Judge leaned forwards and pointed with her long forefinger. “Accept your guilt and denounce. Denounce both your fathers. Tell us where we can find Old Sticks. Put him in the dock in your place and live. Refuse?” She draped herself back into her chair, black eyes fixed on Savine like a wolf’s on dinner. “The Tower o’ Chains is waiting.”

No one called out in Savine’s defence now, paid or not, and who could blame them? There was only accusation in the rings of tight-packed faces at the balconies above. She leaned over the dock to lay Ardee in the crook of Freid’s arm, next to her brother. The blanket had come loose and she tucked it gently around her again, laid one hand upon her, the other on Harod. He squirmed and snivelled. She wanted to hold him so badly, one last time. But that would only put them in danger. She had to do the brave thing, for once. Put someone else above herself and let them go.

“Try to keep them safe,” she whispered.

Freid nodded dumbly, tears on her cheeks. Tears more of fear than sorrow, Savine rather thought, and who could blame her?

She adjusted her dress as she turned back to Judge. Foolishness, of course, but the habit was impossible to break. Her mother had always warned her a man is judged by his best moment, a woman by her worst. One had to make the effort, even for an informal event. Savine forced back her shoulders, raised her chin into that position of eternal slight discomfort her governess always used to call deportment.

“I have no idea where my father is,” she said.

Judge narrowed her eyes. “Come, come, Citizeness Brock. That won’t save your life.”

Short of Arch Lector Glokta throwing off a cloak and revealing himself in the public gallery, Savine did not see that anything could. But she refused to let them beat her. Dignity is not worth much, in the end, but she was determined to keep it even so.

“You picked apt names for yourselves.” Savine looked around the ruined hall that was once the Lords’ Round. Its scarred marble, smashed furniture, empty slogans, red-daubed thugs. “You are Burners. You build nothing, you make nothing. All you can do is destroy. The old regime was rotten. The people cried for freedom. What have you given them?” She gave a helpless shrug. “Corpses. I do not know where my father is. But even if I did, I would not tell you.”

The echoes faded. No sound but the quick breath through her nostrils, and little Harod’s faint snivelling.

Her efforts had not even dented Judge’s smile. “Then, Citizeness Brock, you give me no choice but to sentence you to death by falling from the Tower of Chains. And may I say that in my long career there’s no ruling I’ve enjoyed pronouncing more.” And she raised her hammer.

“Wait!” screeched Orso, his sweaty face pressed to the bars of his cage.