He felt the letter, crushed to a sweaty ball in his fist.

We hear you are in trouble.

Didn’t think he could hear fighting any more. Just the sounds of the wounded now, thin on the wind. Had the Young Lion won? Was the Great Change done? The thought brought up no real feeling. He was playing dead, maybe. He’d done that in Styria. Told himself he was dead so nothing that was done to him could matter. Nothing that he did could matter.

Peaceful up here, so high above the city. As high as the highest smoking chimneys. He watched Bannerman nudge Savine up the three steps to the platform. He watched Orso shake off Halder’s hand and take the three steps himself to stand beside her. Facing the city. Facing the sea.

We hear you have lost yourself.

“Don’t worry,” said Judge, her wild red hair whipped and slashed by the wind, and behind her flames flickered, smoke rolling into the sky from the burning Court of the People. She put a hand on Broad’s cheek. “I know this isn’t easy. Sarlby?”

“No,” said Broad. He tossed the letter over the parapet, watched it drop out of sight. “It should be me.”

We know who you are.

He stepped forward. Shouldered past Sarlby, and Bannerman, and Halder. Comrades from the battlefields of Styria, the barricades in Valbeck, the midnight beatings of striking workers. Everything took an effort. Like he was wading through a bog.

Our husband.

More of the city showed as he stepped up onto the platform. The grimy white towers, the dark mill chimneys, the maze of roofs leading all the way to the sparkling sea. Everything smelled of burning, so strong it was hard to breathe.

Our father.

Savine stared towards the long drop, muscles working on the side of her face. Slightly bent over, like she wanted to huddle to the roof. Orso stood with hands tied behind him and the fixed smile of a man attending an event he found insufferably dull.

A good man.

“Ready, Your Majesty?” Broad stepped up close, cutting the cord between his wrists with a sharp jerk of his knife, then pressing it into his palm.

Orso looked over his shoulder, brows shooting up. “I’m willing to give it a go.”

You just have to remember.

Broad nudged his lenses up his nose with a fingertip, took a deep breath, stepped down from the platform and pushed Bannerman off the tower.

He wasn’t expecting it. Wasn’t braced for it. A firm shove with one hand was all it took. His head snapped sideways, he dropped his sword and he tripped one foot with the other.

He gave a surprised grunt as he tumbled over, like a man who’d sat down only to have his chair whisked away by some joker.

“Wha?” said one of the other Burners. Broad punched him in the face so hard his helmet flew off. He reeled back, hit the parapet, caught it with one wild hand.