The Necessity of Deceit

by Rogozhin

Forcibly returning Edward Kirk to the nation he'd fled seemed entirely routine, but there was nothing routine about its aftermath or the misery it wrought. Faced with impending conflict, Regina is forced to reconsider both her own identity and her preconceptions of others. Are their actions just? Is he the true villain, or merely an unfortunate victim?

36. Chapter 36

In the town's centre, already the most obvious target, all the fuel the militia could find had been gathered and set alight. Marked solely by indolence in the face of circumstances that ought to have inspired outright panic, those gathered around the fire responded to the arrival of two newcomers with similar enthusiasm.

"This is a lot of work for a stack of burnt furniture," Regina said, gesturing at the spiralling column above. "Not that I'm complaining. It's just not as fearsome as I'd expected."

Her escort, dressed in what could charitably be called the uniform of a Borginian officer, came to an inadvertent halt. "I see how this works," Andrey said slowly. "The foreigners round up a few undesirables—even that once, mind you—and of course you assume it ended in some sort of orgy of violence. The savages must've shot them all and burned the corpses. You expected it again here, didn't you? No, don't deny it."

One thing couldn't be denied. This was a man who would unleash a deluge of words at the slightest prompting, if only to drown out any opposition. Or perhaps only to keep himself afloat. "Can you really blame me?" Regina asked, giving it a moment's thought. "Look, forget I said anything. Your restraint is very impressive."

"Do you think we enjoyed it?" Andrey asked, looking at the flames ahead. "I was an officer holding against a siege. There's no room for debate in that scenario. Not then, and not now."

Definitely the second interpretation. "Don't worry about it," Regina said. "Guilty conscience or not, you do what you have to do. I'll do the same."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you don't have to justify yourself to me. Just relax, would you? It'll all work itself out, one way or another."

Or so it had up until then. Half the buildings here had been had been burned to the ground, though not for any apparent reason. The few occupants left had congregated around the central plaza. These were the veterans, but they weren't preparing. Not to fight, and not to flee. Several self-important militiamen were actually sitting around with maps and radios, but they were in the minority. Someone else was struggling to play a guitar. It was remarkably tranquil.

Andrey soon ruined that, shouting at a friend or two, gesturing at Regina to hurry and follow, but her attention was drawn to a figure sitting away from the rest. This woman was incredibly gaunt, and pale to a degree that could only imply illness. Noticing their arrival, her apathetic gaze slowly shifted up. A moment more and she lost interest, eyes drifting back down to the flames.

"This stupid thing's broken, I'm telling you," a loud voice said. "And so is everything else. If they can't find us—"

"Hand it over," a second man said. Andrey had already managed to vanish without excuse or introduction. All of them, even the pale woman, turned instead to watch those two men. Mildly irritated at this subdued reception—discourteous was the first word that came to mind—Regina found Andrey again without much effort. He gestured only for silence.

The music started again, this time slowly, each note combining in a series known only by the musician, but unlike the other man's deplorable attempt this was played with some measure of skill, promising to bring a sombre mood back to the forefront. It was obvious the musician had no formal training. It was equally obvious that he knew perfection was out of his grasp, but that he had no concern for perfection.

A minute longer and the music slowed to a stop. The musician had observed the entire scene in that minute, and the moment he was satisfied he handed the guitar back to his companion. "Today's not my day," he said, clapping the man on the back. He stood up, towering over all present. "Nor yours, Lieutenant Colonel. You're useless if you haven't slept in three days."

"And you're useless if they can shell you from fifty miles away," Andrey said. He took a step to the side and pointed at Regina. "On a completely unrelated matter, meet my lovely new friend. She just stumbled into town, nearly shot me with that flare gun, and demanded to see you. You'll recall the four times I told you this would happen."

"Everyone you meet wants to see me and you never stop to ask why. Burn that old uniform, that's my advice." This energetic man became the centre of attention the second he stood up. "So someone down here does have a sense of humour. What took you so long? I admit, I was starting to worry." Stepping off to one side, Andrey gave a faint shrug and joined the rest of them as spectators. He had little choice.

Any doubts as to the purpose of this journey faded then. In Merestan this man had been a distant and threatening figure, almost inhuman. Here the same figure returned, sitting with his own people, not such a beast at all. How easily it could have been different. This was the perfect embodiment of a man who'd lived, covered in thick muscle and countless scars, taller than any other, and he carried it well. His was a look of amusement, even curiosity.

