The shuttle ride to the Emperor's Mercy was, to say the least, charged with unsaid words of the 'how did you bloody dare' family. Van Calox and I sat as far apart as the seatings allowed. The sky over us went from blue to indigo and then to black, as the acceleration that glued my back to the chair lessened and artificial gravity came on; the frigate's golden spires gleamed in unfiltered sunlight and the immense dark crescent of the terminator — still several hours away from the palace grounds we had just left — engulfed Janus like the sea.

The landing pad was busy with tech-priests administering the refuelling rites to another shuttle, despite the hard vacuum. Getting enough of my provosts — or guards, I never know how to call them, as they hover between military and police — down there to oversee the local forces without proper dropships was a logistical drag. The bay doors closed behind us, voidborns in pressure suits pushing great gears, slick with blessed oil, into motion and, after a few minutes, the bay pressurised again. Van Calox tried slinking away, either to the eldar-free peace of his quarters to write a scathing report, or to the mess in order to grab a bite, I neither knew nor cared. Calling him back felt like yanking on a leash he had forgotten about.

Still, before I could indulge in the pleasure of tearing him a new one, I had matters to attend. Jae, luckily, was busy making friends or seducing several bridge officers, and briefing her was easily done. Then, I spoke with Vox Master Vigdis about the possible breach in our communications; despite her everlasting calm, she was rattled and had already begun checking everything after Abelard's warning — and she was going to send some of her people to assess network security down on Janus.

If the shuttle trip had been tense, there is need of a new word to describe the elevator ride down the bridge to my own quarters. In such small confines, I believed I could feel every ounce of energy van Calox expensed to keep his usual cool; they were a match for mine. An engine of repressed feelings thrummed deep in my chest.

The doors opened into the antechamber, now thankfully empty of Theodora's stuff, although her portrait still hung there. We stepped out. The doors closed, sealing out every possible filtering noise. I turned to van Calox — his strained face, his worried eyes, and the muscle contracting in anger at his jaw — and snarled: 'Never, ever, defy my authority like this again.'

'What you did was irresponsible. An eldar cannot be trusted.'

'Oh, so you think I'm still wet behind the ears? That I'd be foolish enough to trust a xenos?' Once again, in my mind, those slender warriors in purple and green walked through an Imperial regiment, leaving nothing but death in their wake. 'I have seen them, I have seen what they do. But she is our — my — only lead.' I walked in strides to the door leading to my study and stopped to look at van Calox. 'Tell me you don't think she knows more than she lets through, and I shall know you lie.'

He was once again close to me, his build made more imposing by the pauldrons of his cape, purity seals hanging, the rosette around his neck taunting me. 'She does, and she may be a key to unlocking that whole mess, but the end does not justify the means.' His voice was a growl. 'Rogue Trader. If Janus has fallen into xenos hands… She is close to the governor.'

'A governor I have already removed from office.'

'The whole administration may be corrupted, and I'm not even mentioning those disappearances that reek of heresy a mile away. Who knows what Chaos entity they serve?'

'They will need to be vetted, yes, but this will take time I do not have right now.'

Van Calox shrugged before speaking. 'Dispatch them all instead. The Emperor will know His own and separate the wheat from the chaff. Anything is better than making an alliance with an eldar, or to risk a Chaos infiltration.'

Incredulity did not even begin to cover what I felt. The audacity of the man. 'You would have me purge the whole ruling caste of Janus for fear some may be a little too friendly with a xenos they think is just a weird human mutant? Or that a handful may be cultist loonies?'

'She is dangerous. Chaos is dangerous.'

'I am dangerous.'

I bit my lip in frustration. It was like talking to a wall. He didn't — he refused to — understand. I raised my hands in helplessness and let them fall again at my side when he started again.

'A xenos is a danger to you — to your soul. They are crafty, subtle, perverse; they will twist your acts of good faith into treason without your knowledge. Nothing is worth allying yourself to them, nothing. And you… as Rogue Trader, you are too…' He stopped himself and looked around. 'Your position is too elevated to allow for that kind of risk. I insist: that eldar is a liability you would be foolish to entertain.'

'I don't need to be coddled, van Calox. Why must your concerns be wrapped in layers of rebuke?'

The sigh he let out was rough, nearly a laugh. 'I wouldn't even dare to coddle one such as you. What I meant was… support you, I guess, and help you. But I do suppose no one has ever done so — had the will to do so.'

