‘My friends, it was many years ago now that Lord Azariel, Lady Chettamandey and myself agreed to join our houses,’ Sen Uru boomed, abandoning all sense of decorum in favour of his more natural showmanship. ‘But it has not yet been officially mandated. As a gesture of support to my dear friend Chetta at this sad time, I would like to declare, here and now, the betrothal of our children. My son Ban Uru to her daughter Felicia, and my daughter Del Iri to her son Ranovel.’

It was completely within the man’s usual operating methods, of course. Establish dominance. Show up to your rival’s funeral and commandeer it to announce your children’s pre-agreed betrothal to his, framing it as a happy event and a gesture of support. Leave the other family compelled to either cede control of the event to you, or to oppose it and portray themselves as currently emotional and weak – after all, the gene-scholars had long ago proclaimed the mingling of the bloodlines to be an excellent choice, with a high likelihood of healthy, viable offspring. It wasn’t a matter of if the official betrothal was going to go ahead, it was simply a matter of when.

What Sen Uru Dukarr probably didn’t realise was that Chetta had arranged for her husband’s death. She’d wrested control of the house from the most charismatic, ruthless and successful Novator it had enjoyed in four centuries, and one that she’d been passing fond of, at that; she’d invite the Ordo Xenos on a guided tour of Azariel’s aeldari relics before she would let herself be outmanoeuvred at his funeral.

‘I am afraid,’ Chetta said, raising her own voice, ‘that this is simply impossible.’

‘But my dear Chetta,’ Sen Uru said, turning back to her. His face showed dismay, but his eyes were sharp. He’d pushed her; now he wanted to see how she was going to react. ‘There is no reason to delay.’

‘I’m not delaying the betrothal, Sen Uru,’ Chetta said, leaning on her cane and staring up at him. She waited for the faintest hint of a smirk to form beneath his moustaches.

‘I’m calling it off entirely.’ You absolute arse, she added silently, without caring whether the man’s aides could read her mind or not.

Utter human silence fell across the rooftop. The only sound was the gentle sighing of the rain as it struck rockcrete, and the occasional flutter of mourning fabric as the wind caught it.

Sen Uru Dukarr’s tongue flickered out momentarily, moistening his lips. He hadn’t expected this. He’d thought he was forcing a confrontation for which he was prepared, but he’d blundered into a solar system expecting human pirates and had encountered an ork warfleet instead.

‘The gene-scrying was clear–’ he began, but Chetta had no interest in letting him regain the initiative.