Chandni looked back to the entrance of the Chrysalis Chamber. She couldn’t hear Yadavendra yet, but she could feel him getting closer. If he arrived before Pik’s disguise was complete, all of her planning would be for nought. ‘Get the next piece on, quickly now.’

‘The crystal needs to be woken first, then I’ll prepare the next piece.’

‘Put it on, now, or I’ll do it myself.’

The Gardener-smith shook her head, muttering darkly, but she complied. ‘It isn’t the way it’s done. No, we always place the pieces right, then wake them. That’s how it’s supposed to be. That’s how it’s always been.’

‘I don’t want to do this,’ said Pik.

Chandni leaned in close to the trembling boy. ‘Listen to me: High Lord Yadavendra just wishes to see the armour. All you have to do is stand there. Bow when he enters, bow when he leaves. You can do that, can’t you?’

‘I don’t want to lie to the High Lord.’

‘You’d bow to him whether you were in the armour or not, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you’re not lying, you’re being respectful.’

‘What if he talks to me?’

The contents of Chandni’s breakfast bubbled uncomfortably in her stomach. If Yadavendra talked to Pik they were finished. ‘I will occupy the High Lord. If he asks you something directly, nod or shake your head, and if you absolutely have to say something, keep your answers short.’

Pik’s head began to shake in time with the Gardener-smith’s. ‘I can’t.’

‘You can and you will, because if you don’t, the three of us will be sent into the Wild. Do you know what happens to boys like you in the Wild?’

Did he know? She knew. A sudden memory of her fight with the Whispercage came into her mind. It had taken her baby from her. She corrected herself. Tried to take him … there had been a moment when the Whispercage had lifted Satyendra from her lap but she had stopped it. The thought of what that monster would have done if she’d failed was too much to bear.

The sound of many boots could be heard outside the chamber, making all three of them jump. ‘Get the helmet on!’ urged Chandni.

‘But the helmet is always last,’ replied the Gardener-smith, stubbornly trying to cling to some scrap of tradition. ‘I haven’t done the gauntlets or the wings yet.’

‘Just get it on for—’ a curse sat on the tip of her tongue. Not a mild one like ‘suns’ either, the kind of salty phrase that she’d reprimanded Varg for many times. The kind she never, ever used. ‘Just get it on,’ she repeated, and hurried over to the entrance and down into the main courtyard.