‘But nothing. The Wild is unforgiving. Our people rely on the Deathless and their hunters to keep them safe. We have to be perfect or we fail. You have to be perfect.’

‘You’re right,’ she sniffed.

‘I am. And I forgive you.’

He felt her twinge of indignation, tasting the moment it fluttered into suppressed anger and shame, all of her feelings served to him on a platter of background pain. It was so good his mouth began to water.

What is wrong with me? Why am I like this?

He put his hands on either side of her knee. ‘This is going to hurt,’ and suns save me I am going to enjoy it, ‘Brace yourself.’

‘Okay,’ she replied.

‘One. Two. Three!’ He gripped harder, feeling her tense in discomfort, drawing out her anticipation for a shade longer than necessary, then popped the joint back into position. Chunk screamed, and Satyendra dropped his head forward, letting his long hair curtain off the rapturous smile.

His blood sang with her pain, his skin rippled with it, the hollow lethargy that usually dogged him replaced with energy and happiness, boundless.

So good!

Under pretence of checking it had gone in properly, he manipulated Chunk’s swollen knee with his fingers. Shivering with the pain elicited from each prod.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Nose was staring. As he looked up the boy jerked his head away too late, too abruptly, to seem casual. Did he see me? Really see me? Does he suspect?

‘That should be fine now,’ he said to Chunk.

‘Thank you, Satyendra.’

‘You’re welcome,’ he replied, standing up with reluctance. There was more to milk here but he dared not risk it. ‘Hopefully they’ll have your back next time.’

Aware that he was already late, he said his goodbyes quickly and jogged off to his lesson with the Story-singer. Running felt good. He needed to work off some of the rush before sitting with Ban. The old Story-singer wasn’t the strongest willed in the castle, but he was no fool either.

As soon as his back was turned to the apprentices, Nose had stared openly, not realizing that his suspicious reflection could be seen in the crystals around the archway.

You see me, Nose, thought Satyendra as he passed through the arch. But I see you. Maybe you’re not such a dung head after all. When I’m done with you, maybe you’ll wish you were.

CHAPTER THREE

A bath was waiting for Pari when she reached her chamber, as were servants. The former topped with petals, the latter armed with brushes. A swift and thorough cleaning followed, while Pari tried to collect her thoughts. Always after a rebirth came the horrible feeling of having forgotten something, and this one was no different.