakes her head.

‘The inquisitor has it right,’ Elivia says. ‘We have made an oath to find the Shield, Okash. The sacrifices made by House Oraylis are noted, but they need not be subject to sorrow. The God-Emperor loves all martyrs.’

Everyone around the table bows their heads momentarily at the mention of Him, and so do I, but I cannot help thinking of the words Qi-Oh spoke in anger in the training halls.

It is all because of you.

‘How many translations do you expect it will take for us to reach Dimmamar?’ Elivia asks, after the quiet moment passes.

Okash frowns. ‘That depends on the Navigator,’ he says. ‘And on the Vow herself. The ship is ailing badly from our passage through the Rift. Hull integrity is averaging no more than sixty-five per cent. We can have either lances or shields, but not both. Main propulsion drives are operating at reduced capacity. The Vow is coming apart at the seams.’

‘What about the Geller field?’ Zoric asks. ‘If it fails again–’

Okash shakes his head. ‘It did not fail. It flickered.’ He checks his slate again. ‘According to reports, the field was compromised for less than a thousandth of a second.’

Zoric stares at him, his scarred arms folded. ‘I think we’d all agree that was plenty,’ he says.

‘Enough,’ Elivia says. ‘Will the Geller field hold, Okash?’

The first officer takes a breath. ‘It is currently stable, Canoness. That is all that I can offer you by way of an answer.’

‘The ship will hold,’ Ravara says simply. ‘I have seen it.’

‘And the crew?’ Quinn asks. Her accent is not clipped and studied like Okash’s. Quinn’s rough-edged voice is broad and lilting. Almost lyrical. ‘We lost near thirty-six per cent of the active crew to the incursions suffered during transit, then another twelve per cent of those remaining to the purges that followed.’

‘They are not the only ones to have lost,’ Elivia says. ‘We left Terra with a combined commandery of near four hundred Sisters, plus non-militant auxiliaries. There are fewer than two hundred and fifty of us, now.’

The Canoness’ voice is cold and impatient, but Quinn does not waver.