‘My brother,’ said Perturabo softly, his eyes still on the flow of data, ‘is many things, and his flaws were always hidden by the praise heaped on him. Call him steadfast, and that is merely a lacquer given to blunt unreason. Loyalty in him is merely a need to belong. Nobility is the gilding to base pride…’ Forrix held himself still. He had not heard Perturabo talk of Rogal Dorn directly in years. ‘But the one thing my brother is not, is a fool.’
