Chel hadn’t even seen the little alchemist, huddled in an alcove, buried in cushions. She looked no better than Lemon, drawn, red-rimmed, hoarse. She dropped from the alcove and waved a finger over Lemon’s protestations. ‘We are just meat, just sacks of rotting flesh, frail, mortal. Our lives ended on another’s whim, without care or consultation.

‘Your friend will die, and the rest of us will join him soon enough. I hope you feel proud of your existence, because it is all you will get. It is all any of us gets, and it … it … it is not enough! Life cannot be so cheap, that we as living, thinking beings are so easily snuffed out. A lifetime of memories, relationships, thoughts, hopes, fantasies – gone! In an instant!’ She whirled on Rennic. ‘Those people in the courtyard, they were trapped, defenceless. They were tricked and beaten. And you … you murdered them all! You burned them to ash!’

Now Rennic stood tall over the Nort, his nostrils flared, hands flexed rigid and trembling. ‘You say too much, alchemist. My patience for plush-living, would-be warriors telling me the hows and whys of war is a desperately scarce resource. I invite you to shut your fucking mouth while it remains within your power to do so.’ He put a finger under her nose. ‘I asked you if you had the stomach, and you decided. You make your choice, then you make your peace.’

Chel twitched at the echo of Foss’s words. The little Nort shook, from fear, rage or both it was impossible to tell, then stormed for the door. ‘Your friend will never wake!’ she called again as she threw it open. ‘And our lives are ending!’

‘Go on, get to fuck,’ Lemon called after her, a sob squeezing at her throat. ‘You useless fucking piss-baby!’

The door slammed, then opened again, slowly. A harried face appeared, one of the Acting Keeper’s remaining staff.

‘His highness the prince has asked for you.’

***

Chel and Rennic followed the flunky along the deserted hallways, leaving Lemon to her murmured ministrations.

The palace appeared silent, eerie, not even the distant clatter of activity echoing from the bare stone.

‘Words or deeds,’ Rennic murmured as they walked.

‘What?’

‘Huh?’ He blinked, went quiet. Then, after a moment, he spoke. ‘I was thinking of the first man I killed.’

Chel waited. ‘And?’

‘That was what my captain asked me, when she heard. “Words or deeds”.’

‘For why you’d killed him.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Which was it?’

They climbed the wide stone steps slower than before, Chel feeling the burn of each in his legs.

‘Words.’ He paused again, and Chel thought that was it, but after a moment he continued. ‘It was in an alehouse, took exception to another drinker. I’d had a few myself, and was … younger. Fresh riding with the company.’

‘You killed a man in an alehouse?’