Ravi stumbles back. The fireworks are still going, lighting up Diego’s profile with green and pink lights. His lips and the line of his jaw are visible beneath the mask, but he still doesn’t look anything like Diego. He doesn’t sound anything like Diego either. He seems stern and dangerous, every inch the kind of man an autocratic monarch would trust to root out spies. If Ravi were as clever as they said, he would leave.

“Come with me.” He puts a hand on Diego’s chest, his fingers curling in Diego’s cape. “What has duty done for you? Paid you in riches? Made your name to be feared? Given you the power of life and death over common men?” He takes a step closer, not threatening this time, but pleading. “Is all that as important as what you feel? Or will you tell me that you feel nothing?”