My insides turned into ice. I knew — I knew I was an unlovable annoyance of a bitch. That was what I had trained hard to become: no one looks up to a Commissar who plays buddy with people, although I had always striven to be fair. I didn't connect with people — didn't know how to and, in turn, no one ever really bothered to connect to me. But to hear it put that plainly hurt. His matter-of-fact tone — it was gutting. Looking at his face, so handsome, I remembered all the times I had wanted someone, needed them like oxygen, needed their touch, needed their confidence and their trust, and just been met with indifference. He was right: no one had ever had the will. Years passing, I had forgotten about it, I had been content with my solitude — and now the wound was raw again. I was again lonely and cold with a bleeding core, and it was his fault I remembered and felt terrible again.

I raised my hand and slapped him. Hard.

I don't know why I did that. I could have shot him there and then, or drawn my sword through his neck. It had been some sort of instinct — to humble, to humiliate. The white, ghostly, shape of a hand was left on his cheek, the skin about it turning red.

His expression was unreadable. I could have shouted or screamed but instead stood there, surviving on shallow breaths. His lips parted; his gaze left mine, and then found it again. Eyes of dark steel, a grey so deep one could get lost in it, and then something broke. He spoke, low, so low I could barely hear him: 'Do it again. Please.'

I raised my other hand and slapped him again. It felt good, and yet heart-wrenching, but I didn't have time to ponder this. He had closed the — small — distance between us and, burying his hand in my hair, pulled me in for a kiss. His lips — I had missed them, remembered them at night — I opened mine, and his tongue was greedy. With a vertigo, I held unto his belt until I got the sense to kiss him back. Closing my eyes, I saw again Kiara's head change to a red mist on the shuttle pad, and only by focusing on the now and then did the image vanish. Blood was running in my veins, my pulse mad with desire to feel alive, to prove Death I had cheated it once more. The luck of survivors is both a poison and an intoxicating draught. In van Calox's hard embrace, I pushed myself even closer, feeling his back, his shoulders, underneath layers of cloth — feeling the hard-on in his pants against my hip, and another instinct made me grind against it. His breath against my cheek, against my neck — our lips parted and I kissed him again, his mouth warm, his tongue sweet. I needed to feel. I needed to get drunk. To fuck until I forgot how to walk. Intimacy, I didn't know how to do, but sex I could.

Pulling back, I ordered: 'Sit.'

A thin smile hovering over his lips, van Calox went to a chair by the fireplace — who needs a functional fireplace on a voidship, really — choosing an armless one, removed his weapons belt, and sat. I undid mine, too: swords get in the way of things, and walked to him, as if over a crumbling floor. Entranced, I faced him, his eagerness, and sat on his lap, straddling him. His hair was soft under my fingers, his face desperate under mine, his waist strong against my open thighs. On an impulse, I closed my fingers, pulling at his hair, pulling back his head, and kissed his bared neck — his sharp intake of breath sent shivers through my spine. I licked his jaw, his skin salty, and my cheek came to rest against his. Only then did I notice the pressure of his fingers, burrowing against my back, the bodyglove armour dulling most of it. I loosened my grip on his hair and his embrace became fuller; curling against him, I could have lost myself in it, and I did, for a minute, until his hand ran up the nape of my neck, so gently I could have wept. And perhaps I did, because of having given the Emperor's peace to the old gardener.

Which reminded me of something. I leaned back and carefully removed the roses from my breast — a bit battered, and not without loss of a petal or two, but still fragrant and fair. Bracing myself on van Calox's shoulder, I asked him to wait and arose, walking to the bathroom where I found a glass and some water to put the flowers in. Come morning, I would get a stasis field for them.

On my way back, I opened a cabinet and grabbed a bottle — rahzvod, that had somehow found its way to Theodora's stash — and two glasses. I had had to look up what the stuff was, when I had taken her place in her quarters: a strong distillate from halfway across the galaxy, bottled insanity. I dragged a table by the chair, put the glasses on it, where the fire could awake arching reflexions inside the crystal. Poured a measure of clear alcohol in both and, straddling Heinrix again, downed my own without a word. It burned my throat, burned my chest, burned my belly, and I kissed him with the promise of intoxication on my lips.

'Do you need to be drunk in order to fuck me, Katov?' he asked in a low voice.

I thought about it. 'No,' I said, although bedding him was a lousy idea in the first place. But it was either that or get black-out drunk; I needed to do something I would regret later — to get a lingering hurt reminding me I was alive. 'But I nearly died today. Heinrix, I need something to take the edge off or else I'll… I don't know.'

How had we gotten there, from anger and resentment, to that moment I called him by his first name, and he lifted my chin with thumb, drawing the shape of my lips with a tentative finger? Minutes, weeks, eons? It made no sense.

