Matil paused, one hand resting on the table before her. A brilliant blue butterfly descended onto her shoulder, resting there for a moment, slow wings shining in the shafts of coloured light from above. ‘When we treat with them, highness, you will need—’

‘Yes, quite, I shall attend.’

‘No, absolutely not. If they have come for your head, I will not present it to them as a gift. You will need to nominate a second, someone to represent you and your interests.’

Tarfel nodded, relief bringing some colour back to his pallor, and with it, a small smile. ‘What better second than my first sworn. Would you do the honour of representing me, Vedren?’

Chel swallowed, nodded, took a step then stopped. ‘Of course, highness.’

‘Chel has been my man for half-a-year, kept me alive with the kingdom against me. I couldn’t have a better second.’

‘Anything we should know, Chel sworn to Tarfel of Vistirlar?’

‘You need to open the gates and let those people in.’

‘I believe you said as much before.’

‘And it’s no less true now. If you care about those people—’

‘They are not my people.’

‘But they are people! And they will die on that bridge if you do not let them in. You said it yourself, the gates to the plains are open – they could cross the city and go straight out the far side, no bother to a soul.’

‘I cannot allow unrestricted access to the city. For centuries we have controlled—’

‘Leave them on the bridge, and you will have their blood on your hands. Your hands, Exalted.’

Matil gazed past him, off toward the slow-spinning silken butterflies. ‘I will think about it, Chel of the South.’

She turned to leave, and Kosh went to follow. The engineer shot Chel an angry look as she did so.

‘Wait,’ he said. ‘I want to talk to you.’

She frowned, but stayed as Matil strode away.

‘What?’

Chel nodded her away from the others, toward where the silk butterflies dangled. His mind swirled along with them. ‘I’ve been thinking.’

‘You surprise me.’

‘We need to prepare for the possibility that everything is about to go to shit.’

Kosh raised her eyebrows, but said nothing.

‘You know better than anyone what those confessor bastards are lugging in those wagons. I’ve seen your alchemy—’

‘I am an en—’

‘Engineer, yes, but you know more than enough alchemy to get by, don’t you? More than anyone in our wretched kingdom, I’d guess.’

She preened, but didn’t disagree. ‘What are these thoughts that pain you?’

‘Why did you believe they’d have less than they do? You keep saying they should have exhausted their stores, yet here they are on the city’s doorstep, and they seem in no hurry to conserve their alchemy.’

She folded her arms. ‘In simple terms?’

‘Why not.’