Thoughts reflected the material world, beliefs were shaped by it in turn, and actions intended to reshape that reality had a curious way of only reinforcing that which had already been set in motion. Identifying those conditions was always necessary. At least then you could tell yourself manipulation was a real possibility without too much shuddering.

Not that shuddering always warranted evasion. It seemed appropriate enough, for instance, when that manipulator came to find herself concealed in a clock tower with an erratic foreign officer, a former propagandist on the run, and an unsettling woman who said too little and knew too much. This situation, delightfully unique though it appeared, felt all too familiar. Regina did see the humour in her situation, or would've had it not been defined by a certain miserable contradiction.

It couldn't be done. What Richard Morrent surely expected and what Regina knew she needed and what Andrey was clearly going to demand could not exist in the same universe. Not under those conditions. The arrangements made had been adapted to the conditions at hand, and still stood firm in that respect. Only in that respect.

As for Miranda, whoever she was, she voiced no demands at all, and little else either. This was problematic, to say the least, as she was the only one present who saw no immediate need to hide herself from the retrieval teams in their lovely indigo. No doubt Andrey could restrain her, but whether he actually would remained doubtful. Skulking by the door, watching both the street and Regina, he waited to be told what he wanted to hear. Only what he wanted to hear.

Regina pretended not to notice. Even if the uncertainty here wasn't quite paralysing, which it wasn't, she still favoured letting someone else make the first misstep. This was an absolute mess, filled with contradictions, sure to be miserable for someone if not everyone, and any number of similarly gloomy predictions could and probably would be made. The difficulty here was hardly subtle.

Or so it appeared. A more or less functional militia, a battalion from what could justifiably be called the armed wing of the ruling party, and a warship waiting off the coast. It was as if it had all been swept off the table the moment the sun had set. Why had they opted for that absurd show around the fire, to avoid confrontation, with such direct instruments so close to hand? That was the first question here.

But there was no they in this scenario. The rest of them were as oblivious as the militiamen they'd arrived to escort. Secrecy was Kosra's concern, time was Liana's, but Regina needed neither. Behind that woman's forceful push lay a hand wrapped in chains. The implication here was obvious: follow the narrative, send Richard back, and that would be the end of it. Understand, comply, and receive the same in turn. There was the implicit message.

Perhaps it was the only way. If that officer had any intention of doing otherwise she'd have already done it—the recognition in her eyes had been obvious—and behind that was more unease. What would happen if they were delayed? Evidently nothing pleasant. But even if such circumstances could be contrived, it remained an enormously difficult prospect. Certainly one the guardsmen were unlikely to appreciate for much longer. For all its theatrical value, the clock tower was not the most imaginative hiding place.

And as if on cue the first actor made his move. "Fifteen minutes, no more," Andrey announced, pulling away from the door. "They'll search the streets first, then move to the houses." He looked at Richard, barely concealing a scowl. "Hiding her is one thing. Hiding someone a whole battalion is looking for? Oh, but it'll be fine."

"It doesn't matter," Richard said, seemingly to the rear wall. "They won't come for us, not for a little while, and not if you're any good at your job, whatever that's supposed to be."

"Oh, it'll be fine," Andrey repeated, "and if we're all caught in the act and put up against a wall that'll be just lovely, for you people all seem to think you're invincible. And why not? You made it to twenty-five, so why not fifty?" Glancing up at the ceiling as if for moral support, he restrained himself and turned to Regina instead. "The things we endured from his kind . . . do as you like, but you're a fool if you believe a word of it."

"If hyperbole was a crime I'd be shot on the spot," Richard said, turning back with reluctance, "but I wouldn't be going alone. We could all march to the gallows hand in hand." He too looked at Regina, his speech taking on an uneasy blend of intuition and haziness. "And you? No, you must be with Anton now. Gail too? It must be, or if not. . . . But telling you they always were too close would not get me shot on the spot. Quite a risk for a man you must despise, yet here you are. Devoted to the cause, are we?"

