“Of course not,” Raesinia said. “My father was dying, Maurisk. When he died, Orlanko would have declared a regency and taken the throne for himself. I didn’t want to spend my life married to some Borel, with Vordan back under the Sworn Church’s boot.”

“So you came to us. A bunch of ignorant little pawns, to be used up and discarded when they were no longer useful.” He grinned viciously. “I’m so sorry everything hasn’t gone according to plan.”

“It was going fine, until you hijacked the Deputies-General for yourself.” Raesinia crossed her arms. “It was your bomb in the square. Don’t deny it.”

“Not much use in denying it now,” Maurisk said, with strange cheer. “Not much use in anything anymore. I just told a fucking witch to burn down half my city. Goddamned Janus bet Vhalnich just won’t give up, will he? Fuck.”

“You know it’s over for you,” Raesinia said. “If Janus wins, you’ll end up on your own Spike. If he loses, then it’s the Black Priests who’ll be running things, whether they keep you on as a puppet or not. You’ve sold them Vordan, and for what? A few favors? Getting rid of anyone who got in your way?”

“For peace.” Maurisk slammed his hand against the wall, leaving a dent in the plaster. “The Church will make the Borelgai and the emperor stop the war. Vordan needs peace, on whatever terms. Your friend Vhalnich can’t provide that, no matter how many battles he wins, but Ionkovo can.” He steadied himself and took a deep breath. “All he wanted was you, some Khandarai trinket, and Janus himself. It seemed like a good bargain. Still does, from where I stand.”

The hell of it was, she couldn’t entirely say he was wrong. Except . . . “Assuming Ionkovo keeps his promises. Once he has what he wants, what’s to stop the Church from taking over?”

“It’s a better chance than you and Vhalnich offer us. Or do you really think he can beat Borel and Murnsk together, with Ionkovo and his kind thrown in?” Maurisk snorted. “I wonder if even his madness goes that far.”

“I know I’d rather fight than trust in the mercy of the Pontifex of the Black.”

“You would rather fight. But that’s not much of a risk for you, is it? All those poor bastards in blue uniforms only get one life apiece.”

That hit a little too close to home. Raesinia looked away, and said nothing.

Maurisk shook his head, rapping on the door with exaggerated caution. As the lock clicked open, he said, “Dr. Sarton was especially interested to hear of your . . . condition.”

“You told Sarton?” Raesinia said.