One of Lady Rasha’s attendants wheeled a silver-domed cart towards the august gathering and slid it into place beside the Emperor’s chair. Shishupal saw the cart held a gleaming golden urn of wine, and sweetmeats in the form of lions, painted in the colours of Magadh.

‘If you do not consider it an affront to bite into the sigil of Magadh, Your Grace, pray partake of these small confections, a mark of my cook’s reverence I assure you.’

‘It seems you are trying to make a point, Lady Rasha,’ the Emperor said without a trace of humour.

Shishupal remembered the Emperor from his days as a Ward of State – the fiercest warrior of the realm, a peerless lion, a giant among Kings. He was certainly bigger than most, with broad shoulders and a chest shaped like the end of a mace. The jaw beneath his wild beard was wide and sharp. But his shadowy eyes drooped in a defeated face, a dogged reminder of the man he used to be. A faint blue tinge streaked his neck as he spoke to Lady Rasha. Jarasandh brought to mind an old lion forced out of retirement only to find he now ruled over a pride of meerkats and warthogs. He had lost interest in life. He was dressed like a commoner, having dispensed with even the imperial gold crown.

A true Emperor does not need one, Shishupal reminded himself as he saw Shalya adjust his own ornate circlet, no doubt feeling overdressed and humbled.

‘Just rewarding my cook for keeping his promise to impress,’ replied Lady Radha. She gestured to the attendant waiting in the shadows, to serve the mulled wine.

‘You have not given me my griffin yet, have you?’

‘Animal husbandry is a difficult science, Emperor. Now, if I could just lay my hands on a live griffin…’

The Emperor considered her. ‘Do you not prefer your lavish life here? Do you really wish to smuggle yourself into danger and live a life of hardship, only to…well, I don’t really know what is it you wish to achieve, my good woman, for you know I have forbidden any—’

‘Aye, I know what you have forbidden,’ Lady Rasha interrupted him. ‘My ambitions are my own to keep. And the Emperor knows the stairs to the temple of blessing is paved with the stones of hardship. And have I not done enough—’

The Emperor raised a hand, eyes closed. He massaged his temples. ‘Only because I tire of this...I permit you to be smuggled abroad if you take a Vachan that you will not indulge in anything dishonourable like poisoning.’