Regina remained where she was, glancing between them both. "Drop the condescension," she said, turning to Richard and his wall without much enthusiasm. "You say you knew Gail, so you just know he wouldn't have bothered with this friendly chat. There's devotion, and you still make it sound like he turned on you."

"But of course he did," Richard said. "And you? We're not so distant. Do you know, I was the one who falsified those crimes against you? I made you a murderer, but at least you had no choice in the matter. Gail snuck off through a backdoor when nobody was looking. I suppose I should apologise. When the new management arrived I thought you might be there. You really weren't one of them."

For a moment he was left to wallow in silence. "I take it back," Regina said mildly. "That resentment's personal, isn't it? I'm starting to feel it myself." Now it was his turn for stubborn silence. "Alright, I'll play along. Sure, I wasn't one of them, but tell me you weren't. They killed off everyone who knew, right? But the propagandist? Why keep him alive?" Richard didn't seem inclined to answer; Regina had endured more than enough of that. "There's always a price with these people. Something you did, or they did to you. It made you see it their way."

To his credit Richard didn't look away. "There are at least four stories that come to mind," he said, "and one of them is true. Here's the first. I was chosen well in advance and given instructions. If the day came, all I had to do was murder James Hereson, my good friend and mentor, while they watched on that rooftop. If it didn't, I'd never see that deranged woman again. That's the first of four, now let's—"

"Don't bother," Regina said. "That's the real one."

Richard actually looked wounded at the presumption that he'd make it so easy. Regina didn't even look at him. The silent woman by the far wall, nothing but ennui: the slightest clench in her jaw, the way one pale hand twitched at her side. There was the proof. The trouble with impassive people is how obvious it is when they finally do feel something.

"Not my hands, not my choice," Richard said, all energy inexplicably fading. "That's how it felt. It seemed inevitable." This time he glanced at Miranda, who looked as undisturbed as ever. "I was so sure . . . and I thought if I did she'd forget me, let us both go. I was right, wasn't I?" He gestured around the room, but didn't quite seem to know who he was asking.

"Was it only for Hereson?" Regina asked, as if it were of no significance. It felt anything but, and she too spoke too hastily. "It couldn't have been. Not when . . . look, everything that woman says is poison. There's a good chance I can prove it. Be blunt. What did they really want?"

No answer came at first. Richard seemed to lose focus, again staring at the far wall, but finally he looked to restrain his self-loathing, staring at her curiously. "I had wondered why you were here. You're not much of a liar, are you? But how about this: get us out of here and I might show you. One corpse to another." He couldn't even look at her then, spat to one side, and retreated to a corner. "Go on. Try and beat it out of me. I might just enjoy that."

This man was utterly broken. Pity overcame anger and the urge to follow, to insist, soon faded. It would be futile, and they were running out of time. A door slammed open down a nearby street, and Andrey was growing less compliant by the minute. "Where are we supposed to go?" he whispered.

Regina had no answer. Did Richard know what Kosra did? It was doubtful. Could they even reach the outskirts again with the streets so heavily watched? It was impossible. If they did, would Kosra and his men pay for their transgressions? It seemed certain. Did that matter? Every choice was wrong, and every choice was right, and she hated that too, and she especially hated that her mind had been made up for the last twenty minutes. Where was the room for agency here? Yet for someone so desperate Richard hadn't once said his intent was to flee.

"You know what we have to do, don't you?" Regina murmured, and a slow nod confirmed it. Unlikely allies indeed.

Andrey handed her back the dagger and went immediately to Miranda, who had passively watched with the sort of expression that might have said she'd rather be elsewhere, at least if it had been on anyone else. "We're going to be found if we stay here," he said quietly. "If they see you with him, with her, and if they assume . . . I can't protect you from these people. Not here, and not now."

Miranda held up one hand and he fell silent. There was an unsettling look about her then, as if it had all long since been understood, but she offered not even verbal resistance. All indignation had withdrawn the moment the blade left Richard's throat.

Regina found herself overcome with reluctance. Instead she turned back to Richard. "What you just so very subtly hinted: it can happen if we go now," she said. He already knew, and nodded slightly in response. The first outside was the lieutenant colonel, seemingly eager to leave. Only the steady movement of the clock above, its hands and gears, broke through the heavy silence.

