Pilos’s thoughts were interrupted by a messenger from the Great Octave. He read Enet’s note with increasing disbelief – ‘peace-weavers’ from Yalotlan and Tokoban were in the city, staying at the Great Octave’s own estate. Would Pilos join them for duskmeal? Not for the first time, he wished there was a way to insert a Whisper into her household to relay such news to him in a timely fashion. The peace-weavers might have been here for months for all he knew; she was probably only inviting him because it suited her purposes, not because she wanted him to be there.

‘Elaq!’ he bellowed, scaring the children playing in the garden so they squealed.

His estate manager and oldest friend came at a run, alarm creasing his features and a knife clutched in his fist. ‘Spear?’ Pilos handed him the message and Elaq read it. He blew out his cheeks and shook his head. ‘No way. Not a fucking chance. She’ll kill you and say these peace-weavers did it. If there even are such people here. What sort of title is peace-weaver, anyway?’ He waved away his own question as irrelevant. ‘It’s a bad idea, Spear.’

‘I know,’ Pilos agreed and relief flickered over Elaq’s rugged, scarred features. ‘But what does Enet know of negotiation? What does she know of the types of concessions warriors make or the sorts of agreements they reach to end further bloodshed? Of course I’m going.’

‘Then I’m coming with you and we’ll both be armed. And more than that, you’ll be carrying three antidotes with you. Don’t eat anything Enet doesn’t eat from first.’

Pilos held up his palms, laughing. ‘We’ve got until dusk, my friend. Plenty of time to lecture me on the finer points of not being killed by our resident viper.’

‘I’m not sure that’s long enough,’ Elaq complained, but there was a glint of amusement in his deep-set eyes.

‘Peace-weavers,’ Pilos mused. Whatever his reputation might be among the council and the city, Pilos would happily take a peace agreed over duskmeal than one won on the battlefield. Though, he admitted ruefully, sharing a meal with the Great Octave was surprisingly similar to fighting for his life. ‘Their information could be of use in council tomorrow.’

‘If you live long enough to get there,’ Elaq muttered darkly, but Pilos chopped his hand through the air – the song-laden, magic-rich air, through which the Great Octave herself could be listening. The old eagle nodded and held his tongue, but his words had planted the seed and Pilos let it sprout. In truth, he would need to be very, very careful this night.