* * *
In the morning Talia demanded he recite it all again – from the mad ride through the Abyss, to the battle, and Laseen's funeral cortege to Cawn – even the dull journey by coastal merchantman to Unta.
‘And the Imperial Funeral?’ she asked.
Rillish laughed, sitting up. ‘Gods no. We aren't invited to that.’
‘But you're a member of the official Wickan delegation to the Throne!’
Rillish leaned back, tucked a rolled blanket behind his back. ‘Believe me – I am no more welcome in Unta than the Wickans themselves. We are there on sufferance only.’
‘And this Mallick creature is to really succeed Laseen?’
‘By unanimous acclaim of the Assembly and all regional governors, Fists and all.’
She shook her head, her brows crimping. ‘And I've never even heard of the man.’
‘You should get out more, sergeant.’
She made a face. He pushed the sheets off her belly, eased his head on to her stomach. ‘Huh. Funny … You don't look pregnant.’
‘Not yet, you fool! Gods, you men.’
‘Humph … If you say so.’ He gently pressed a hand there on her belly. Son or daughter – you might grow up in a world where all this is hut an ugly memory. And perhaps those decades from now if I am still around I will be able to show you all that might be yours by right of your name. And perhaps I will be able to give you more than my love. Though I know that even that is precious enough. And more than some.