"Should I wait?" Miranda suddenly asked, startling them both. "I can tell them anything. It'd buy you at least an hour." A moment of hesitation, almost unfitting, soon passed. "Even her, if she takes you too. I don't mind."

Richard remained still, unnaturally so. "Don't wait for anyone, least of all me. Take my advice. Use these people. Get to Borginia, and far away from this shithole of a place." He reached up tentatively, put a hand on her shoulder. "I know what you'll say. It might mean nothing to you, but I need to believe it. It can't all have been wasted effort."

The look Miranda gave him then was strange, almost insistent. "Why do you think I followed you? Any lie, any story, to anyone. You go to Borginia. I can go with you, if you like—just tell me to do it."

"I appreciate it more than I can say," Richard said, though he still couldn't quite look at her, "but you can't believe they'd actually let me someone like me roam around free. Not here, and not there. This is how it has to be."

Indignation had never been conveyed so lightly. "Then following you here was wasted effort," Miranda said, almost in a whisper. "You'll let them murder you to justify who even knows what, but I can stop them and you tell me to sit back and watch." Quieter with each second, she closed what little distance remained. "There are easier ways to die, if that's still what you want."

"And I don't expect you'll want to hear this, but I am sorry," Richard said. He looked to Regina at the door, who felt as if she perhaps ought to be outside. "You can tell them, tell them everything . . . it is time, isn't it?" She gave a slow nod in response. He barely noticed. "You see? It's not a choice; it couldn't be any other way. You'll be better off for it, I'm sure of that."

Turning to leave, as if ashamed again, this time he was held back by the arm. "Just say it. It won't hurt, not the way you think it will." He offered no resistance. Neither did he answer, eyes fixed on the door, and looked to have barely heard. Something colder came over her then. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

There was something different about this hesitance. "Maybe you are right," Richard murmured. "It's absurd, I know. I feel sick just at the thought of it, but I can't seem to stop. Do I deserve this, do you think? I'd rather not know." He was entirely motionless, as if afraid she would release him at the slightest gesture. "And you? They let you go, they let you come here, and with him, but there must've been a reason. Don't lie to me now."

"There are no reasons," Miranda said, as if only to herself. She still hadn't released his arm. "I suppose it doesn't matter, not really, and I never asked . . . but Dmitri did tell me something, something you never would've. And she was there too, whispering into the Borginian's ear. Now we're here, and I know what they want, and I know why you lied." Suddenly Richard looked rather sallow, completely motionless, and finally she released him. "It's alright. I'm glad you didn't tell me."

Richard's calm air of resignation had turned to a sort of stiffness, the night air felt icier by the minute, mild winter or not, and Miranda left without even a glance back—it was as if Regina didn't exist at all to her—but she soon had reason to slow again. It was the lieutenant colonel, against all expectation, who barred her way. He glanced to Regina at the tower's entrance. A slight nod, barely noticeable, and he stood aside again as that listless figure swept into the distance and vanished from sight.

II

In the space of an hour the entire town had been seized and segmented by the ruthlessly efficient guardsmen. Avoiding these patrols was near impossible. They did not act as regular soldiers did, did not think like infantrymen, and though information was beyond scarce Regina knew the truth. The exits had been sealed, and would remain so until their prize was returned.

The illusion of control was a comforting one. What was desirable, and what was possible? One sensation was pleasant, another unpleasant, desires followed along those lines with the greatest consistency, rarely noticed at all unless they proved defective. The latter question left considerably more room for debate. Many a difficult night could be endured through the hope that there was some reliable order to the world, something that would readily hear and sympathise with personal pleas if only the individual will were inspiring enough. Few indulged in those expectations on that night.

But the temptation to react against one flawed position by assuming the exact opposite shared a curiously similar source. Once the ugliness of the idea was put aside, the same core remained. It was comfortable. Absolute futility appealed to the despairing much as an ordered and malleable world did to the hopeful, and that was all that was asked of either conception.

