‘Sit,’ said Yadavendra. ‘Let us eat.’

Satyendra turned carefully to keep the right side of his face pointing towards the wall. The area around his cheek felt wrong somehow, and he was worried it would show. Though his mother’s lectures about his allergic reaction were well known to him, to the rest of the castle they were a well-kept secret.

A couple of the hunters filed in, taking up posts around the room while the others sat down on the cushions around the table. It was strange watching them all delicately try to get in position without bumping into each other, for they too still wore their wings, breaking tradition to show solidarity with their master. It was wildly impractical and in other circumstances, highly amusing.

While that was going on, Satyendra risked bringing a hand to his cheek. It was hot, and he could feel the flesh settling under his palm, strange ridges smoothing out, like the spines of a fish slipping beneath the waves.

‘Come and join us,’ said his mother.

Their eyes met and he saw such pity there it made the hate boil up inside. What did she see? What is happening to me? But he took the hint and went to sit at the right side of Rochant’s throne.

‘No,’ said Yadavendra, who had remained by the window. ‘Take Rochant’s place.’ At Chandni’s obvious surprise, he added. ‘Not for the whole meal of course. I wish to see how he sits.’

Like his mother, Satyendra was not the tallest of people, but he had inherited her posture as well as her height. He tried to sit as he imagined Rochant would. Straight, but not rigid, open but not aggressive, thoughtful but not passive. The scrutiny was unpleasant, but nothing he wasn’t used to. Though his cheek was starting to feel better, he tilted his head down and to the right, just in case.

‘He has his manner, does he not, Honoured Mother?’

‘Yes,’ she replied, and she looked as if she believed it too, the pride evident in her face.

‘Yes,’ said Yadavendra, holding up a hand in front of his eye as if to frame the image between thumb and index finger. ‘His aspect is just so. Uncanny. It is as if he were among us again already. You may return to your seat now, Satyendra.’

A group of servants began setting down a variety of dishes. Most of it was finger food, save for a small bowl of soup set at the head of the table. Satyendra made a play of waiting for them to finish their work to give the right side of his face as long as possible to settle before taking his usual place.