As the shuttle brought us close to the Emperor's mercy, it was a delight to witness the wonder on lady Cassia's face when she saw its dark shape — all intricate decks lit through stained-glass windows, tall spires and towers of golden plasteel lace. In the sunless system, the endless sky was strewn with diamonds that glazed the frigate in frosty light. I asked the pilot to take us on a flyby; she readily obliged, taking pride in the ship she served.

Once we got aboard, Vox Master Vigdis greeted us. She was very straight in her dark robes, her steel ruff stamped with the Sacred Skull insignia and the rosettes of her office. The many augments that ran from her shaved head as braids of metal gave her a forbidding appearance.

'Lord-captain, Lady Navigator, welcome aboard. The Sanctum Navis has been prepared for the communion ritual, but if the Lady Navigator wishes to rest in her quarters first…'

My heart started beating furiously, and my fingertips tingled unpleasantly. The Vox Master shivered — the bridge crew glanced around in puzzlement, searching for the source of their sudden unease. Cassia, without even looking, waved the Vox Master away, saying she wished to speak with me. The girl needed manners like a desert needs water — no, she needed to face the real world, one where she wouldn't be a sacred Child venerated by all, and not get panic attacks over the fact. It was unfair to hold her to standards she had never been taught, but teach them to her I would. I liked Vigdis.

The Vox Master retreated with a stuttered apology. To drive home the point that, on my ship, lady Cassia would be no princess but still a valued and honoured member of my retinue, I went to my throne below the Aquila before giving her leave to speak.

'I have not yet thanked you for saving me on the station. My thoughts were clouded with so much mournful ash, but you acted honourably and did not exploit me in my wretched position. And for that I am immeasurably grateful. I am also deeply grateful that you saved my servants, especially my valet. Uve served on the station for more than five years — much longer than any who preceded him.' She hesitated before adding: 'He knows how to properly attend to me during journeys through the Immaterium, and what I like for breakfast. His presence… envelops me in a cloak of amber.'

Definitely a teenager — her age was hard to guess on such a strange face, but Cassia behaved like some of my companions in the Schola Progenium had, none of which had made it out alive. I assured her it had been my pleasure. She stood even more upright and joined her hands in a court lady's posture, before saying she was ready to go to the Sanctum Navis and perform the sacred rite. I thanked her gravely, but curiosity won, and I asked about how she would proceed.

'I doubt the uninitiated could understand the mysteries of Navigation, but I shall try to explain the essence of it. I must merge my mind and will with the Machine spirit of the ship, so that I become one with the vessel. After that, I use the House Orsellio ritual, which I am loath to reveal to you, to free my mind of all errand thoughts. And then…' She looked around, aloof with naive arrogance, as if our solid world was but a veil to pierce. 'Then it is time to open my third eye and peer into the depths of the Warp itself. Among the nightmarish visions, mirages, and creatures of the abyss, only the light of the Emperor is the truth that will lead me from star to star, from system to system. Oh, the light! The guiding thread, so fine it can slip from one's grasp at any moment…' She unfurled her hand, long fingers reaching at something beyond my sight. 'But you have nothing to worry about. The Navigators of House Orsellio never lose their course.'

'Where do the art supplies come in?'

'I channel my visions on canvas; paint of all colours except red ground me, help me find the path and discard false omens.'

And yet I remembered the painting on Eurac V had been, well, mostly red in all shades — dark, brownish, scarlet splashes as well as the fresh stain of crushed berries. When I remarked this aloud, Cassia smiled an angelic smile and said: 'For the red, Uve gives of his blood before the ritual. Always.'

We were, at long last, safely under Warp. The young Navigator would see us to Footfall, carving us a way through the dangers of the Immaterial Realm. The Rykad system would soon be nothing but a bad memory, and I could relax — as much as is possible for the captain of a ship that carries twenty-six thousand souls, give or take a few hundreds. At the High Factotum's behest, I met with orphans left behind by those who had died in the Warp incursion that had claimed Theodora's life. To the Seneschal's despair, I refused to punish one who proved particularly bratty, and I ordered for them all to be clothed, fed and schooled as if they were all officer's children. I could afford it. My own little Schola Progenium; giving back what I had received (minus some of the harsher parts of it) appeared to be fitting.

