Their armor still raised, and so she knew they were still alive. Was relieved, but in a distracted way, because the next thing she saw was Anaander Mianaai standing grim-faced behind the desk. Shirtless, a corrective around her upper arm.Anaander’s expression changed to sardonic surprise. “Seivarden Vendaai.” Voices sounded, rising from the concourse below to that now-glassless window, medics calling instructions to each other, someone sobbing.“That’s Lieutenant Seivarden to you,” said Seivarden, managing to sound braver than she felt. Now all the action was past, she was nearing collapse. The Sword of Atagaris ancillary behind her went to the desk and laid down the Presger gun. Stepped away.Anaander looked down. Watched the gun turn the same pale yellow as the desk surface. All expression left her face.Despair overwhelmed Seivarden, that adrenaline and urgent necessity had kept at bay since she’d fallen out the window. She knew me well enough to know that I had not been joking when I had said I would probably not live long enough to forgive her if she lost the gun.
