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“Perish the thought.” He levels his blade at me. “How about you pull that big iron from your boot, and we settle who’s the Heir of Arcos.”

“Who is your favorite poet?” When he does not answer, I choose for him:

“Ye labour for your fall

With your own hands! Not by surprise

Nor yet by stealth, but with clear eyes,

Knowing the thing ye do.”

He sneers at the gun. “No honor.”

“No time.”

I shoot Alexandar in the head.

THE LADY BEATRICE LIES in darkness except for the faint twinkling of lights through the windows of her west wing. My Howlers land in force, Screwface taking a platoon through the top windows, as I shoot a hole through the front door and thunder in with Thraxa and her warhammer.

“Lune!” I shout.

“Come out, come out, you dumb little cur.” Thraxa slams her hammer through a pillar. “Come out and face the Wee Lass!”

There is no answer. No sound except the stomping of my Howlers upstairs and the faint warbling from the rotating crystal orb in the foyer. Its fractal light casts white snowflakes on the stone floor as we rush into the home. There’s a shout from the west wing.

“Goryhell,” Thraxa mutters as we enter Glirastes’s museum.

I feel a tremor inside.

There is a body on the floor.

I stare down at it, and a maw of grief opens inside. The boy who entered my life as an arrogant lancer and through hardship became hero to an army lies in a pool of his own blood. He has been mutilated. Half his head is missing. Sightless eyes stare at the ceiling. Mouth half open in surprise, as if he were wondering, Really? Like this? There’s a low moan. Rhonna limps from behind a model of the Water Colossus. Her face is nearly unrecognizable, her jaw shattered. She falls to her knees in Alexandar’s blood. Her scream tears me to tatters. How many years did they stand apart from each other behind me? How many precious few moments were they honest with each other? They were robbed of so much joy, promised it, then robbed again.

“Rhonna, where is he?” I whisper. “Rhonna, where is Lune?”

She looks up at me with empty eyes and points up.

I motion a Howler forward. “Get her to the Morning Star.”

Rhonna thrashes as the Howler manhandles her off Alexandar and drags her to the door. The house rumbles. Weapons fire upstairs from Screwface’s platoon.

His voice crackles through: “Eyes on—”

“—shit.”

“—slagger dodged a bullet…”

“Shoot—”

“—homing mines on our six.”

Something detonates.

We leap to the second level, bypassing the stairs. Screwface and his men fire down a hallway. Two Howlers are down. There’s a sucking sound. Screwface’s platoon scatters, taking cover as a quarter of the house disintegrates. My armor absorbs the shockwave, but the wall does not. I stand as debris and dust swirl around me. A shape moves through a distant room and then disappears upward. Thraxa bursts after him.

“He’s got boots!” Screwface shouts.

The pack follows. Clearing the debris cloud, my optics pick up a tiny shape racing for the city at incredible velocity. New boots. His lead is already half a kilometer. We rocket off in pursuit. I radio other elements held back from the evacuation to cut him off. Response teams rise from distant skyscrapers. RipWings drop from the flier layer. My army constricts around him. He banks left to avoid running into a Rat Legion squad from the Mound. Mini-missiles streak after him and detonate against the sides of skyscrapers as he threads his way through the business district. Glass rains on us as we follow in his wake. We bank left to cut him off when he passes through the eye of a circular tower. He sees our intent, and shoots straight upward, firing a hole through the glass side of the building. He disappears inside. We hover around the building, forming a perimeter. I send four Howlers in after him. Then I understand as Screwface banks down.