"I wouldn't worry now," Regina said, mildly disconcerted already. "Sorry to keep you waiting, but I'm not supposed to be here and neither are you. At least nobody has to get tied up this time. We can both be gone by morning."

For a long moment Kosra only stared at her; then he burst into laughter. "You thought you'd just sneak in while nobody was looking? That didn't work too well last time, did it?" He raised one hand, gesturing for silence. "No need to say it. I appreciate that you didn't gloat. It's not often I get to see one of my old friends without someone listening at the door. Used to be the wife, now it's the boss; when it's not her—well, right now it's no-one at all. Good timing."

To hear him speak that little hint held no significance at all, but there it was nonetheless. "Looking at you now," Regina said, as if unconcerned, "I'd say you're going to need a little more than just a social visit. You might have been better off under supervision. I won't gloat if you won't lie, how about that?"

One hand held to his side, for the second time Kosra gestured for silence. "Who said I was a liar? You really shouldn't be so quick to judge," he said. "And I don't recall saying it was her who sent us here. That was someone else, someone respectable. I'll show you the orders if you like, pretty blue envelope and all."

A generous offer, and one that didn't need an answer. This man was a wall. Nothing showed in his expression, and nothing was revealed by his words. Certainly both were exuberant enough. The actual content of his speech seemed to fall away as he swept from side to side, joking one moment, hinting at secrets the next, sharing an amused glance with his companions but a second later. Blunt language paired with sweeping gestures: he convinced more with actions than words, as if even the slightest deception was beyond him.

All this for what amounted to little more than pleasantries. Few present seemed to understand even that much. Neither did Regina let herself be taken in. There was something else behind that cheerful manner, and as she well knew herself: deception was never beyond a man who concealed even his own name.

Kosra soon cleared his throat in preparation for an announcement. "Listen up. This is one of my old friends. You know how it is. Don't complain, don't get jealous: she's brought our ticket out of here on a satin pillow, I promise, so go along with it." Betraying nothing, he leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Make this convincing. You don't know who else could be listening."

And after that he took the time to introduce her to each person present. Who was this unusual visitor? Nobody at all, and the likely key to their survival. No-one had the chance to question that logic. Through the sheer force of Kosra's own charisma their many doubts were forcibly found and smashed, and the usual veil of falsehoods remained fixed in place.

At the end of that hour Regina was sitting around the fire with the rest of them, listening to a heated argument on one side, watching Andrey desperately try to impress the pale woman on another, with little success, and trying to piece together the meaning of what she saw.

There was something else beneath that calm atmosphere. It was subtle, a sort of tension, almost directionless. Kosra himself didn't return for some time, speaking to the map readers one moment, the guards another, a few of the more courageous townsmen the next, always glancing back as if he and Regina knew something the others didn't. That was true enough, seemingly more so than she'd anticipated.

This force had been pressed into military service quickly enough, but it hadn't been their initial role here. The toll of transition had been paid in blood. To risk so much on the hope that someone, and an abstract someone at that, would think to respond to their transgressions with speech rather than bullets. It was nothing less than reckless.

That was if all was as it seemed. The enormous fire, for instance. Borginia was mostly tropical, and no doubt the flames were a welcome defence against even this mild winter. True as that was, a sky choked with black smoke served as a rather effective signal beacon, wanted or not. For as easy as it had been to find this fighting force, one known for being near impossible to find, that seemed a disquieting realisation. They wanted to be found.

They had been found. Regina resolved to maintain that distance, that reserve, until she understood why down to the last detail. That approach seemed optimal. And, as it was, this charade was not an unpleasant one, tedious though it quickly began to feel. Only the pale woman looked similarly bored, now staring at Regina without break.

When Andrey passed again Regina seized his arm and pulled him a stop. "Hey, who is that?" she asked, nodding slightly in the other woman's direction. Andrey was immediately suspicious, but she held him where he was. "Tell me and I'll give you some advice."

After a moment of defiance did Andrey kneel down, if in a ridiculously conspiratorial manner. "Her name's Miranda," he said. "She's from the city. Lived in the citadel itself, as I hear it, but now she's one of Kosra's special guests. She's been here a while, but you won't hear me complaining."

