Kort blinked at him, then gave a sigh, and heaved himself to his feet. “I fear you will regret this.”

“I have so many regrets, I doubt this one will figure much.”

Harod had woken now and started to mew, and Savine bent over the cot to attend to him, so she hardly even noticed Kort leave. She frowned as she sank down, unbuttoning the flap of her dress so she could scoop out one sore, sticky breast.

“Damn it,” she growled as he chewed at her. You would never imagine they had no teeth for the pain they could thoughtlessly inflict.

She had been the most envied woman in the Union. Now here she was, trapped in a few rooms like the prisoner-king, milking herself like a farmer milks a cow. For the benefit of these two thankless little monsters, she had made herself a supporting character in her own life. Had the room always been this hot? She felt suffocated.

There was a crash outside and she gasped, nearly jumped up, staring towards the window, half-straightened legs trembling. Voices out there. Shouts. Then laughter, dying away. Disturbed in his feeding, Harod had started to cry. She settled herself, put him back to her breast, his head fishing desperately for what was right in front of him.

Savine found herself wondering what her parents would have said, if they could have seen her now. Making no plans. Taking no steps. Exerting no grip. Kort was hardly the shrewdest social operator, but even he had seen it at once. She had lost her nerve. Inevitable, perhaps, given all she had been through. But headaches or not, pearl dust or not, fears or not, she could not afford to hide away here, smiling wanly at her sleeping babies. Fretting over what would happen to Orso. Living in a drowsy, deadened, milk-smelling fug while the world collapsed around her. Then wetting herself with fright at every noise.

That was not protecting herself. That was not protecting her children. That was not caution, it was cowardice. It was surrender.

Savine forced her shoulders down. Her chin up. The posture she used to have, when she ruled the Solar Society. Or as close as she could get to it. “Zuri?” she called, and her voice was harsh. Not the tone in which she cooed at her babies. The tone in which she once blackmailed her rivals.

It only took a moment for Zuri to appear, opening the book and sliding her pencil from behind her ear. “What can I do?”

“Could Rabik find out what dressmakers are still alive and in business? This…” and she looked down at the milk-stained flap of her dress, hanging open like torn sacking, “will not do. I need a proper face-maid, too. A clever one.”

“One who can make the paint look like there is no paint.” And Zuri turned towards the door, scribbling a note. Savine brought her up short.

“And I want you to talk to our agents. Those still in business. I want them to scour the marketplaces. Secure as much food as they can. Flour and livestock especially. Have Haroon see if we can buy some bakeries. I understand it is dangerous work these days. Lots of them selling up.” She was standing now, pacing up and down, rocking Harod and feeding him and thinking all at once. “Then I will talk to Leo about coal. See if he can bridge his mother and the Assembly, open up the supply from Angland again.”