‘Another week on this is all I can give you. Use discretion, your judgment’s
fine with me. What you think she’s worth, she’s worth. If Critias questions
that, your orders came from me and you may tell him so.’
‘I will, and with pleasure. I’m not his to wetnurse; he can’t keep that in his
head.’
‘And Janni?’
‘It’s hard on him, pretending to be … what we’re pretending to be. The men
talk to him about coming back out to the barracks, about forgetting what’s past
and resuming his duties. But we’ll weather it. He’s man enough.’
Niko’s hazel eyes flicked back and forth, judging the other men: who watched;
who pretended he did not, but listened hard. He loosed another bolt, a third,
and said quietly that he had to collect his flights. Tempus eased away, heard
the range officer call ‘Clear’ and watched Niko go retrieve his grouped
quarrels.
If this one could not breach the witch’s defences, then she was unbreachable.
Content, he left then, and found Jihan, his de facto right-side partner, waiting
astride his other Tros horse, her more than human strength and beauty
brightening Smith Street’s ramshackle facade as if real gold lay beside fool’s
gold in a dusty pan.
Though one of the matters estranging him from his Stepsons was his pairing with
this foreign ‘woman’, only Niko knew her to be the daughter of a power who
spawned all contentious gods and even the concept of divinity; he felt the cool
her flesh gave off, cutting the midday heat like wind from a snowcapped peak.
‘Life to you, Tempus.’ Her voice was thick as ale, and he realized he was