She stood up, limped across the room, and turned back to him. “I can’t answer that right now. I’m exhausted. I’m relieved to have you back and terrified you might go away and do this to me all over again. Remember that time you went to Arishaig and posed as a courier so that you could get inside the chambers of the Coalition Council? Remember when you penetrated the quarters of the Red Guards and had to fight your way out? Alone? In the middle of Federation country?”

He stared at her. “What happened to your leg? What have I missed while I was away?”

She smoldered. “Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it. At least you noticed. Finally.” She glared at him. “Go back to sleep. That’s what I’m going to do.”

She stomped out of the room without looking back.

Aboard the Arishaig, the decks were mostly empty of life. A helmsman steered the vessel north, a lookout slouched in the crow’s nest atop the mainmast, and a pair of soldiers stood watch across from each other, port and starboard amidship. The night was dark and moonless, the cloud cover heavy over the Prekkendorran, a shroud of mist rising off the lowlands of Clete some miles ahead to drift south toward the advancing Federation fleet. Except for the creaking of the rigging and the snores of sleeping men, the warship was quiet.

Drust Chazhul came on deck and moved toward the aft railing, breathing in the night air, steadying himself for what would happen in the next few minutes. Stoon would be in place by now—although Drust did not have any idea at all where that would be—ready to spring out when needed. They had gone over the plan a dozen times. Arodian’s personal attendant had mentioned to Stoon, when the assassin had engaged him in conversation down in the servants’ quarters and plied him with considerable alcohol, that the commander liked to watch the sunrise each morning from the fantail, the launching deck for the handful of flits the airship carried. The fantail was positioned aft below the command deck and the pilot box, hidden from view from the men who would be on watch. The plan was for Drust to confront him there and hold his attention long enough for Stoon to get in position, and then the assassin would grab the commander and throw him over the side of the airship.

They were flying at somewhere around two thousand feet. No one could survive a fall from that height.

Drust was confident. There would be no witnesses. Arodian would not suspect an attack; he knew himself to be physically superior. It would all be over quickly.