He was two steps onto the plateau when something hit him across the chest and knocked him from his feet. Rough hands seized him and dragged him up, at the end of reddish shapes in his blurred vision.

‘Fuck’s this? Straggler?’ said a voice.

‘Bring him along,’ came Vashenda’s cold reply. ‘Try not to bruise him.’

***

The grand pavilion had several chambers, and they’d reached the threshold of the innermost. Tables stood piled with charts and candlesticks, odd marks of luxury – a fur-covered chair, a pile of silken cushions – dotted within the austerity. The pavilion was lined with a clutch of scarred and brooding types, lordlings and captains, looking lean and cold. No one was clean. A single brazier burned at the chamber’s centre, its dark smoke wafting through a gap at the peak of the canvas roof.

Chel twisted against the grip of the men who held him, but it was more for the look of the thing. In truth, he was glad that someone was keeping him upright. The strength was gone from his limbs, and he felt only numbness from south of his chest.

Vashenda stood before the canopy to the innermost chamber. Tarfel was with her, manacles at his wrists. His head was lowered, but he stood taller than Chel remembered, his shoulders back, no attempt to wipe the blood from his face.

‘Your highness Prince Tarfel,’ Vashenda said, ‘I present His Majesty, Chosen-Emperor-in-Waiting, Lord of Land, Sea and Sky, Heir to New Taneru, Corvel the Magnificent.’ She drew back the canopy.

On the gilded seat within sat a suit of glorious, gleaming armour, a full plate masterpiece of metalwork and artistry. Lions roared across its breastplate, its shoulders were spreading trees of gold. Its helmet was tall and peaked, banded with thick and glossy fur like a mane. It shone like a star in the brazier’s light.

It was empty.

Corvel lay on a pallet at the rear of the chamber, pale and shining. He pushed himself to his elbows as Tarfel shuffled into the room, and Chel was shocked to see how shrivelled he was, wasted almost to the bone. His skin looked yellow, and it wasn’t just the brazier-light. His once-golden hair lay matted and sweat-streaked, but when he smiled at his brother he looked a flash of his old, beaming self.

‘Brother, you came,’ he said.

Tarfel nodded. ‘I did.’

‘Come closer, let me see you.’ Tarfel moved closer, with reluctance. Chel couldn’t see his face, but he guessed the prince’s horror was obvious.

‘Brother, you look tired,’ Corvel said with another drunken smile. ‘Have you been eating enough?’ He broke away to cough, hard and long, into a cupped hand. The fit lasted longer than Chel thought possible, and Corvel collapsed back onto the bed as it passed. Bright blood stained his palm.