"Why? You're living the roughest life there is, and she doesn't exactly look the part. Looks ready to collapse, actually."

"You'd better take that back," Andrey said. "Just between us, I could marry that woman. Look at that sad smile, the quiet dignity, and you should hear her speak. The intellect, the knowledge, and what—"

"I get the picture," Regina said. "Just be careful. I don't recognise her, but it's never this easy. And here's your advice. You think she doesn't know what you want when you hover around like that? Try some subtlety. Are you there for that intellect, or are you there for—"

"Oh, I'm there for everything," Andrey said, standing up again. "And you should've told me you were Kosra's friend. More than once, I mean. Talk about well connected."

It wasn't much longer before the second flare, a bright green, lit up the evening sky. Slow steps scraped through the gravel behind and Regina paused, completely motionless. They were finally alone, well away from the fire, and she knew it was him.

"One chance to run," Kosra said. "One chance to let them think you were dead. What did you do with it? You're as hopeless as I am."

"See this?" Regina asked, kneeling to reload the flare gun. "They would've turned this place into a crater if I hadn't told them who you were. Maybe I should ask you the same. You had a chance to run, and what did you do with it?"

"The same thing I've always done." Kosra said. "There's always a reason. Never doubt that."

"At least I only put myself at risk," Regina said, standing up again with comparative ease. With the theatrics finished Kosra's movements were slow, laboured, and they both saw it. If he wasn't injured he had been in the recent past. "Maybe you had your reasons, sure, but they're not whatever bullshit excuses you told these people."

"You're wasting time. Provocation, sabotage: you already know how this works. So do they."

"You told me you weren't a liar," Regina said. "The guy Borginia sent to watch you? Is he oblivious, or just uninformed? You didn't even want me to tell them why I'm here. I don't get it. Why lie to them now? What's the point?"

"That is the point. They know what they need to know, and they're better off that way. And why not? What they do see is real enough, more than you seem to think."

The sounds of laughter back at the camp were all that was left to break the silence. The sun was setting, and the air was quickly growing cool. He said it with little emotion, as if it were routine, and perhaps it was.

"I suppose you'd have me believe what they're saying on that radio isn't just propaganda."

"Why should it be?" Kosra asked. "Those figureheads can do what they like so long as they forget why they're there. Maybe to you they're just puppets. The man on the street? Maybe he'll tell you they're heroes. Maybe he'll tell you he doesn't give half a shit what they are. Can't say it bothers me either way."

"Was this how they sold it back in Borginia?" Regina asked. "Come and be cheap muscle for some foreign military coup: see the sights, loot a few empty apartments. Maybe you'll get shelled from fifty miles away, but it'll be worth it because . . . wait, nobody would sign up for that. Where's that nationalism?"

"Oh, I made sure to stamp that out," Kosra said. "I gave up pretending my country's any better than yours . . . well, I never really believed it to begin with. Lofty ideals here, grand shows of rebellion there. It's all a bit melodramatic, don't you think? We see the bigger picture. That's the difference."

"You're dragging people into this who had nothing to do with it," Regina said. "That's the real difference. What's changed, exactly? It's like Hereson all over again: when you're found out the masses won't hear of it. Not anymore. At least he showed his face in public."

Kosra just laughed. "I figure by the time they realise it won't matter. Not to me, anyway. Nor to you, if you're smart. You'll never believe the lie, and why should you? But anyone who can prove what we really did won't live through the year. Eliza doesn't exist, neither do I, and you're supposed to be dead."

"If she's so eager to stop existing she can stick a gun in her mouth and leave the rest of us out of it."

"You think we're bad? Showmanship, that's what it really is. People like her never live long lives, and that's how they like it. A bit of excitement, soon finished, and then what? The scum crawl out of the walls at times like this. Some of them . . . you'd better hope I'm there to clean up the mess when it's done."

"You won't be if you keep this up," Regina said. He just shrugged, perhaps the least adequate response imaginable. "Fine. Then you'll have no trouble explaining this mess. You do realise you'd have died about four hours ago if not for me?"