Regina had wavered between these for a lifetime. Futility wouldn't be so easily discarded, but neither could it be readily accepted that there was no room for movement, that each act was forced entirely by circumstance, and that the participants were closer to spectators than performers. Even so, if it wasn't hesitance it was uncertainty. Something decisive, some sort of committed movement: that was what was needed. Clarity would follow, never precede.

As the three of them waited in an alley, the air thick with smoke, that was clearer than ever. There would be no escape, however much they wanted it, whatever they did. Not for all of them. Richard was barely lucid, though he concealed even that, but the others were different. Both Kosra and the unsettling officer in her vibrant uniform. Even around the fire it was as if they had all felt it, all understood, and all played their parts accordingly. Perhaps it really was preordained.

Unfortunately there were more pressing concerns. Even if a second meeting was assured, and Regina intended to manufacture one, a cheerful ending to that meeting certainly was not. Fortunately even the very worst outcomes could still be averted. What had Miranda meant, and where would she go now? She was the key, the inadvertent messenger, but Regina didn't mind. Kosra or Liana, either would suffice. Either would be ideal.

Not that either of her companions knew it. Resentment would be easily justified. If not for Richard she was sure Kosra would have revealed it all by then, though what exactly it was remained elusive as ever, and even the identity of this peculiar friend of his. It wasn't Dmitri Mirzin: that was obvious. For a slight moment Regina had hoped otherwise. No, in truth the man was utterly vile, the sort of leech who had been gifted with innumerable talents and saw fit only to put them to work for the very worst purposes. He was all the more disgusting for his capacity for empathy, for his lack of innate callousness. For being recognisably human.

This particular ugliness bore all the markings of Mirzin's work. It was a subtle sort of corrosion, one he employed but certainly didn't control. Masking every moment, clouding every word and act: hardly there at all, if not for the growing awareness of its victims. Richard had been entirely right. Refuge in Borginia was the best hope for Miranda, not a warzone, and certainly not Dmitri Mirzin's whispers. But Regina had said nothing. Hadn't supported him. The entire time a sickly feeling had twisted through her gut, one paralysingly similar to recognition. That line of thought was not followed for long. They fled without direction, but with considerable success. Regina intended to delay matters as long as she could, and Richard hardly seemed to care where they went, escape or not. His muted request for a private audience, at least, if that was what it really was, could yet be arranged. It was better to do so quickly.

And the task at hand was a familiar one. "Straight across," Regina ordered, ushering them all across the street. Too familiar. Mistakes were being made, thought replacing understanding, the present moment slipping away. It never ended. "Hold it," she soon called, seizing Andrey by the shoulder. He was in the lead, had seen it too, and this time they retreated into a burnt out store.

The patrols started on the other side first, unburnt and unlooted. Fortunately their numbers were quite small, or so it seemed. That was small consolation. The sirens, the unrest, the shooting: all had ceased. How had they seized an entire town in thirty minutes? Fear began to creep in, soon becoming palpable. Were they searching in earnest, or only pretending?

"Where are we even going?" Andrey whispered in her ear. "You know as well—"

"Just do it," Richard called from the wall he'd slumped down against. "Delaying's not going to help either of us now." He beckoned her over, that feverish look returning. "I didn't ever imagine Miranda would follow me. Didn't want to say it in front of her. All those ugly details, and with you? No, I couldn't say it."

"Who is she?" Regina asked. "If you expect us to go back—"

Richard pointed at Andrey. "He will. You have an obligation to get her out of here. Promise me that or I will have them put you up against a wall. Don't think they wouldn't." And then back to Regina. "You stay away from her. What a mess. The world's fucked, do you know that? Absolutely fucked."

Regina glanced at Andrey, who did seem inclined to make that promise, and received a faint nod in response. The pretence had to be shattered. "Go and find Kosra," she said. "Tell him to clear that plaza. You have to get him to send the rest of the militia away, and the guardsmen too. Get them moving back north, anywhere but here."

Andrey's look of astonishment was worth everything. It was as if he'd just been asked to cut off one of his own fingers. "That's the most outrageous request I've ever heard," he said, "Even if he agreed, you actually think that dead-eyed woman would ever—"

"Not only that," Regina interrupted, "but she'll agree to it without a second of argument. If I'm wrong you can assume I'm wrong about everything else and do as you like."

