There was motion from one window as they drew closer, and a moment later a figure clambered out from it. A man: not much older than Arathan himself. He was dressed in bloodstained clothing, loose and made from silks. A half-cape of deep green wool covered his shoulders, its collar turned up. He was dark-haired, clean-shaven, not unhandsome, although his face bore a frown as he worked free of the window and found his feet.

At the edge of the barren yard, Draconus reined in and Arathan did the same. His father dismounted. ‘Join me, Arathan,’ he said, and there was a strange timbre to his voice, as if awakened to excitement or, perhaps, relief.

A flock of the unknown birds was drawing closer, swarming the sky behind the house. Their flight was strange and the sight of them made Arathan uneasy. He slipped down from Besra.

The stranger – another Azathanai, no doubt – had walked halfway across the yard and now stood, eyes upon Draconus, and in place of the frown there was a mocking smile that stole the grace from his visage. Arathan imagined his fist driving into that smile, obliterating it. Satisfaction warmed his thoughts.

The stranger’s gaze snapped to Arathan’s and that unctuous smile broadened. ‘Would you rather not kiss it from me?’ he asked.

Beside Arathan, his father said, ‘Yield nothing to this one’s baiting, son. The soil ever shifts beneath him.’

The stranger’s brows lifted. ‘Now, Draconus, no need to be cruel in your judgement. My artistry is what binds the two of us, after all.’

‘For scarce a breath longer, Errastas. The gift is made, by you it seems, and I will have it.’

‘Gladly,’ Errastas replied, but he made no move; nor, Arathan noted, was the man carrying anything that might contain a gift. Perhaps he gives as I will give.

‘You wear blood, Errastas,’ Draconus observed. ‘What grim passage is behind you?’

Errastas looked down at the stains on his silks. ‘Oh, it’s not mine, Suzerain. Well, most of it isn’t, that is. The journey you set upon me proved fraught. I have never before bound power to an object where in its making I give nothing of myself. It proved most … enlightening.’

‘Night is not unwelcome, Errastas, and chaos needs nothing of blood, nor can it be made to spill it.’

Arathan sensed a growing tension in the air. The flock of birds was rushing closer, and with it came a seething sound, not of wings but of voices, uncannily high-pitched. He still could not make out their breed. His body was tensing and his mouth had gone dry. He did not like Errastas.

To his father’s words, Errastas had but shrugged. Then he cocked his head. ‘Scarce a breath, Draconus? You cannot imagine the discoveries I have made. My journey was eventful, as Sechul Lath would attest, since he accompanied me, and you might imagine its reward is now awaiting your hand this day. For you, surely it is. But for me, why, I have just begun.’ He held out an angular black disc, barely larger than the palm of his hand. ‘Behold, Suzerain, the folding of Night.’