Everywhere I went, I appeared to run into Heinrix van Calox. Most of his open hostility had subsided. Although he remained the same stuck-up holier-than-thou poster boy of the Inquisition, it was satisfying to see the man could take a hint and dial down the theatrics. We never ventured past small chat, and I have to say his formal courtesy wouldn't have disgraced a court. Couple that with his good looks and the fact that I'm a hot-blooded woman, and I once or twice woke up at night after a particularly raunchy dream involving us two. I couldn't wait to dump him at Footfall and be rid of his obnoxious presence.

It all came to a head during a slow day on the bridge. I had taken the habit of visiting every officer at their station in the afternoon and there he was, inquiring to Vox Master Vigdis whether the Astropathic Choir had received any message for him.

'Anxious for new orders, Master van Calox?'

'Rogue Trader. No, I…' He hesitated; by the Emperor, had he become slightly pink in the ears?! 'I am afraid I have abused your hospitality. I sent a request, some time ago, for news of a particular regicide tournament.'

Behind him, Vox Master Vigdis nodded: he was telling the truth.

'Such a small sin! You know, Master van Calox, I believe this is the first time since you came aboard that you have done something you, yourself, really wanted to do — not something you were ordered or felt duty-bound to accomplish. Pray tell, what is it about regicide that fascinates you so?'

'It is only a game, but it's also an art. I find in a regicide match the same pleasure some get from novels or music. Between strict rules blossoms creativity, as… as in poetry, I guess. And of course, there is the contest with another mind, like a philosophical debate. Some play against cogitators, but it feels empty compared to another human being.'

'I shall admit, you have piqued my interest.' Was I bored enough of my day to ask an Interrogator of the Inquisition to show me how one played regicide? The answer was yes. I invited him, once again, to my study, where my predecessor's board remained untouched.

The circular board was a marquetry of precious woods, deep brown and pale cream. It stood on a table probably made for it. We sat on matching chairs beside and I gazed at the pieces of polished stone : things of beauty, small works of art. Van Calox, for a while, stared at the board too, memorising the game as it had been, and quickly removed the pieces. Now one of Theodora's last actions in this world was undone.

As much as it pained me to admit, van Calox was a good teacher. We went through piece movements, and then strategic openings. Time flew; we both lost some of our reserve. And then we tried a friendly match. Early on, I pushed a Marine to an idiotic position. Van Calox raised an eyebrow; he smiled — his first genuine smile — and moved his Tetrarch forward in the opening.

'Is this what you had in mind?' His voice had a teasing edge.

I seized another of my Marines and captured his piece. His hand had still been hovering over the piece; my skin touched his. It was warm, it felt electric, and I lingered perhaps too long.

'A bold strategy,' he said, and two moves later he put a Primarch where the second Marine had been, endangering my whole half of the board. Damn. That thing had come from the depths of his set.

'That's devious.' I loved it.

'Wait until you play with hooded boards, where some pieces masquerade as others.'

I caught his gaze — deep dark eyes, so calm — but there was a hidden desire in his attitude. Perhaps it was in the faint tilt of his face, or in the way his lips slightly parted when I stretched my legs below the table and touched his foot with mine. My heart beat like an idiot. I was probably an idiot. I despised the man but, for some reason, it wasn't enough to counter the fact he was absolutely my type. And that I hadn't had sex in literal years.

I moved a piece at random. He leant over the board, ostentatiously to correct its placement. I bent, ostentatiously to look better at the move. Our knees touched. I could see every one of his eyelashes, his eyes down on my breasts. I grabbed his head and pulled him in for a hungry kiss. His mouth tasted of lust. Pieces scattered on the board. A hand tussling my hair, tipping my face to a better angle. The table edge hurt my ribs. I pulled away and rose; instants later, he had me pinned against the wall. I didn't complain. I tasted his tongue. I ran my hands against his back, finding my way to the nape of his neck. He kissed me below the ear; his palm was caressing my ass. His breath against my skin made me shiver. I put my hand on his crotch, feeling his erection through his admittedly too-tight uniform.

