It was night outside, she realised. The time had been drained of meaning over the last days. What did it matter if the sun was rising when your mind was focused on planets halfway across the system?

On she walked, not minding her path or steps. The places she passed through were empty. When she did see other humans they moved in clusters, flanked by soldiers. She recognised the green-and-silver cloaks of the Qui-Helic Guard, the crimson armour of the Inferalti Hussars, and the grey-and-ochre fatigues of the Cordesh Cavalry – the regiments of the Old Hundred deployed within the walls in what might be the last days of the Imperium they helped found. Nothing and no one moved unescorted within the Palace, except the Tenebrae. Malcador’s eyes and ears watched and listened from the shadows and passed like breaths of chilly wind as they hunted whispers.

Hundreds of millions lived in the Palace tending its functions, from those holding high bureaucratic office to the serfs performing the lowest menial tasks. Most remained, attending to the crucial duties that kept the Emperor’s seat of power working, but whatever solace their positions had given them before offered little comfort now. Every district and enclave had been locked down. Food, water and information had become rationed as the intra-system convoys halted, and the reality of war, often distant, had made its presence known. A black market had sprung up within days. Su-Kassen had read the reports: a senior supervisor of records caught crossing security lines with the water he had bought with the jewelled rings from his fingers; the high matriarch of a noble scribe-clan who had refused to turn back from a containment line, striding past with a laugh, only to be gunned down; the northern records district that was still burning after a chemical stove had exploded. It would only get worse with time, and then…

‘Are you all right, admiral?’

She had blinked and looked up at Archamus.

The Huscarl had glanced down at her. ‘It is just that I am not certain as to your purpose in walking the Palace.’

They were crossing a stone bridge that spanned a ravine between two internal Palace walls. A chilly wind blew across her face. She blinked at the strangeness of the question and the double strangeness of who was asking it. She frowned, not certain how, or whether, to answer.

‘I apologise,’ said Archamus after a moment. ‘I should not have intruded.’

They lapsed back into silence.

They walked on, through passages narrow enough to brush Archamus’ shoulder guards, and others wide enough that a platoon of soldiers could have marched down them line abreast. Most were dark, lit by a scattering of lamps or not at all; fuel and power, like everything else, was a resource that now had to be hoarded and spent with care. All corridors and spaces were empty, echoing.