The High Lord perched uncomfortably on the edge of Rochant’s throne and signalled for everyone to begin, though he himself made no move to pick up his spoon, nor even remove his sapphire helm. With evident relief, the hunters started to eat, making short work of what was put out. His mother seemed prepared for this however, new dishes appearing as quickly as the empty bowls were whisked away.

For Satyendra, it was a tortuous affair. He knew that everything he did was being scrutinized and evaluated, measured against a figure he had never met. Yadavendra made no secret of his fascination, watching with birdlike intensity. ‘What do you think of the lizard wings, young Satyendra?’

‘Soft in all the right places, my High Lord.’

‘Are you going to have more?’

He reached towards the bowl but then noticed his mother’s slight frown and changed direction, instead picking up a small cube of cheese. ‘Perhaps later, I want to enjoy the other dishes first.’

Yadavendra nodded. ‘And why is that?’

‘Because I want to know what my guests are experiencing.’

A look, meaningful, passed between Chandni and the High Lord. ‘Does that mean you will try the soup?’

There was something in the manner of the question that gave him pause. A quick glance down the table confirmed that there were no other bowls like it. He looked back to Yadavendra, the man was clearly enjoying the exchange, the part of his mouth visible through the helmet twitching towards a smile.

‘I am curious … but no. It is a gift, prepared especially for you.’

‘And if I insisted?’

‘Then I would obey.’

He was rewarded with a full smile. Up close, he could see how gaunt Yadavendra’s face had become. Even thinner than I remember, and yet he seems as strong as ever.

The meal continued, the hunters talking amongst themselves in low voices while Chandni and the High Lord exchanged polite conversation about the state of the castle, the weather, mixed in with shared reminiscence about Satyendra’s early years, and veiled references to the time before that, which, if they were to be believed was much better than this one. It’s as if all three suns shine from Rochant’s arse, the way they go on.

After a third course had been devoured by the hunters, Yadavendra signalled that he was finished, asking that the soup (which was now cold) be left for him to enjoy at his convenience. ‘Thank you, Honoured Mother. You may leave us now.’ He gestured to his hunters. ‘You also.’

Chandni stood and bowed, catching Satyendra’s eye as she did so. It was hard to read her look, not least because she gave so little away, but Satyendra knew her well enough to guess: she desired to show concern, that she was thinking of him, and remind him to stay wary. All obvious and unnecessary. Besides, he thought bitterly, her encouragement only urges me faster towards my death.