‘Then whatever I do, he anticipates.’

‘It is not a failing of yours, I assure you,’ said Sicarius.

‘Does he ever make you feel like a fool, captain?’ said Felix.

Sicarius let out a snort. ‘Compared to him, tetrarch, we are all fools. I wonder how he stands us, sometimes. We must seem so limited to him.’

Felix reached up and undid the seal clasps of his helm, eased it off his head and out from under his Gravis armour’s cowl. His face was rough with dried sweat. He had been in his armour for days. He’d intended to bathe before they arrived, for by the standard measures Alveiro was six days’ journey from Iax, but the warp was unpredictable away from the calming presence the primarch had on its storms, and the journey had been accomplished in minutes.

Destiny, perhaps. Felix had expected to arrive once it was all over, to vent his fury after the fact. He was not prepared for this. He suspected the hand of smirking gods in the run of events, pushing him and his master towards confrontation.

‘Never second-guess him,’ said Sicarius. ‘I would have thought you were his equerry long enough to know that.’

‘I was. But it goes against me too, for I forget sometimes that he is not a man.’

Sicarius’ hard face did not change. ‘Neither are we.’

‘He is going to interrogate my prisoner. That is his intention, is it not?’

‘That is for him to say, brother,’ said Sicarius. He looked around at the Chosen, whose weapons were not raised, but not held at rest either. ‘Have your men stand down. They can wait in the portside antechamber. There’s enough room for them. It looks like you have some skilled warriors here. We should test ourselves and our men against one another. You have won a high reputation.’ Sicarius appeared altogether grim as he made his offer. It was not an extension of brotherhood, but came from a need to prove himself against all comers.

Felix ignored the invitation. ‘So you are going to let me in to see him?’ Another unexpected eventuality. He thought he would have to exert his authority, for he outranked Sicarius. Fight, even. He was ready to.

Sicarius was far more phlegmatic, and shrugged. His armour whined as his pauldrons displaced themselves. ‘I am not going to let you do anything, tetrarch. You are being admitted according to the primarch’s express command.’ Sicarius’ battle-worn face became less dour; there was even a hint of a smile about the corners of his eyes. ‘You were right. He was expecting you.’