"I'm so overwhelmed with joy that I can't quite decide how to thank you," Kosra said, one hand held to his side. "No, this mess was a favour for a friend. He shipped some associates of mine who knew a bit too much up north for the winter. He did that, I did this. Mutual trust, or something. We knew someone would take the bait." He turned aside, glancing at the hills. "Nicely done, by the way. You've got your own friend up on that hill. He calls in the flares; if he doesn't, this place goes up in smoke. Only works because you're expendable." He looked back at her. "You didn't tell them, did you? And you ask why we're keeping secrets."

"Very impressive, for what it's worth. So who's this friend, and—"

"What's the price?" Kosra said mildly. He looked back at the fire. "I hate intrigue. Really, I do. Leave them out of it, and take what you like. You should've been here days ago. I really doubt you're the only one who's seen through this charade."

"And I think I finally see it," Regina said. "Why she wanted you. Why she trusted you. No, don't deny it. Hopeless, are we? Maybe you're right. There are some answers I need, answers only you would have. I expect I'll regret this, but after that you can do as you like."

At first the only response she received was a look of curious bemusement. "I could believe that," Kosra said. "That said, given our happy history . . ." He gestured at her scarred arm without much enthusiasm. "If you're thinking of doing what I'd be doing in your position, feel free to try. It wouldn't be easy, but I did just get out of the hospital. If not, I have to tell you this'd be the first time someone I've strapped to a chair has come back and not tried to knife me. It's not natural."

"It's ridiculous, that's what it is," Regina said. "You'd actually prefer it if I tried to kill you? There you go. I won't give you the satisfaction, so just forget it. Here's an alternative suggestion, one we can both appreciate. Use that artillery to fake your death. Fake all your deaths, at least for a while. I have a letter, if you—"

"From some self-important official, I'm sure. I have enough of them on my end. No, I do believe you. It's touching, really it is. My friend has a similar message, but I'm not risking that until you're on your way out. It's not for you, anyway, not unless you've had a change of heart and want to put on a nice blue uniform." He finally hesitated, growing quieter. "The second you leave. Not before. We do this quietly, you understand? Eliza wouldn't care, she'd just laugh if she saw this, but she's already all that's standing between me and a bullet. Some of your old friends would not like this."

There was something else behind that composure, something more than was said. More than would ever be said. Regina was tired of it. Every last thought or deed that deserved expression seemed destined to be perpetually locked away, as if they were something shameful, and in their place the most loathsome acts were given voice if only to fill the void.

"Have it your way, then," she said softly. "All I need are a few answers . . . though I admit, the self-important official who made this happen wants more than that. The other self-important official just wants you dead. They have their reasons, but I have mine too. Nobody here will be harmed, not if I can help it. I can promise you that much."

"And I'll take you at your word," Kosra said. "But I ought to refuse to answer one damn question just to see what you do about it."

"I already learned that lesson," Regina said, "How about this? I could tell your friends everything you won't, then have them force you to answer. Or maybe I'll get what I want, get back to the fleet, and tell them to start firing anyway. Maybe there is no fleet. You wouldn't disappoint this friend, would you? There's only one way to find out, so don't try and bullshit me now by pretending you'll take it. You were never going to take it."

Kosra laughed at that, and finally with genuine feeling. "Now you're thinking like one of us. I say get what you want and let the bombs fly. It's not like we can stop you. That's the smart move, but you'll still throw it away like any idiot. And for what? I don't think sentiment is worth much now."

"And I don't think you believe your own rhetoric," Regina said. "Stop pretending to be something you're not, and I'll do the same."

Kosra had no answer to that either. They were at an impasse, had perhaps been there the entire time. Something was still wrong, and the time for blunt honesty refused to come—or it was just fear disguised as indifference? It was far easier to hint at veiled wishes than to allow even a moment's vulnerability, and that was what was required of them both.

But the sudden crunch of boots on gravel prevented any response at all. Kosra turned back with impressive speed, a blank slate once more. The runner skidded to a stop in front of them. "Unexpected company, sir," he said in a strangled whisper, pointing back at the northern road. Two cars had just turned the corner.

"Get her out of sight," Kosra said. Pushing fatigue and pain aside, he left to meet the uniformed officials emerging from the cars without another word. The pretence of disinterest was made and kept, and extended until it became reality. With it came the usual rewards. Any semblance of relief, of certainty, had already faded.