"She's right," Richard added from his wall. "I sat next to Liana for sixteen hours on the way here. She likes to hear herself speak and she's very particular about her audience. Nervous, too. She's scared of something, and who could blame her? Either way, that's never promising. Once I go back, and only then, you can bet everything you've got on that assessment."

Andrey still hesitated, as if expecting a trap, and Regina seized him by the shoulder. "If we don't do this, and do it soon, they will get violent. You've trusted me this far, so believe me now. Go."

He did. Not a minute passed and the patrol knew, giving immediate chase. That, at least, was as expected. Regina knelt down next to Richard, looked through the energy and the contempt and the anger. "You didn't ever think I'd help you escape, did you?"

Richard just laughed. "Oh, I admit I did. And I didn't." He looked at her arm. "When you've seen the spite in these people . . . but you already have. They're not even sane, are they? But the others are in this for the usual reasons. They flutter about as if they chose this, and they'll die thinking they chose that too. Liana can be the first." He gave a weak smile. "Well, not quite the first."

"Is that why she's taking you south now? It's not much of a plan from where I'm standing."

"Who ever said anything about a plan?" Richard asked, his smile turning to a sort of bitter grin. "Do you know, this obsession with plans and visions and lofty goals is just awful. No, nobody planned this, we all just sort of landed here, and nobody planned what comes next either. It just happened, and it just happens that the slightest spark will have this miserable place burning for years."

"You're not as confused as you pretend you are, so don't avoid the question. Your new friends? It's not like they hide it. Struggle and misery and almost certain death for nothing. That's a proposal, and it's a plan too."

"Your problem is that you still think people don't like struggle and misery and almost certain death," Richard said. "But you already know that. You know all of it. Why ask me? You just don't want to believe, that's why."

"Neither do they," Regina slowly said, looking down at him. "They're lying to you, or to themselves."

"Both, no doubt, it has to be both," Richard said, still glancing to each side. "We all do it, especially me, and to tell the truth I've forgotten it all. Polostin will burn whether they like it or not. Buy yourself a few more weeks, if that's your only concern." He gestured at the dagger. Regina didn't move, and had no intention of doing so. He knew it, and slowly exhaled. "You don't smoke, do you? I suppose not. What a night."

"You don't make any sense," Regina said. "The way you talk you'll be dead within the month no matter what I do. Even if I could help you escape—"

Richard laughed then, but it was hollow. "Let's try Borginia," he said, leaning his head back against the wall. "Political asylum for the man who helped paint them as the instigators of that vile war, I can see that." He held up one finger. "How about the northern wastes? Do you have any idea what they would do to the creature who devoted his life to covering up that sordid massacre?" He refused to even allow an attempt at a reply, holding up another finger. "Polostin? And when Gail finds out what I did, and you can be sure they would tell him, much like they told Miranda—"

He was cut short. They heard the patrol's return, and there was little time left. "You've made a lot of enemies, haven't you?" Regina asked quietly. "It doesn't mean you deserve to die for it. If that wasn't true half the people I know, and I'd be one of them . . ."

But Richard finally gave her with his full attention, as if trying to understand something. "I think I only just realised," he said softly. "You never saw, you didn't recall . . . I suppose in your line of work murder must be mundane."

That same icy feeling returned, akin to a dagger in the stomach. "Do you think you're being subtle?" Regina asked. "My entire life I've been told not to ask for the answers. Why shouldn't I? That's the question you can never ask until the moment's passed."

"The moment has passed," Richard said. "Yours and mine. I pictured the last day, you know. Royce, Gail, the way they'd look at me, and finally I'd look back and not say a word. Inevitable or not, this time she'd be safe in sunny Borginia; I'd be telling myself I at least did something right before the bullet hit. It would complicate things . . . Vorman didn't see it coming, and I suppose I won't either." He hesitated then, and seemed to concede something. "Would you . . . would you not tell them? That I killed James, I mean. I don't think I can stand the thought of it."

