Tarfel gave a slow nod, his gaze flicking to Loveless, then back to the Keeper. The tall woman remained beside and behind the Keeper, resolutely still, gaze distant, but Chel thought he saw distaste in her expression. To what, it wasn’t clear. In the background, the musicians started up a new tune, something both alien and maddeningly familiar. He looked back to Loveless, and wondered exactly what the Keeper had meant.

‘Exalted Hayal,’ Tarfel said, his voice carrying over the music, ‘forgive my ignorance. I wasn’t aware you conversed in my native tongue.’

The Keeper merely inclined her head in acknowledgement. Apologies only travelled in one direction in these parts, it seemed.

‘I come to you with an appeal, and an offer,’ Tarfel continued, ‘at a time of great peril for us all. You will be aware of the ructions in my kingdom, of the wars and rebellions. You may not be aware that my brother, who calls himself king, wishes also to call himself emperor. He wishes to unite church and throne beneath him, then convert or subdue all within our borders and without. I am raising an army to fight him, to repel his madness, and we come to you with an offer of alliance. Your city has stood firm in the face of aggression from the south for generations, and as king-in-waiting I ask for your strength to buttress my own.’

The Keeper nodded, slowly, in comprehension if not in acquiescence. Her eyes were still on Loveless, whose own gaze searched the whirls in the marble beneath.

‘I offer a coalition of mutual benefit. I have many allies, both inside the kingdom and at its borders, and with your cavalry—’

‘That is enough, thank you, your highness. There will be no alliance. Arowan does not take sides in the squabbles of the lordlings of the Sink.’

Tarfel started forward again. ‘Exalted, I think perhaps you do not realize what is at stake. My brother has acquired alchemy, stolen from the Norts across the sea, and means to conquer—’

‘I believe you have said enough, your highness. In deference to your station and those with whom you travel, you and your retinue may rest here for a few days. After this, you must return south.’

Her words hit Chel like a gut-punch. Tarfel stood bereft, his jaw working, producing no sound.

A messenger arrived at speed from an outer door, rushing to the tall woman’s side. She bent for his whisper, then relayed the message into the Keeper’s ear. The old woman nodded. ‘Your brother, it seems, has come to collect you himself. An armoured host sits before the Stop. They are … demanding you.’

Tarfel blanched, blue and ghostly in the dome’s filtered light. ‘Corvel’s here? In person?’