'I know,' he said, and raised his glass. 'Cheers.'

His mouth over mine. His hands over my ass. His torso under my palms. His erection under my pelvis. And his look of a man who can't believe what's happening but is determined to make the most of it. Light playing over his wide cheekbones, shadows in his eyes.

'I touched myself thinking of you,' he whispered into my hair. Those hours spent playing regicide in the observatorium or, more accurately, denying my attraction to him — they had left me knowing him well enough. It was the absolute filthiest thing the elegant, cultivated, courtly, Heinrix van Calox would dare to confess. I kissed his temple and trailed my nails against the tender skin below his ear. My other hand I slid between our bodies, and caressed the hard bulge there. Because of the layer of armour, I pressed harder, and he closed his eyes.

'And now I am touching you.' My lips were by his ear; my hand went slowly up, down, tracing his cock. 'And I want you, despite your Inquisition ties, despite your innate capacity to drive me mad, despite your rudeness and your unruliness.'

'Emperor,' he said, tugging at my collar, 'if you ever stop badmouthing me, it'll be because you are at death's door. You reckless, stubborn…'

Slapping him was impossible, as I was too close, so instead I shut him up with a deep, deep, kiss, pulling his hair at the same time, just enough for it to hurt. I withdrew — as little as I could, staying so close — and said, our breaths mingling: 'But now I know that you like it.'

Removing bodyglove armour is about the least seductive thing in the galaxy. There's always an awkward moment where something (usually either a shoulder or a hip) gets stuck somewhere, and you have to hop and wiggle in place until things get loose. Thankfully, having a helping hand greatly simplifies the matter, even if some time is lost caressing shapely backs. Lightheaded from a second shot of rahzvod, not even mentioning the soup of violent emotions of the day, I was now resolved to behave like a cadet on her first three-day pass. Not that I had ever done so when that age.

A purple bruise, where my armour had absorbed some impact or other, decorated my side. It wasn't painful, not really, but Heinrix's hand made itself lighter going over it. His chest against against my naked back was warm and athletic, and I threw my head back in the hollow of his neck as he cupped my breast, caressing a nipple, on his way to my collarbone. I breathed in the smell of his skin and, covering his hands with mine, followed their movement, feeling the bumps of his knuckles, the grooves between his fingers — each sinew and every crease, as he traced every curve on my body. He was deliberate, exhaustive, maybe trying to commit it all to memory, and I was putty under his touch. He stood behind me, and he embraced me; he was all around me, and I would have killed for this moment to last forever. Yet I wanted more and I pulled his hand lower, to my pubis. He chuckled — warm breath that lit a fire where it touched my skin — and slid a finger down, following my slit, feeling the wetness there and, trailing back, found my clit. I bucked under his touch so that his other arm steadied me, a steadfast force against my belly, pressing me whole against his body. Eyelids closed, in the new darkness of the world, I focused on the mounting train of sensations, willing away intrusive thoughts of death and gore. The familiar feeling of electric heat — spark after spark awakened in that most sensitive spot — quickened my breath.

'Keep going,' I breathed. 'Just like that.'

For once, Heinrix followed my orders to the letter and without discussion. Pleasure — agreeable — constant but, although my knees were growing weak, something was missing. Grabbing his wrist, I pulled his hand away from me, unhappy with myself, and walked to the bed where I lay down. He joined me; I kissed him, drawing him closer, his ass smooth and strong beneath my fondling palms. Not that he needed any more prodding: I hooked a knee behind his back and one of his hands went to the length of his shaft, dragging it against my slit, pushing forward. Little by little, almost reverently, he penetrated me, embedding himself in my cunt, while my nails left half-moons in the flesh of his arms and I bit my lip, or sighed, I don't know. One of his hands cradled my cheek — I had closed my eyes again — and the weight of him was on my hips. I barely heard his words, chopped up by his own need, and kissed him again to shut him up as I met his thrusts. He came, gasping my name, and as he came undone, his back slick with sweat, I buried my nails down his spine, wishing him closer still, wishing something, anything, would stop my whirling mind. I bit his neck and a shiver came over me. A tremble of my whole being, my muscles tensing in painful ways. Irrepressible shaking, violent, a winter storm of hurt and clumsiness.

'Katov,' he called, 'Katov, what is it? Katov, open your eyes.'

Heinrix was at my side now, his expression wild with worry. His eyes — dark, grey, not exactly the same, one appeared a little lighter. He was caressing my face, kissing my hands, rubbing my side, awakening the hurt in the bruise.

