‘General Kaze,’ she said to a lean-faced officer standing one step down from her station. ‘You have the watch.’

She stood and followed Archamus as he walked from the chamber. She did not ask where she was going or why; that it was Archamus meant that this was the Praetorian’s will, and she would discover the reason soon enough.

Two figures in massive amber-yellow Terminator plate flanked the door they eventually reached. Archamus paused for a second in front of them, and then the door to the chamber beyond opened. He stepped aside and motioned for her to enter.

The room was circular, and wide enough that it would have taken her twenty strides to reach the opposite wall. Thick, embroidered curtains hung over tall windows. Dusty glow-globes sent shadows across the domed ceiling above and the carpeted floor below. It smelled of pipe smoke and time soaked into rich fabric. Four figures looked up from the circular table as she entered. She knelt instantly.

‘Stand, admiral,’ said Rogal Dorn. She obeyed. Behind her, the door closed behind Archamus and she heard the brief buzz of servos as he too began to kneel, and then stopped himself. There was a clack of ceramite as he saluted, fist to chest. She smiled inwardly. As one of the Huscarls, Archamus did not kneel unless his lord did; it was a rule that he was still getting used to. But well he might have knelt.

Beside Rogal Dorn stood Sanguinius, face grave beneath his golden locks, and with them the gilded presence of Constantin Valdor. The Chief Custodian looked up from the parchment-strewn table, and gave Su-Kassen a short nod.

‘Admiral,’ he said, his voice an echo of the gravity in Sanguinius’ expression.

Malcador, alone of the four, was seated. The Regent of Terra had never looked older to Su-Kassen’s eyes. The hood of his robe was lowered, and she could see the skin of his scalp through the white strands of his hair. The lines of his face looked to be cut deeper into his brow and cheeks, and the skin had drawn tighter over the bones of his skull. A jolt of shock ran through her as he looked up. There was pain in his eyes, and a distance that reminded her of the eyes of her father in the last days of life.

‘Thank you for attending us here, admiral,’ said Malcador, his voice was as clear and steady as ever. A small smile twitched the edges of his mouth. ‘Excuse my remaining seated.’

‘Of course, Lord Regent,’ she said.

‘Oh, please can we move past the tortuous formalities?’