The banter continued back and forth and, by the time they reached the wagon, both of them were laughing.

Chandni couldn’t decide whether Satyendra’s sullen silence was better or worse than his crazed behaviour in the courtyard. He no longer fought them or argued, but she didn’t dare let her guard down.

After she’d sent Pik to help Satyendra escape, she’d found herself following. Not to interfere, but to see her son one last time. To see him happy. To capture a last memory to cling to in the aftermath and confirm in her mind that she was doing the right thing.

And I have confirmation: he was happy, he was ecstatic … torturing Pik! My son is a monster. Either his body is fit to serve the house or it will be destroyed along with his rancid soul.

And now she knew what he was she wished with all her heart that she didn’t.

True to her word, she had taken on the duty of preparing him herself. No servants, no support, just two guards by the door in case he became violent again.

Normally, an Honoured Mother would not be expected to be present for the preparatory part of the rebirth ceremony. It was deemed cruel. Normally, this would be the point where she would say goodbye to her son and hand over responsibility to others, who would get him ready to meet the Bringers of Endless Order.

But to Chandni it seemed right that she suffer alongside him. After all, his failure to accept his duty was her failing, and deep down she knew his early contact with the Wild was to blame.

If I had not cut myself that day, the Whispercage would not have come, and he would never have been twisted like this. Or maybe it was when I sacrificed Fiya. Maybe my deal to protect him also cursed him. Either way, the fault is mine.

She thought about his allergic reaction to Lord Rochant’s armour, his moods, and the day she’d brought him home and his face had become a transparent mask.

After today, it will all be over. I can only hope that my lord’s soul will purge his body.

He didn’t stop her as she removed his top, allowing her to guide him to a chair. His expression was blank, his eyes downcast. He appeared pitiful, but she didn’t allow herself to feel any pity. This could just be another ploy to hurt me. How sad that I have to think that about my own son.

She took out a pair of scissors and began to cut Satyendra’s hair. With the first snip, her eyes began to water. He has such beautiful hair. But it has to go, Lord Rochant keeps his short. Her numbed hand was clumsy, and she had to work slowly to make sure she didn’t cut him by accident.