The Brucolac did not turn around. His eyes did not leave the Lovers.

"I know one thing about you, Uther," he said, "one thing at least. Armada’s your home, and you need it. And I know that for all your stiff-faced shit about loyalty "-his voice became very hard for a second-"the city’s the one thing you won’t betray. And you know that they will destroy it."

He waited, as if for a response.

"Stand down," was all Doul said.

"If the fucking Scar exists," whispered the Brucolac, still without turning, "and if they get us there and by some gods-fucked miracle we survive, then they’ll still destroy us. We are not an expeditionary force; we are not on some fucking quest. This is a city, Uther. We live; we buy; we sell; we steal; we trade. We are a port. This is not about adventures." He turned and faced Uther Doul with his eyes caustic. "You know that. That’s why you came here, dammit, Uther. Because you were sick of adventures.

"Let’s have some rationality… We don’t need the fucking beast. We don’t need to haul arse across the world-we never have. The point’s not that some fucker centuries ago built those chains; the point is that they were left empty. And if we survive this lunacy, as long as we’re tethered to the bastard avanc these two will take us on another fucking voyage, and another, until we all die.

"That’s not our logic, Doul; that’s not how Armada works. That’s not why we came here. I will not let them end this."

"Brucolac," Doul said, "you do not make this choice."

Slowly, the vampir’s eyes widened, and hard lines broke his face.

"Gods… You know I’m right, Uther, don’t you? I can fucking see it on you. So what are you doing?" he hissed. "What do you have planned?"

"Deadman," Doul spoke softly. "You will stand down."

"You think so, Liveman Doul?" the Brucolac whispered. His voice was coarse with swallowed rage. Long strings of slaver stretched down from his extended teeth. The bones in his hands cracked as he closed his fists. "You think so? You’re a fine soldier, Liveman Doul. I’ve seen you fight. I’ve fought beside you… But I’m more than three centuries old, Doul. You take on a couple of my cadre, and you think you can face me? I killed my way to this city before you were born. I won my riding in war and fire. I’ve butchered things no liveman has even seen.

"I am the Brucolac, and your sword won’t save you. You think you can face me?"

The corridors of the Grand Easterly were absolutely empty. Bellis wound through the passageways, down stairways toward the jailhouse, her footsteps coming back to her in echo.