Tal did as instructed. After a while they heard slow footsteps on the other side of the door, and a heavy key being turned in a lock. The door opened to reveal a large kitchen that promised both delicious things to eat and a place to rest their tired limbs. Between them and it however, was a stern-looking woman, the oldest Sa-at had ever seen. Her teeth were yellow and her eyes sunk deep in a lined face. ‘Go away,’ she said.

‘Are you the cook?’ asked Rochant.

‘Aye.’

‘I was hoping for something to eat. Food fit for a lord.’

She scratched the side of her cheek thoughtfully. ‘I’ve a castle full of hungry lords to feed and I’ve only some scraps left to spare. What you after?’

‘A snack for the ages.’

Her body went rigid and she gripped the side of the door for support. ‘Might be I have what you want. But I warn you, it’s bitter.’

‘As it should be. All things that do not die …’

‘All things that do not die …’ she repeated in a whisper.

‘Are bitter,’ they finished together.

With a creak, the old woman dropped to her knees. ‘It’s you! Good Lord Rochant, back from the dead. I knew that other one wasn’t you. Knew it soon as I looked at him. He didn’t even know the proper words.’

She ushered them inside and they put Rochant into a comfortable chair while the old cook fussed about with all kinds of tools Sa-at had never seen before. He wanted to know what every one of them was called. And why everything was shaped the way it was. And how did they capture the stars and put them in their windows? He had so many questions!

He was also incredibly tired. He and Tal squeezed onto another chair together. It was hot in the room, a large shelf of sapphire casting blue light onto the ceiling and warmth to the walls.

‘To answer your earlier question,’ said Rochant. ‘This is all mine, but my enemies think they have taken it from me.’

‘Nasty people, they are, my lord,’ added the cook.

‘Now I’m here,’ continued Rochant, ‘I intend to take it back, and I’d like your help. What say you?’

Tal agreed instantly but Sa-at hesitated. ‘I’m not sure. Your enemies aren’t my enemies. They might even be my friends.’

‘Trust me, they’re not. It’s not just my life they’ve taken away, Sa-at. It’s yours too.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oooo!’ said the cook. ‘I see it now. He’s got his father’s eyes and his mother’s face.’

He looked at the old woman. ‘Do you know me?’

‘Saw you born, I did. Pretty little thing you were, we all said so.’