Then what had been the question ever since Orso re-entered his capital and learned that the Breakers were converging upon it in countless multitudes.

Then what indeed.

He wormed a finger into his collar. Tried to loosen it without actually undoing the hook at his neck. It didn’t work, of course. That’s what the bloody hook’s there for.

He would have liked to ask Tunny for his opinion. No one had better instincts for self-preservation, after all. But Tunny had, of course, followed those very instincts and slipped away as the riots worsened. No tearful goodbyes, he had simply not been there one morning. King who? Never heard of him. Orso had to smother an inappropriate snort of laughter at the thought. The corporal had never pretended that his first loyalty was to anyone other than himself.

And the truth was, Orso knew very well what he had to do. It would just have been nice to hear someone try to talk him out of it.

“Bring out the king!” floating belligerently from below was the wisest counsel on offer.

Orso sighed. “Lord Hoff, I fear I must surrender myself to the Breakers.”

“Your Majesty…” The lord chamberlain looked as pale as his own particularly horrified ghost. “You cannot be serious—”

“I can, and for once I am.” He glanced at the mayhem beyond the walls. “The time has come for someone to nobly sacrifice themselves. In the absence of anyone better qualified… it will have to be me.”

The remaining worthies of the Closed Council shuffled down the steps after him. Seven old men bent under the weight of their over-heavy robes, chains, responsibilities. They suddenly looked like a set of senile retirees being taken for a brief walk by their nurse.

“Bring out the king!” A shrill shriek, then a bass growl. “Bring out the king!”

“I’m bloody coming,” muttered Orso.

The palace gardens were crowded with memories. He had played hide and seek among those statues with his sisters. Playful little Carlot and serious little Cathil. Over there his father had taught him how to grip a steel. Over there his mother had taught him how to express intense displeasure while still smiling. They had never been the happiest of families but, by the Fates, he missed them now he was the only one left.

“Hildi,” he said, leaning towards her, “when the gates open, I need you to vanish.”

That sharp look of hers was exactly the same as when he first met her, ten years old and tough as nails. “Thought you said the age of wizards was over?”

He smiled. Good to see she still wasn’t letting him get away with a thing. “I mean smear some dirt on those freckles, pull that cap down to your eyes and melt into the crowd. You used to clean floors in a whorehouse, you can fit in with this lot.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Of course not! You’re making a tactical withdrawal. If I come through this, I’ll be a prisoner. I’m going to need someone loyal to help me escape. Bake lockpicks into a cake or something.”