"You say you know when you'll die down to the time and place. How can you tolerate that but not a moment of blunt honesty?"

"That's an absurd question," Richard said. "Honesty is its own form of suicide, don't you think? You'll make sure it's not done for nothing. They'll be prepared. Every kind of proof, every measure taken. They'll pin the assassination on Royce personally to justify an invasion, it is the sort of thing he'd do, and if you prevent it they'll just find another way. Do it yourself, and do it quietly, and it will work. This is what I do, you understand? I manufacture consent, and I manufacture dissent. Take Liana in, deal with Kosra now, and Liebert by proxy. Force the rest of them to stop hiding."

"And if the assassination does fail? Tell me who else was on that rooftop. One secret for another."

Richard laughed again, with even less feeling. "I heard the rumours, and so did you. Now you want proof. A nice little story to validate the effort." He reached out for a hand up and received it. "The truth is, you never needed me. The man is a titan, no doubt, both in stature and presence, and standing at her side . . . such a delicate figure, small and slender, and how they ruined us. He'll tell you everything, don't doubt it for a second."

"Not without reason. You have reason. I'll give you all the reason you need."

"And he needs none. He doesn't care, Eliza herself wouldn't care . . . Liana and Dmitri would, and he'll tell you just to spite them. He and Liebert loathe those two, always scheming, always lying. Well, they are foreign, I suppose. Eliza thinks it's quite funny, you know—she told me so in the hospital. That woman takes nihilism to an immeasurable extreme. No, you knew he'd tell you then, and you know I won't now. Consider this incentive to go back."

By then he was looking through her entirely, back at the charred walls. Regina saw the truth of it. He would say no more, not to her or anyone. He felt an inexplicable pull to see this finished, drew more satisfaction from that than anywhere else, felt it as deserved and proper, and could not be dissuaded. Not by her, not here, and certainly not now. Another door soon broke free of its hinges, and he approached theirs. "You're sure? If you go through that door now you'll never get another chance."

"It was never my chance to take," Richard said, "but don't mistake me. Miranda saw right through me. This is as selfish as it gets, and it always will be. I'll see you in Polostin, I have no doubt." He offered her that same forced smile, pulled the door open, and slammed it shut behind him. It was hard to tell exactly what happened next. A moment more, the sound of boots of concrete the only indicator left, and they were gone.

The crucial moment came and the reasons faded ever further into the distance. Was it fear of vulnerability, or fear of indifference? That the moment any task was complete, any objective realised, the desired outcome would be exposed as a shadow scarcely worth the effort? But realisation remained exactly that without expression. A pale shadow, hardly worth the thought wasted in its forming.

So it was then. Soon enough the road was clear once more. The sense of looming pressure, of dread, only seemed to grow. Evidently this elite force had chased two men from the same street and not seen the need to check for more. A mistake? Not likely.

At one end, leading back to the clock tower, the road was deserted. At the other a single figure stood alone and with her back turned, much like a shadow herself. Regina knew she could take the empty road freely. Nothing would have been easier.

III

Perhaps there always was a right time, and a right place. Seize them both and glimpse another world hidden just beyond the horizon, or return with empty hands. It felt as if this was the only path that could have been taken. That, at least, likely held true for them all. The deception had stretched well beyond that, and to something only a few could see, all of whom shared some quality even from afar.

To what end? Little wonder the time and place seemed to forever stretch into the distant future. Comfort provided by feigned indifference was entirely illusory. By the time the lesson was learned both slipped away again, and without validation the lesson itself soon followed. There was time still to right that particular wrong. What had her aim been in coming here? It began to feel closer to a trial than an assignment.

The streets were completely silent, and the fires had been extinguished. Where were the people? It didn't matter. Only one needed to appear, and only one had.

"Our friends in purple won't be gone for long," Regina said, slowing to an inadvertent halt. "You can blame me, if you like. Maybe I could've done something . . . but I won't lie to you. Even if he'd asked, how many would've died for it? It's not my call to make. Not anyone's, really."