'I don't know,' I stammered, teeth chattering. 'Cold.' I didn't know. I didn't want to remember. Heinrix urged me beneath the covers, joining me, his heat welcome and soothing as he ran his fingers through my hair, cradling me, wiping my cheek clear of tears. But the shivers didn't abate, and I was angry at myself, and the angrier I got — a silent rage knotted in my throat — the worse it got.

He pulled me closer and something touched me, enveloped me in a warmth that reached deep in my muscles, loosening contractures as it went. 'There,' he whispered, 'there.' I thought about the grink and the cultist at the Cenobium and the great-aunt, but I was too exhausted to be afraid. I was limp. Empty. How good it was to relax in his arms, to let his sorcery remove the anguish and, if it killed me, so be it.

Little by little, I stopped shaking, and shame took over. It became of matter of equilibrium between the safety of huddling against Heinrix's chest and the overwhelming need to crawl in a hole and hide. I stretched it until it became unbearable and excused myself to the bathroom, where I stood below the shower until the rahzvod haze lessened.

If I had hoped Heinrix would be gone once I was done, I was sadly disappointed. Really, it would have been the most polite thing for him to do: skitter out of my quarters by the side door and never mention the whole thing again. I resented him for it.

But I was ready. I had gotten dressed again, as neatly as could be, in a fresh uniform. He waited for me in the bedroom, thankfully clothed from the waist down — keeping all his options open, I suppose. Our orbit had taken us to the night side of Janus and stifling darkness pressed against the thin stained glass covered in armourcrys. It would have given me vertigo, had I not been that exhausted. Muscle memory taking over, I came to a parade rest, hands clasped behind my back, before speaking.

'I apologise, Heinrix, for the scene you had to witness.' Not looking at him — looking at the void outside, some way over his right ear — was easier. 'And know I thank you for your help as well as… the rest.'

His voice had, once again, the cutting tone it took when he pursued formality. So maybe he just hadn't had time to get dressed and couldn't wait to be gone. 'Apologies are unnecessary. This was through no fault of yours.'

'Yes, it was. Had I been able to keep my pants on, it wouldn't have happened.'

'Were you naked on the deck the other day, when you nearly took Abelard's head off?'

'That was different,' I replied flatly. 'A specific memory. Like I said, you have my gratitude for everything, including the discretion you will observe. Tomorrow, at Terce, will be a strategy meeting, to which I hope those on the ground will be able to contribute via holocast, in order to consider our next move.'

Heinrix wet his lips. He looked unsure of himself — something unusual — and said: 'Noted. Do you wish for me to stay with you tonight? We could play regicide. I find solving problems on the board helps with keeping away overwhelming thoughts.'

'No, thank you.' The cork was back on the bottle of my feelings. I was in control once more, dancing along the edge. 'Tomorrow night, maybe? In the observatorium, as usual. If it is convenient for you.' Although why I would want to spent time with a man who had seen me at my lowest was baffling. But it seemed only polite.

'Tomorrow night it is. After Compline, as usual?'

I nodded. 'I shall leave you to get dressed. I'll be in my study if you need me.'

The paperwork on my desk nagged me; all things I couldn't delegate to my orderlies, and therefore had to read before signing off — or refusing to. Quill, ink, signature, seal. Rinse and repeat in triplicate. Allocation of resources to the lower decks. Yes, they could have fresh fruit for Sanguinala and the Emperor's Day. No, they still couldn't have guns. Representatives of the Ecclesiarchy humbly asked if mass in the Warrant Chapel could be pict-cast shipwide on the occasion of holy feasts. No, I wasn't about to submit myself to that kind of clownery again, they already had a cathedral and they would be happy with it. Two offers of commercial contracts, that seemed fairly reasonable, from prominent Janus families vying for favour. Yes.

I didn't hear Heinrix leave. I worked until fatigue stung my eyes, at which point I crawled back to my bedroom. With the Emperor's Mercy orbiting in the deep penumbra of Janus night, the unlit room was lost in ashy darkness; when I activated the shutters, lamps lit up so bright they nearly hurt. I had begun stripping away when something caught my attention, something bright and blue. A vial had been left on the table — gabazepam, judging by the label. A potent, fast-acting, medication, that guaranteed a dreamless slumber; often abused although no more, maybe, than amasec. Some troopers, addicted to stimms, only slept thanks to it. Those had usually been brought to my office by their commanding officers and, at least in one case, had gone enjoying whatever dross penal regiments filled their soldiers with.

I didn't do drugs. But I loaded the vial in my kit autoinjector and pushed it against my arm like there would be no tomorrow.