‘She… was a little overzealous. Tried to get a close-up of a dying genestealer before it had fully expired. Still, she was the youngest ever propagandist to be posthumously honoured by being fashioned into a seer-skull.’

‘And what greater honour could one ask for?’ Shard replied, picking an invisible piece of dust from her collar.

‘Forget it!’ I snapped. ‘Forget all of it. I will make this pict and it will be a triumph. But there will be no mention of your name. I had intended you to be the focus, but that is done. Your comrades can be immortalised whilst you will be forgotten, erased from history.’

‘How disappointing.’ She smiled. ‘Still, I draw a sliver of solace from the fact you would be dead twice over without my assistance. So, in a sense, your pict could never be completed without me. But you frame history to suit your needs, because I don’t care. And that’s the truth.’

Her words were well chosen. There was nothing I could say. Instead, I stalked away with whatever dignity I could muster, telling myself that the unpleasant stench that clung to me was merely the swamp water, and not the rank odour of hypocrisy.

Chapter nine

CHAPTER NINE

I barely left the château for days.

It would have been different had Mizar boarded the Valkyrie. At least then I would have gained something from the conflict. I busied myself catalog­uing the little material I had backed up prior to the mission, and tried not to think of the potential repercussions from my superiors for the loss of Mizar. I saw little of Shard, though I made a point of interviewing the other fighter aces, what little good that did me.

Flight Commander Talzin Nocter of Falcon Squadron was clearly nervous, perpetually fussing with his hair, or leaning back and forward in his seat. He answered my questions, and his responses would have garnered the approval of the most pious drill abbot. But his voice was hollow and inauthentic, as though he sought the correct answer to each question rather than revealing his own views on the war. His words were just another echo of a score of earlier picts.

The same could not be said of Flight Commander Orthox Gradeolous. His file indicated a distinguished career, with victories against some of the Imperium’s greatest foes, and he was presentable enough, despite his slightly brutish manner. But I did not like his smile, framed as it was by beautifully waxed whiskers. When he spoke of his glories there was a glint in his eye, not so much a disdain for human life as an ambivalence. I had been surprised to learn his squadron were designated the Sharks, as I understood this to be a reference to an ancient and aquatic Terran creature. However, having subsequently reviewed the mural adorning his fighter, with its razor teeth and cold, blank eyes, I could see a resemblance. A predator.