'For the record,' I breathed, 'I loathe you.'

'The feeling's mutual. You're a pig-headed know-it-all jackass.'

I undid the clasps of his cape, finding his mouth again. He helped me wiggle free of my great coat, and it was his turn to be a prisoner against the wall — no, the bookshelf, now, and it shook under the assault, scattering its contents.

'And you're an arrogant, conceited asshole.' I would have torn away his jackets buttons if they had been any harder to undo. 'A pet of the Inquisition happy of his collar and chain.'

The last regicide pieces scattered when he sat me on the table, shutting me up with another wild kiss. I kicked my boots away and locked him against me with my leg. He found his breath long enough to spit: 'Of course, a murderous shithead who waves a paper saying God gave her permission to do stuff would say that.'

I bit his naked neck; he gasped. He was busy tearing my jacket and shirt away from my belt. His hands ran against my back, undid my bra. My skin was on fire under his touch, fingertips light on my side, and then hand cupping my breast.

'That's rich, coming from a guy who wipes himself with laws that bug him.' I tore his shirt away from him and threw it on the ground. I tasted his skin. Licked a nipple. He pulled me closer, his hands once again finding their way beneath my clothes, his face buried against my neck, and he nibbled on my earlobe.

'At least I have other interests at heart than my own,' he whispered in my ear. I felt the tip of his tongue. The regicide table trembled when I dug my nails in the small of his back, wishing him closer still. A precarious position. I pushed him away — there was nothing now masking the burning desire on his face — and jumped down. But he was uncertain, too, obviously wondering if I had changed my mind, and he was unsettled. It filled me with satisfaction, as well as a yearning ache for his body. He was half-naked, hair tousled, and it was because of me.

'Bedroom's that way,' I pointed with my chin.

Along the very short walk to my bedroom, I shed my jacket and my shirt — he removed his belt; the buckle hit the ground with a clang. My own belt was next, and he undid my trousers as we kissed once again in the doorway. I felt the shape of muscles on his back; I pressed myself against him. It was a sloppy kiss, passionate; pulling away, he bit my lip. I went back for seconds, grabbing him by the neck.

We stumbled to the bed, I fell back and he peeled away my trousers and knickers in a single, fluid, movement. I sat up again on the edge, legs open. His hands were on my knees and he bent, searching for my mouth. His lips were soft. His tongue caressed mine. I ran my hands, slowly, over his shoulders, his torso, warm, strong. He had a swordsman's body, athletic and strong.

'Kneel,' I said. He did. He held my hips and started eating me out.

Oh, it was good. Oh, he was good. I absent-mindedly caressed his hair, scratching his scalp with my nails — catching my breath. Inhale. Exhale. I closed my eyes, lost in the sensation. I moaned, bent to him, and fell back on the mattress. Still working wonders with his mouth, he slid a finger — then two — inside me, slowly, then faster as I came, a moaning mess.

He climbed on the bed by my side, lips traveling upwards, along my belly, my torso — a nipple — my neck. I kissed his temple, where his hairline started, his cheek, his lips. My hands went to his trousers, helping him remove them. His sex was hard and heavy, skin so smooth in my grasp. I looked him in the eyes, jerking him off with deliberate care; he was propped on his elbows over me. I brought him to the edge, till he got a whimper in his throat, and overturned him on the pillows. I straddled him, pinning his shoulders to the bed, my weight on my hands while I ground my slit against his erection. His eyes were ablaze with want, but he said nothing as I teased him so. His hands were on my breasts, kneading them softly.

Joke was on me: I wanted him too badly to keep this for long. Releasing his shoulders, I sat on my heels and once again grabbed his sex. I guided him inside me, easing myself down with a gasp. He dug his fingers in my waist and whispered my name: 'Katov…'

For some reason, it made me feel truly naked and I bit my own closed fist.

