It was perfectly logical. This was done, and Austin returned with a crest-fallen look to the table. She blew on the hand cannon and grabbed her bag of gunpowder. ‘Who kills who?’ ‘Rot in hell,’ he snarled, panting, and managed to push himself forward and leap off the dais, running for the safety of the far aisle by the wall. ‘He was our first commander, and a more stiff-necked—’ ‘Exactly so,’ concurred Lady Bicknacre. “Yes. And if he won’t—” But she did not give even unspoken words to the alternative at that time. Taking her limbs was the only thing I could do short of killing her.
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