Things were hard. I buried myself in the day-to-day duties of ruling a multi-planetary protectorate, always finding new things to fix that Theodora had neglected — key players to appease, corruption to root out, which meant buying loyalties, trade routes to fix… Twice, I sent out Cassia to map the Warp for weeks at a time. So much also remained to be done on Dargonus to repair the damage the Drukhari dealt.

At first, I needed the medicae's help to sleep at all. Jae, in a feat of unexpected friendship, had taken upon herself to distract me from wallowing in self-pity. She was the one of my retinue I saw most, followed by Abelard and his never-ending suggestions of a healthy diet and plenty of exercise. Heinrix had the sense to make himself scarce, although I was told he remained in the palace wing given to my retinue. I missed him like I would have missed my right arm, until the pain dulled and I became numb to it. Clementia Werserian was a good regicide player. The Emperor's Mercy made a lengthy stay in dry dock to repair the damage done when translating straight into Dargonus orbit. I traveled there about once a week, officially to oversee the repairs progress, but really to chat with Nomos. Each discussion was a unique experience that often left me perplex and awed.

During that period, I hated most the fact that, apart from that one horrible promise of his, Heinrix had never truly led me on. I had deluded myself into thinking he could be something else than, first and foremost, Inquisition — really, I had loved a man of my own making instead of the real one, and I grieved his passing. But still… his caresses, his smile and his wit had been very much real, and I missed them, even knowing I had misjudged them. And of course I loathed myself for this. I couldn't forgive him, his lack of spine, his lack of creative malicious compliance, and most of all the way he had doubled down on everything and had penned my anger as irrational. Of course anger is irrational, it's a feeling, and feelings don't obey logic. It doesn't mean feelings aren't justified, though.

More and more, I became restless. In truth, I wanted to go back in time, to when I travelled the stars, in a quest to rebuild what had been lost and preserve from evil what could be saved — to lead a life of adventure where victory was earned swiftly on the battlefield instead of lengthy correspondence. Not that I disliked negotiating and finding ways to shape my protectorate according to my desires, but a girl needs palpable and easy success once in a while. Over the course of three months since my Magnae Accessio, steps had been taken, plans set in motion, but the timescale was a frustrating one. Holy Terra wasn't built in a day.

I was wrapping up a meeting with Clementia Werserian, one day, when Yrliet came to me. Her Path, as she called her wanderings, now seldom brought her to my vicinity, and I seized the occasion to take her for a walk through the hanging gardens; she had been waiting beneath a blossoming tree. In the long Dargonus year, spring was still in bloom, with barely a hint of the summer to come with its great heats. We walked for a while in silence, admiring the living things around us. Yrliet, with her awkward elegance and quick perception, was the best person for that. I appreciated the calm of her company.

'At last you have left your ornate cage, elantach,' she said to me after a while. With her unnatural, near translucent, white skin, she was a stone statue come to life. 'For many a turn have I sought to meet you and yet your servant, the one who is like the silver-haired Abelard but twice as young, has no favour for the requests of a Child of Asuryan.'

I frowned. Clementia had no business barring a member of my retinue from seeking an audience with me; she would need to be reminded of that. I steered us to a fountain where small white flowers grew amid the silver water, forever tinkling over delicate carvings. They were simple as a child's drawing — four or five petals, snow-bright and each no bigger than my fingernail, with hearts of blood. Extinct on their homeworld, they only survived in the fountains of my palace. Sunlight did me good. I closed my eyes, raised my face to the sky, absorbing warmth, and bade Yrliet speak.

'While you were mending the wounds of this world left by the twisted ones' attach, I was able to discover… no, not Crudarach's fate. Merely traces of it. As some found sanctuary under the boughs of the Lilaethan's forests, so did others find refuge in a system known as the Atlas Reach.'

Beaming, I turned to Yrliet, at her always serious composure. She towered over me, slender and gangly, and not even the shadow of a smile broke out on her thin cheeks when I congratulated her. Fantastic news, really! My own inability to uncover intelligence about her kind had left me with an uneasy guilt, and I was relieved. At last, a lead on Crudarach's fate — although those tales of refugees didn't bode well. The Janus aeldari had fled the craftworld pushed by rumours of impending doom, conveniently discovering their Paths led them a healthy distance away from danger. Those of the Atlas Reach must have left later, perhaps after things had gone south… I told Yrliet as much and she agreed. But she needed to know, even news of death and destruction, and she wasn't a fool — she shared my apprehension. Uncertainty, however, is a mind-killer, and if all was lost she needed to be able to grieve properly.