Miranda barely seemed to hear. "I stopped him once," she said. "He had the pistol in his mouth. It wasn't even loaded. After that he asked me: do we choose these things, or are they forced on us? He said he had to know, that it was the only way . . . but he'll never know. He never wanted to know. The way people stare, the way they speak. I know I'm not quite what I should be. He asked me because he knew what I'd say. And now I'll ask you, because I don't know what you'll say."

Regina's maimed hand curled at her side. "I won't lie, sometimes I start to believe it myself," she said. "No matter how much effort we put in it it's like hurling it into the void. What could I have done instead? I ask myself that every day, like there's ever an answer, but here I am. Maybe I don't believe it."

"Would you do any of it differently? If you could go back, I mean."

"That's a question without an answer. And who's asking?"

"Nobody at all," Miranda said. "Would you let me hold that dagger?"

Her voice was barely a whisper, but Regina didn't hesitate, reaching down and offered the dagger freely. Her cooperation had to be assured, however unsettling this was quickly becoming. If there were alternatives, they were quickly dismissed. This was the path, the risk was illusory, the reason tangible, and it was received without word or gesture.

Miranda held it up in what little light there was. "Who did you expect you'd have to kill?"

"Nobody. I've never used it. I don't expect I ever will."

"Then why keep it with you?"

"I don't know. A reminder, I suppose." Something behind those words urged caution. "Just by coming here I called off an artillery strike that would've levelled this place. I thought I was being merciful, but when I saw these people again, when I realised how easy it would be, it just didn't seem to matter. I couldn't have done it. Not this time. What's so laudable about that?" The distance was closed again. "You're right, you know. It does get easier. One after another until you can't recall . . . but then I look down and remember who gave that to me. It's ridiculous, but where did it ever get him?"

"To the top of the fortress in Merestan," Miranda said softly. "It's sad. We're here because we don't know where else to go. I can see it in your eyes. He looks that way too. Maybe he'll throw himself off the citadel. Maybe someone will have to throw him off."

"How do you know that?" Regina asked quietly, not moving a muscle.

"Maybe I don't," Miranda said. "You wanted to believe it, so you did. I wonder why."

"And I wonder why you're here," Regina said, eyes fixed only on the dagger. "I feel like I should recognise you. Were you sent here to spy on them? You remind me of—"

"I'm with no-one," Miranda said, "and no-one's with me. Nobody sent me here, and nobody will care where I go now."

"That's just as sad as whatever you think you can see in me. But Richard was right, wasn't he? You don't care. I've seen it before and I can see it now. So why come here?"

"I came here to find something. That's all."

One truth made itself known: pressing her any further would be a grave error. "And I hope you find it," Regina said. "For what it's worth, if there's anything I can do for you, name it. I mean that. Anything at all, no questions asked. Whether we wanted this or not . . . we're all searching for something. Let's agree on that, if nothing else."

"We're all searching," Miranda said, "but there's nothing to find. I'd like you to see it. Could you turn around and walk away now, even if you wanted to? We're being pulled back together by something, all of us, and none of us can leave until it lets us. It never will. Over and over, every day the same. If we could just admit it . . . this is what we wanted, isn't it? That's why it won't end."

"What if there's a way around it?" Regina asked, entirely motionless. Gleaming in the dark was the steel dagger. "I won't pretend to have the answers you're looking for, but I don't need them. This should never have happened. None of us should ever be put in this situation again. Whatever pushed us to be here . . . I want it gone. Finished. Tell me that's just as worthless as whatever the rest of them expected to find here. Show me."

"If it is, you'll see it for yourself," Miranda said, quieter than ever. "Apathy. You don't just go off and shoot yourself. You learn to enjoy it. Dmitri told me that's what I'd find here, that I would finally want . . . but did he actually believe that? I won't indulge him for the sake of a dream." Another moment passed, even longer, and the dagger was lowered again. "The Borginian is waiting for you. Would you follow me? I'd like to take you to him."

For as soft as this woman's voice was, it was as if she wasn't there at all and it was only the sound of the breeze rustling through the trees in that empty street. Each movement, each sound, was suddenly excruciating. Her offer was accepted without either.