He started moving his hips, hitting the very spot, and together we found a rhythm. I was panting — I wanted him undone and hapless — but I couldn't — with his next thrust I leant against his chest, abandoning every pretence of leading our dance. His hands moved: one on my ass, one against the nape of my neck. With closed eyes, I found his lips for a clumsy kiss; each of his thrusts tore a moan from me, and I silenced them in the depths of his mouth. Again, wave after wave built until an orgasm swept me away — him, too, as he dissolved in a puddle of lovely unhelpfulness.

Sweat was pooling on my back. Hair was stuck on my face. I curled by van Calox's side, enjoying his warmth — his solidity, so to speak — my hand caressing his torso in idleness. I could feel his heartbeat slowly steadying. We'd soon get to Footfall. His fingers traced the contours of my face, lingering on the faint scar on my cheek.

'You could have had it removed,' he said. 'It would be small work for a biomancer.'

'It's a memento. I don't mind it.'

'It suits you.' Then, after a time, he added: 'You are more beautiful for it.'

I planted a kiss on his wrist. 'Do you still hate me?'

'Of course. What about you?'

'More than ever. You could be so much more than… this.' I waved to some indistinct entity far away. Mostly towards the ceiling, though, so he could see my gesture.

His small chuckle vibrated against my chest. 'I don't expect we'll meet again after I disembark at Footfall. You shall be spared the disappointment of following my career.'

'I cannot wait,' I replied, stretching and then snuggling closer.

Later, after we had both taken advantage of Theodora's ridiculous bathroom — were all squeaky clean, back in our uniforms and fit for inspection — van Calox helped me tidy up the study. The wooden shelves had suffered a bookslide that the Inquisitor was more than happy to fix; I supposed he took it as an occasion to peek at the titles in search of heresy. Regicide pieces had to be hunted everywhere and, before crawling under said bookshelf to retrieve a few of them, I reminded him I had had no chance yet to make any changes to the catalog. There was no way I was ready to burn for any dubious taste of my predecessor's.

As I lay sprawled on the floor, shoulder strained to catch a piece by the wall, my hand closed on something else — something metallic that pricked me. I brought it back to light; it was a brass thing — a large ring of engraved metal with a standing base of the same. Something about it felt off.

'What have you got?'

'I'm not sure.' I turned the object around, trying to make sense of it. It reminded me of… I couldn't put my finger on it. 'It could be some old Terran navigation instrument, but none that I know.'

'You're bleeding.'

Van Calox was right: a drop of blood was forming on the side of my hand that had brushed against the floor. Looking closer, a glass shard was embedded in it — nothing that couldn't be removed with a good set of tweezers, and I enlisted van Calox's help for it.

We sat again at the regicide table to better look at the mysterious object; van Calox seemed particularly interested in the engravings. On a stroke of inspiration, I grabbed a sheathed ceremonial sword and used it to fish out whatever else was under the bookshelf. Dust bunnies and the last regicide piece emerged, as well as several shards of glass of varying thickness.

Carefully, van Calox rendered his judgement.

'This is a Chaos artefact, Rogue Trader.'

I felt as if doused in icy water — I remembered. I remembered the heretical ritual on Rykad Minoris, the man who wanted his eyes burnt by the unholy light of the Final Dawn. I remembered the great lens that had stood at the centre of the cultists' attention, its pedestal carved with evil sigils that defiled my memory.

'This is a smaller version — copy, perhaps — of a contraption I have seen used by that Aurora cult. What place did it have in a lord-captain's study?'

'Trophy, maybe? There's no lack of those here.' mused van Calox. 'If it were all right with you, I would like to keep it.'

'Please do. I don't want that sort of devilry around if I can avoid it, and I have no running fusion reactor handy to throw it in this time.'

He carefully enveloped the artefact in a handkerchief and secured it in an inside pocket. After that, it was easier for him to take his leave: there was none — well, nearly none — of that post-coital awkwardness when one feels both staying and going would be rude.

Footfall would soon be there.

END OF ACT 1