Yrliet wasn't very forthcoming about the source of her intelligence, but she had always spoken in cryptic tones and roundabout ways, so I bought her tale of rumours and chance words caught in the crowds of travellers, bondsmen and void-born that passed every day through the Dargonus ports. She had never given me cause to distrust her, after all, and it made sense. Anything more tangible would have resurfaced years ago and through traditional channels.

So it was decided we would leave for the Atlas Reach as soon as possible which, the Emperor's Mercy being Void-worthy again, meant only two days later. Just time enough for me to tie up some things on Dargonus, raid the dynastic data-repositories for whatever information was available on the Atlas Reach, and double-check everything was ready for a lengthy journey. I suddenly had enough of office duties. Whatever I found about the lost craftworld, I was resolved to pursue any lead we found halfway through the Galaxy if needed.

Hearing all this — the short timetable, the promise to grasp at anything we found — the ice in Yrliet's eyes melted away for a moment. Hope softened her delicate features. Yrliet was old — unfathomably old by human standards — but for once she appeared to be young again.

'Thank you, elantach,' she said. 'If this path indeed takes me to the truth… I will be indebted to you. A rare happening between our kinds.'

Getting aboard the Emperor's Mercy again was a joyful occasion. I was a guest of honour during the last ceremonies, heavy in incense and binharic arias, the tech-priests performed to celebrate the repairs. The ancient Machine-spirits were eager to take again to Void and Warp on the refitted ship, Pasqal said, and we all cheered to that.

The last time I had left Dargonus orbit had been for war; now a mission of exploration and discovery awaited us, and the mood on the bridge couldn't be different. Little was known about the Atlas Reach, although it wasn't too distant, but the Warp currents were particularly treacherous and, without easily settled worlds rich in resources, no one really bothered to travel there — or even map those currents at all. Cassia, at least, was thrilled with the prospect of a difficult journey. She had really grown in skill over the eighteen months of our acquaintance — or had it been two years already? No, not two years yet, because the crew hadn't thrown me another anniversary party, and that one I would miss. Cassia had also begun training other Navigators to help in her duties; while this could seem preposterous, coming from an eighteen-year-old, she certainly had enough competence to share with others, whose training had been less pushed, from her House.

Before we made our translation to the Warp, though, I was to have another conversation with Heinrix.

Truthfulness compels me to say, seeing Heinrix again each day hurt like hell. Not in the acute way of a fresh wound, but with the dull, relentless ache of a chronic ailment no medicae could heal. He would be at his post on the bridge, and my eyes would fall over his square silhouette (those pauldrons of his). I would think of something witty or something I needed to brainstorm with someone, and I would look at him, pushed by a reflex, wanting to tell him all about it, and then I remembered. I remembered the pain, the treason, his proud and almost arrogant reaction to it all… Every single time I saw him, I heard his voice again, aloof and detached, devoid of any feeling.

'I will comply with any order, Lord Inquisitor. If you command me to remain in the company of the scion of the von Valancius dynasty, I won't be distressed. I would also be equally pleased to rejoin your direct entourage. I really do not care.'

I had wanted him to care. Well, one doesn't always see one's wishes come true, and at least now I knew where we stood. He could have pretended to care — and then would have had a chance of being forgiven. But Heinrix had always been honest — well, on some things. He was also very good at following orders and respected the restrictions I put over him on the Emperor's Mercy. As far as I knew. If the removal of some personnel hurt the Inquisition's network of spies aboard the flagship, he never gave any sign of it. Perfectly cordial to everyone, even Abelard who openly hated his guts now. Even Jae, who ignored him even when he had something relevant to tell her, and had trained Sirocco to hiss at him on command. Even Cassia, who was fidgety and on edge with him; although I had told her she was free to continue her book-club of sorts with him, she had nearly burst in tears at the thought. Yet I stand by my words: apart from my retinue, everyone on the bridge was in a good mood. And Pasqal and Yrliet, of course, had no moods at all.

About a week after our departure, Heinrix sent me a message. A simple request, that I received in my daily mail: Master Heinrix van Calox humbly begs Her Ladyship Katov von Valancius for a private audience over a personal matter, should she have time to spare for such trivialities. Very formal, not a word out of place. The card fell from my hands as if on fire. No, I didn't want to see him, no, I didn't have time for his bullshit, no, no, it was over and… no. I spent the day in a brooding mood; a block of ice had replaced my stomach. On the next day, I couldn't take it anymore — the uncertainty, the need to know what he wanted, like the need to pull out an infected tooth — and sent him an appointment just after Vesper, the last of the day.