The messenger, Andrey again, threw an arm around Regina's shoulder and walked her back to the fire as if they were the very best of friends. "We're getting closer by the hour," he said, more cheerful than ever, but his arms were tense, and his eyes lacked all humour.

II

They were former ceremonial guardsmen, well known as the unit most extreme in both politics and methodology. All four of the officers, three men and one woman, wore indigo. One more in a suit waited at the back. They spoke to Kosra alone.

For Kosra to so easily accept the reality of the situation was generous enough. Expecting him to bribe or murder four officers to cover it up was something else entirely. And this was not a unit that could be bribed. The systematic slaughter of the civilian and military elite at western command proved that. They fought for higher ideals, and it wasn't hard to imagine they'd been amply rewarded for it.

Few of the militiamen were comfortable either. Most had put their weapons aside and weren't moving unless they had to. Not for the first time Regina looked up at the thick column of smoke above in a different light. Would Dylan have seen? It was pointless to even speculate.

Instead she watched Andrey's reactions, obscured by the fire, especially as he murmured frantically to two compatriots who soon ran east. He was genuinely unnerved, and that was as a promising a sign as any.

But relief turned to fear as he pulled back, behind the fire, and seized her by the arm with a look of growing dread. "Turn back, hide your face; we'll head for the southern patrol—"

"Well, our arrival couldn't have come at a better time," a woman said. "You've lost about half your number, it seems to me."

Regina forced him to a halt. Nothing could be any more incriminating than attempting to leave now. They knelt down again, facing anything but the speaker.

"Most of them are on patrol," Kosra said. "We're being tracked by a detachment in the east. That's how this works, if you hadn't realised."

"No doubt. What was Jean thinking? If I didn't know better I'd have thought he sent you here to die."

"He has a better imagination than you do. That's why he's the lieutenant general and you're . . . which costume are you wearing today?"

"You've been without news for too long. Forget his medals. Jean's legions are here and he insists on lingering in a land that despises him, as if he were actually doing something of worth. Incompetent is the word," the officer said, spinning back, suddenly rather enthusiastic. "Or duplicitous, perhaps. We shall see. And I'm not here at all. Only a humble diplomat headed south, and alone."

"I heard they were sending one man, no uniforms. You meet neither of those conditions, if you'll forgive the comment."

"You shouldn't listen to rumours," the officer said. "We'll be going directly south, just the two of us, but you are right in a certain sense. This time it's a little more serious. Richard's going alone, or so they think. This is a favour for her."

At this point Regina couldn't resist the urge to look. This woman was completely unfamiliar. Her uniform was a deep indigo, covered in various emblems and insignias, but she carried herself as if that were entirely irrelevant. If she was any older than forty Regina couldn't see it. Kosra made no attempt to disguise how distasteful he found it to have to tolerate her presence at all.

Only the very last of them, the red-headed man in the ill-fitting suit, paused when he reached the fire. There was something decidedly familiar about him, and he slowed to an almost thoughtless stop, a look of weariness giving way to another reaction, quickly suppressed. Regina tried without any success to recall where she'd seen him before. He turned away again as if he'd seen nothing at all.

The officer noticed anyway. She seemed to see everything at once, and followed his gaze without a moment's delay. Kosra's expression turned to one of visible exasperation, one hand reaching into a pocket. Regina saw the message hidden within: leave it all to him.

"And what's this?" the officer asked. "Your ranking officer looks half dead, and his friend is here despite orders not to associate with the locals. You can't help yourselves, can you?" A moment passed and she looked at the supposed diplomat, almost bored. "Do you know either of them?"

"The lieutenant colonel," her companion quickly said. "We shared a hospital wing for a few days after my, err, well, moment of difficulty."

Andrey was concealing a look of bewilderment, Regina could tell. He'd never met this man in his life, and she knew the diplomat's eyes had been fixed on her. The officer seemed to believe it, though it was much harder to judge her reactions. She didn't seem in the habit of saying what she actually thought.

"Is that so?" she asked, looking back at Andrey. "Did you spend time on the suicide ward as well? Forget it. Liebert's orders have been rescinded. First Secretary Mirzin finds this entire affair to be—how did he put it? The most ridiculous expedition ever ordered? I'll let him ask the questions. No more raiding, no more provocation."

"Brigadier, is it?" Kosra asked. "You didn't drag your miserable little detachment out of obscurity by avoiding provocation. Why start now?"

