‘Of course, of course,’ Sen Uru replied, with a nod. He knew as well as anyone else that Arctos was not apologising for the delay: rather, he was reminding Sen Uru exactly how lucky he was not to have already come under his scrutiny. ‘I…’ He glanced at Chetta, somewhat sheepishly. ‘My lord, I understand the severity of these issues, but might we not speak of them in private?’

Arctos sighed. ‘Make no mistake, Lord Dukarr, under normal circumstances this conversation would be conducted in a very different manner, and it would most certainly not be in private – rather, it would be witnessed by Imperial prosecutors and recorded by court clerks.’ Now it was Arctos turn to glance sideways, although his expression was carefully neutral. ‘However, I have received a representation from House Brobantis requesting that I refrain from such an approach. Given that the vast majority of your actions were directed against House Brobantis property and personnel, I have agreed… in theory.’

Sen Uru’s expression froze. He didn’t look relieved; he looked like a man who was certain he’d just been outmanoeuvred but hadn’t yet worked out how. He turned to look directly at Chetta, his lips tight.

‘Lady Brobantis. I must confess my gratitude…’ His lip twitched, but he forged ahead with what Chetta might have considered to be commendable honesty in someone whom she didn’t dislike so much. ‘My gratitude, and my confusion.’

‘A trade war benefits neither of us,’ Chetta said flatly.

‘Agreed,’ Sen Uru said immediately. ‘Although you gave my house great insult, since I learned from Lady Vass of your heroic role in saving Vorlese, not to mention killing the man who took the life of my dear boy…’ He swallowed back what appeared to be genuine tears. ‘All honour is more than satisfied. In front of these witnesses, I declare House Dukarr’s part of the trade war to be at an immediate end. I will gladly offer payment for the damages caused by my operatives when I, grieving and, I must confess, not in my right mind, erroneously believed you to be responsible for my son’s murder.’

‘I accept,’ Chetta replied. A House Dukarr that was humbled, but still considered itself to have got off lightly, served her purposes far better than one brought low but which seethed with longing for revenge. ‘Let us draw a line under this.’

‘With pleasure,’ Sen Uru replied, and for a moment Chetta caught sight of the man he could have been: bluff, yes, perhaps a little overbearing at times, but warm and genuine. Perhaps it was simply the demands of his role that had turned him into the bullish, callous manipulator he had become.

What, then, does that say for me?

On the face of it, that I am more natural at manipulating people than he is.