Satyendra was frustrated. He’d been ready to face the High Lord, and then, at the last minute, Yadavendra had changed his mind and postponed their lunch. He and his mother had spent a fretful day preparing themselves for a summons at any moment.

None had come.

They’d all slept badly and felt worse as a result.

As for Yadavendra himself, he hadn’t left his rooms. According to the servants’ gossip, he’d neither eaten nor slept, but they’d heard constant movement.

Satyendra wondered if the waiting was one of Yadavendra’s constant tests or whether the High Lord was as mad as he sometimes appeared.

And then, out of nowhere, a summons had arrived, brought by a hunter, still in her wings despite being grounded.

Come on then, High Lord, I’m ready for you and your tests.

It was a delicate balance he had to strike – to seem able enough a match for Lord Rochant to keep Yadavendra happy, yet not be too perfect. To have made enough progress since the last visit to avoid reprimand, but to leave room for more work to be done. The chaotic subjectivity of his judge made this almost impossible, but Satyendra was a living, walking impossibility.

I should not be here, but I am. Every day is a scramble that I manage to survive. Today will be no different.

Yadavendra’s hunters marched behind them. They too were afraid, his mother had seen to that. Most of the time she irritated him. She worked too much, and when she wasn’t doing her duty she was prattling on about its importance. But sometimes, when she showed her steel, he saw a kindred spirit. And though he rarely admitted it to himself, he knew deep down that without her, he would not have survived his first year, let alone his seventeenth.

Most of the castle’s staff had made themselves scarce, so it was mainly guards and a few unfortunates that he encountered on his way to the feast hall. More rigid salutes, more unease to soak up as he passed by.

It annoyed him that his mother sang for entry when she clearly didn’t need to. Doesn’t she see that it makes her appear weak? It also annoyed him when she was cut off partway through by the High Lord waving them in with an irritated hand.

Inside, the tables were empty, their food conspicuous by its absence. Yadavendra stood by the window, massive on his Sky-legs, sunslight flaming on the edges of his wings. How small we must seem to him. How puny.

‘Ah, the young Satyendra arrives at last. Come forward so that I can greet you properly.’

A ripple of revulsion passed through him but he made sure it did not get near his face. Though he wanted to glance at his mother for one last bit of support, he did not.

There is nothing she can do anyway.