"Don't be so bitter. As far as foreigners go you'd have to be my favourite, but you've done enough damage. One man, alone and unguarded, making a desperate plea for peace. Inspiring, don't you think? Not if you insist on ruining the theme."

"I'll do anything you like so long as you wipe that smirk off your face, Razin," Kosra said. "You didn't think this up, nobody remembers the guy you replaced, and nobody'll remember you either. We both know better."

"The two of us and nobody else. We're not meant to be remembered, we're meant to hide at the back and give the rest of them a shove in the right direction. Why are you making me explain something you already know?"

That was an uncomfortably accurate observation. Kosra gave no reply at all, which was a natural enough response to allay the brigadier's suspicions. Aiding in this was a shot fired in the far east, quickly followed by another. Discarded rifles were pulled close; ammunition checked; orders issued in low murmurs.

"Needless antagonism," Brigadier Razin said. "Was that your idea of irony? It's a bit dramatic for my tastes. Or yours, I thought. Theatre is perhaps too bourgeois a choice of diversion, not quite in favour at the moment. Do keep that in mind."

That observation couldn't be faulted either. A few isolated shots had turned to a full firefight, or so it seemed from there. All present fell silent to listen, and Regina used the opportunity to look at the newcomers again. A sickening sense of dread was the only reward. The brigadier wasn't looking east at all, but directly at her.

Whether she knew or not, she said nothing. Neither did she make a single comment on the other outsider Miranda, though she stood out even more than Regina did. There was no attempt to hide her presence, and she watched the brigadier with the same bored look as she gave everything else. Richard had looked at no-one else since he first saw her.

"You picked a bad time to make an appearance," Kosra said. "And I don't take orders from Mirzin, not without—"

"He said you might be stubborn," Brigadier Razin said. "He also said staying here is tantamount to suicide. If you did stay he'd feel obligated to send immediate notice to your next of kin. A daughter, I think he said?" She shrugged, almost apologetic. "Sorry. I'm just the messenger."

The need for the hasty apology was obvious. Kosra looked as if he could seize her by the throat, all injury forgotten. "We'll leave in the morning," he said instead, forcing the words out. "And I'll be asking my own questions when I get back. Stay on the southern road. Any further east and you'll run into a regiment or two. What do you think they'd do with a prize like you?"

"Don't worry about that either. I dragged a full battalion out here just for you. My own men, the very best. An hour more and you'll all be saved. And, please, there's no need for formality now. Call me Liana."

In an instant this woman looked the part of a human being again, not the living incarnation of a rank and title. Regina didn't believe it, and neither did anyone else. Fortunately the frequency of the gunshots coming from the east was beginning to become too much to ignore, though they'd all done so admirably until then.

"Then I'll take the help," Kosra said, "and I'll tell you something just as useful. My way of saying thanks. Let's go."

At first it looked as though his guest would refuse. She had the air of someone who'd risen to power both quickly and quietly, and no doubt the need to prove her worth was at its most urgent. Fortunately she didn't protest, though she seemed entirely unconcerned, and retreated back to the car with Kosra.

Regina pulled herself up in an instant, using the sudden rush of activity as cover, and took the opposite direction entirely. Nothing about that encounter felt right to her. Was the vanguard of Gail's force attacking? But the timing was completely off. Was it just an excuse to remove them from sight, or did Kosra intend to—? That would be suicide, and against all sense, and though Andrey was dutifully following his motives were just as obscure. But why? This wasn't as it seemed either.

The answer soon made itself apparent. As they reached the far side of the plaza, near the empty houses, Andrey burst into laughter, falling to his knees in the attempt to conceal it. "They need to make me a full colonel," he said, trying to catch his breath and failing at that too. "No, make me the brigadier. I just saved your ass, and mine too."

Regina turned around on the spot, forcing her racing thoughts to slow with more success than Andrey, or anyone else either. The tranquil atmosphere was completely ruined. Now they looked the perfect image of a small force mobilising for combat, but this too, like everything else, had taken on a sudden disingenuous quality. She was tired of pretending not to see it.

"You did this, didn't you?" Regina asked, kneeling down at his side, seizing his wrist and forcibly returning his attention. "There's no way Gail's men are here yet."