I received Heinrix in my study, like so many times before. The regicide table, however, had been put away, and no lights shone by the empty fireplace. My desk lamp, with its green glass cover, was the only source of light. When he stepped in, a stray glow caught a reflexion on his rosette and in his eyes.

'Rogue Trader.'

'Come in,' I said, my mouth suddenly dry. I didn't offer him a seat: I had had both guest chairs removed. Unfazed, Heinrix walked to my desk and stood, hands clasped behind his back.

'Thank you for granting me this audience, Your Ladyship.'

'Cut the crap. Say whatever it is you have to say.' My words weren't mine. My voice sounded alien to my ears. I wished myself calm and collected. His eyes avoided mine, but for an instant I caught his gaze — dark, impenetrable — and immediately looked away. His breath — I could hear it, in the quiet of my study. I joined my hands on my lap and stared at him, calmly this time.

'Rogue Trader, I understand some of my recent actions caused you pain and distress. Although I felt them justified at the time for reasons upon which I cannot elaborate, I have now come to deeply regret those actions. I therefore present you with a formal apology. My behaviour was wrong and, frankly, despicable, I see that now, and it is my utmost wish for you to know my repentance is as complete and sincere as can be.'

Oh, Emperor, I hadn't been ready for that. Was it a ploy to regain my trust? Did he have orders to seduce me once again? Or was he stupid enough to believe I would forgive him? I remained silent. I truly couldn't speak.

'Rogue Trader, will…'

I cut him. 'So you think an apology is enough? What's the next step, offering me an evening of regicide?'

He was somber, more than usual. 'No, an apology is not enough,' he said, 'but it necessary. I do not expect anything.'

'You're right not to expect a thing. There is no new beginning here, Heinrix, just an end that draws on for far too long,' I spat. 'There is such a thing as too little and too late, Heinrix. You… you have destroyed, all on your own, like the big boy you are, every shred of trust I ever had in you. Your apology doesn't make anything better. You could apologise every day for a hundred years and still not make anything better. So take your pretty face and your spying and get out of my life, just do your fucking job and don't pester me again.'

To his credit, Heinrix took my verbal lashing well enough. He had grown pale, but otherwise showed no reaction. Then, mechanically, he bowed very low.

'Thank you, Rogue Trader, for your clemency.'

I dismissed him. His apology had made everything worse: I couldn't delude myself with the fantasy that I didn't care about him anymore. I wished to hate him, or even be indifferent. His ridiculous apology… Throne, if I had allowed myself to believe he was sincere…

Next time I spoke to Heinrix was two weeks later on the bridge to order him on an away mission. We had arrived in the Atlas Reach, which would have been a very uninteresting system if not for the Chartist vessel currently adrift in it. Their comms were down; when we got close enough to hail them by heliograph (which was too fucking close for Abelard's taste, but they registered no online weapon system), their answers were cryptic — as if they had in their holds something too hot to pass inspection. There was no obvious trace of aeldari tech in the system, so perhaps they had taken some remnants of Yrliet's broken craftworld on board, or some live xenos themselves. Their roundabout replies as to what had left them stranded irked me (my temper was shorter than usual those days) and I decided to board them and see for myself. Of course, I didn't go alone: I roped in Yrliet, obviously, but also Heinrix, for his xenos expertise. Whatever complicated and conflicting feelings his presence awoke in me were unimportant compared to the possibly vital information he could provide about xenos. And then I took Abelard, because I needed someone with naval expertise to see through the Chartists' potential lies, and also Cassia, because she had grown engrossed with the mystery of lost Crudarach and was dying to know more about it.

When we reached the bridge of the Chartist vessel, her crew was about ready to faint with terror. Quite right, too: a few heartbeats later, a toxic smoke engulfed us. Ever since terrenic acid vapours burned my lungs away, I always have a rebreather at my hip. The device, however, proved useless: whatever substance was in the air passed through the filter unhindered and I fell to the ground, hard, barely conscious. We all did; I could see Cassia gasping for air, clawing at her throat. The last thing I saw before darkness was Marazhai's gloating face, and the last thing I heard was his boast of custom-made poisons for me and my retinue. I hate the Inquisition, but the Drukhari do come a close second.