Two banners, one with a stooping hawk upon a blue sky, the other with a rearing stallion in a field of green.

The Cheren and the Sirak Clans.

Our kin have come.

Bleda sat at a table in a chair too big for him, fidgeting and picking at a scab on his thumb. In response to their barrage of breathless questions, Kol, the Ben-Elim, had given them nothing, except for a dark scowl. The only thing Bleda really wanted to know was who rode beneath the Sirak banner.

Has my mam come to claim me? Finally to take me home?

Jin was seated beside him and he could see her trying to look calm and indifferent despite him being sure she felt the same mixture of fear and excitement as he. The Lord Protector swept through the open doors, a dozen White-Wings marching behind him. Israfil’s expression was as emotionless as usual.

His mastery of the cold-face would earn even my mother’s respect.

There was something in his stride that spoke of something else, though.

Agitation?

Israfil stood before Bleda and Jin, somehow managing to hold both of their gazes at once. Bleda noticed a twitch in his wings sending a ripple through the white feathers.

‘You were not at your letters,’ Israfil said, a statement. ‘You could not be found when you were needed and, as a result, you have not been briefed on the arrival of your Clansmen, or been able to prepare for it.’

Bleda returned Israfil’s gaze as long as he could, felt Jin doing the same beside him, felt her shift as her head bowed. He was not long behind her.

‘You are given every advantage here. Learning – language, your letters, the histories, all manner of knowledge. You are taught your weapons, no less than our greatest warriors. Food, clothing, everything that you could want for, you are given; a preparation for the great task ahead of you, to rule your people, to spread the peace of Elyon.’

To be trained as your puppet king and puppet queen of the Arcona Clans, you mean.

‘You are given the utmost respect; are you not?’

Bleda and Jin were silent a few moments.

‘We are, Lord Commander,’ Bleda said. He could not deny that they were treated well.

For prisoners.

He felt Jin’s eyes burn into him, a look that did not go unnoticed by Israfil.

‘All that is expected of you is a measure of that respect returned,’ Israfil said, frowning at Jin.

Jin remained darkly silent.

Bleda clamped his lips shut. Part of him agreed with Israfil, knew that his behaviour was insolent and rude, and felt a stirring of shame for that. But another part of him remembered, would never forget. His brother. His sister.

I represent my Clan, here. Am the face and voice of the Sirak.

‘I apologize for our rudeness,’ Bleda said, seeing Jin’s head snapping around and ignoring the look of disgust she sent him.