“What did I do?” squeaked the lad.

“Naught but be young and clueless and the easiest to order around, now get to it.”

He nodded sadly, seeing the evident justice. “Which side are we on, then?”

Clover scratched gently at his scar again. “That’s one o’ those questions you try not to answer till you have to.”

The Politician

“How does it feel?”

“Sore,” growled Leo, through clenched teeth. “Sore as hell. But if I can stand on my own two feet in the Assembly, it’ll be worth it.” He frowned in the mirror at the steel rod sticking from his rolled-up trouser leg, the springs around the socket that served as an ankle, the curving metal plate that passed for a foot. “Stand on my own one foot, anyway.”

“So… you mean to keep going there?”

“I won’t just sit crying over lost glories. The future of the Union will be decided in the Assembly.” He looked at Savine in the mirror, propped up on the chaise in a mass of pale skirts with one of the babies to her breast and the other asleep beside her. He still couldn’t tell which of them was which.

“Are you sure it’s wise…” She had a nervous tone he wasn’t used to hearing. “To make an exhibition of yourself?”

“I never thought I’d live to hear you arguing against making an exhibition.”

“You almost didn’t live to hear it,” she said, softly.

He frowned at that. “I don’t need reminding. It was my neck in the noose. But I’ve been given a say, and I mean to use it.” It’d be a different kind of fight than he was used to. Words instead of swords, ideas instead of armour, speeches instead of charges. He’d be standing alone, with no faithful brothers-in-arms to watch his back. But he was as hungry for victory as ever. More, maybe. Every twinge in his leg, every throb in his arm, every shocked glance at his stump or his scars was a spur in him.

Pain is the price of doing the right thing, Leo’s father used to say. Strange. He felt he hadn’t really understood that till now. Maybe he hadn’t really understood anything till now. He grimaced as he tried out a step and his weight went through his aching stump.

“Curnsbick said he could make you one that looks more…”

“Like a leg?”

“Well, yes.”

“This is better. I want them to see what I’ve sacrificed. I want to shove it in their faces. I suppose I could get a prettier one to wear around the house—”

“Not on my account. I married you, not your leg.”

“Regretting it?”

“We made mistakes.” He saw her swallow, and frown down at the floor. “We made terrible mistakes. But our marriage makes more sense than ever.”

She didn’t mention love. Leo wasn’t sure when they’d last used the word. Before Stoffenbeck, certainly. He remembered what she told him, the day he proposed. Or the day their mothers did. Their marriage was a business arrangement. A political alliance. And that was what he needed now—partners and allies. Love was a luxury he couldn’t afford.