"I thought we might need a distraction," Andrey said, finally in control of himself. "So I told our eastern patrols to start shooting up the place. And here I thought I was saved when you showed up. Not likely. The army's one thing, but these guys have been here from the start. The very day the old Kosra got his throat cut and we found ourselves looking to overthrow the regime."

"What a wonderful coincidence," Regina said, glancing back east. "Theatrical, that's the word for it. Her word, actually. Kosra told me himself: they'll kill you if you know too much. Yes, that does mean you. You specifically."

Andrey let out a rather undignified moan. "Tell me we can just smuggle you out and pretend this never happened."

"No, I fucked it up." That certainly distracted him from his self-pity. "I should've just asked . . . why can't I ever say what I'm thinking?" Turning back, Regina looked at him for answers. "I'm not going anywhere yet. Half an hour, a little more, and the brigadier will see that flare. Do you think she'll cooperate if I have to threaten her?"

"These people don't cooperate," Andrey said softly. "They'd have to let you go, but . . . well, this doesn't look good. Not for us."

The plan had fallen through, as it always did. "Kosra was right," Regina said, looking back at the fire with contempt. She ran a hand through her hair, the other curling involuntarily. "I should've seen this coming. Not this, but . . . no, forget I said anything.

"I wouldn't panic," Andrey said, "not while our illustrious leader can still swindle us a way out of this. That's what he does. But if he can't, I'll warn you now: my rank notwithstanding, I won't give that order. Not for you."

"And I wouldn't expect you to," Regina said. "Don't make that suggestion again. Besides, who's panicking?" That was received dubiously to say to least, but this time she persisted. "Don't look at me like that. Listen, for now we'll feign ignorance, we'll give Kosra the time he needs to smooth this over, and we'll get out of sight. Let them make the first move."

Perhaps the lieutenant colonel who'd been in this filthy line of work for years was too demoralized to think clearly, or perhaps Regina's tone wasn't quite conducive to optimism. She preferred not to dwell on it. And what better time for a hasty withdrawal? The first of the actual relief force in all its splendour, transport trucks and indigo uniforms both, was arriving in full. However illusory its causes, the unrest was quickly turning violent.

The streets were bathed in darkness, as felt ever more familiar, growing cramped and oppressive. The traitorous ceremonial guardsmen in their striking indigo were here again; the skies were filled with smoke, broken only by beacons of fires. A sickly sense of dread grew with each step. If Dylan assumed this was a trap, that Kosra himself had called the guardsmen—but that was entirely implausible.

They soon made it back to the exact same hillside road. Regina thought she saw the crashed truck, but it was so dark that no judgement could be made. Dylan would have the same difficulty, and he had to know. That she had made contact, had found a tentative ally, and that they were headed back inside willingly. Distant and inhuman indeed. There was little choice but trust now.

"It's too early," Regina murmured, kneeling down to check one watch. She threw the other at Andrey, who confirmed it with exacting detail. "Eleven minutes early. If he sticks to the exact plan . . . but he's not so stupid as to do that."

A third flare shot out into the sky nonetheless, a vibrant green. Andrey said nothing, didn't even move, and suddenly looked rather stiff. In what looked like a fit of indecision his hand darted down, pulled a small cylinder from his belt, and flipped a switch on the side. A thin beam of light shone up and into the hills. Noticing Regina's bemused look, he tried to force a smile. "Your buddy's up there, right? He'd better damn well get the point. This is terrible."

"How can one man complain so much? I could've just shown up and forced you to help me. First I'd cut someone else's throat to get you in the mood, and then . . . yeah, that actually happened. To me. Just relax, would you? Really."

"This may be premature," Andrey said, "but I suspect meeting you has ruined my entire life."

The progress back within that shadowy labyrinth went just as quickly, which was to say not quickly at all. The few militiamen left on the western side looked to their lieutenant colonel for orders and he waved them away with unseemly gestures and elaborate lies. Few of them seemed especially troubled by this, or by anything else.

Patience seemed the wisest course. Kosra had no authority over the guardsmen, but Brigadier Liana Razin had an important title, and people with important titles didn't stay still for long lest they appear as human beings and all their rightful rights turn to smoke.

With her gone the other guardsmen would have no reason to search the town. Honest words could finally pass, and all would end as originally envisioned. Perhaps having finally discovered who commanded the ceremonial guardsmen, and in the midst of a plot, would be enough to keep even Levin quiet.

But for having no reason to search this darkened town, the guardsmen certainly were spreading further than expected. Tourism seemed an unlikely answer. They were well-armed, worked in groups, and one soon approached . . . and passed by entirely. Never before had a surge of fear so quickly appeared and dissipated.

The answer, unfortunately, soon made itself apparent. As they reached the base of the stone clock tower, the one monument of note, another figure approached from the other end of the street. No guardsmen had made it this far, and he was neither armed nor wearing indigo.

Regina stopped in the middle of the road. The way this man stood, one hand in his jacket pocket, a slight slouch, and that distinctive red hair: the same sense of impersonal familiarity returned. The façade had to be maintained.

Andrey stepped forward for this exact purpose. "Come to share stories from the ward, have you?" he asked. "Shame I've never been in that fortress, not even once."

"Then get out of my way," Richard said. He came even closer, still completely alone, but there was an unpleasant air about him.

"Hey, I recognise you," Regina said, as if it had just dawned on her. "You were the guy from the state channel, right? I used to see you all the time on the news."

"I was the propagandist, not the newsreader," Richard said, entirely uninterested. "Writer, director, spokesman: they never did pay me enough. Advisor to General Hereson, former . . . well, we can't call him a ruler." He took another step, now within a metre, and another. "And you were the deserter Gail spent months trying to find."

It was over in four seconds. A quick step back, a dagger seized, and with almost inhuman speed Andrey had the stolen blade held to Richard's throat, and the man on his knees. Regina wasn't surprised. Months fighting for survival, if not years, and for what a stunning result.

"A Borginian officer on the team," Richard said, his voice strained, otherwise unconcerned. "You make friends easily. Does Kosra know? Of course he does."

"Shut your mouth and keep it shut," Andrey said, holding him exactly where he was. "No, I don't need to hear it. If you make this difficult we get hit by a few warships, so don't tell me cooperating is treason now. The brigadier can't know yet. Got it?"

"Liana already knows, so stop threatening me and—"

Something changed in Andrey's expression then; he turned the dagger back and smashed the end of it into Richard's ribs. Instinctual movements again, and to a less anticipated end. It was as if he'd hit a corpse, and he soon moved to repeat the blow.

Regina knew that look too well and seized his arm, holding it back with difficulty. "Keep it together before you do something we'll both regret. He didn't say he told her."

This wasn't feigned. It wasn't even exaggerated. Neither was his usual manner, but that burst of contempt was as real as it could ever be. Regina realised how tightly her hand had clenched around his upper arm, fingers digging deep into the muscle. They were both losing control, but Andrey gave way first, and without argument. Gave way, but didn't move back.

Why couldn't he see it? This situation was ideal, and only improving by the minute. Arriving on the same night to join the one man Regina had expected to find came both a high level officer from the only regiment that mattered and General Hereson's own propagandist, a man who'd evidently escaped an inescapable execution. Fortunately Richard didn't seem to mind being assaulted. He may even have enjoyed it, to look at him then, but that minor piece of fortune could shift in a second.

Perhaps it already had, for someone else had arrived. "And what's this?" The newcomer's voice was devoid of all emotion. Her gaze shifted from Richard, who offered a resigned smile, to Andrey, and the dagger, and finally Regina. Something changed as the scene pieced itself together and, though this woman's response was completely opaque, it didn't seem promising.

"Miranda, what are you doing here?" Andrey asked, genuinely surprised. "You should've stayed with—"

"Do you intend to kill him?" Miranda asked, as if it were a matter of no consequence at all. It felt anything but, and though Regina realised it first all she could do was watch Andrey obliviously stammer on.

"You can't be seen with us," he said, almost urgently, but he did have the sense to pull the dagger away. "Not by these people. I can explain this, just—"

"Step away from him," Miranda said softly, "or I'll call the guardsmen. You can explain it to them. Is that how this works?"

It certainly was. Now free, Richard pulled himself up, dusted off his now ruined suit, and spat out a mouthful of blood. "It's quite simple," he said. "Those guardsmen are looking for me, not you. I know who you are, I know what you're doing, and you're not leaving until I'm done with you. Find a place to hide, and do it quickly."