The song was exultant, seeming to build in a crescendo to a climax that never arrived – or perhaps was constant. Tayan found himself tapping his fingers or feet to it as the day wore on. The garden visible through the window was an immaculate profusion of flowers and plants that attracted butterflies, tiny frogs, and many-hued hummingbirds. Not a petal, not a leaf was out of place. So perfect it was a parody of nature, as their tiny, strangled strips of jungle between expanses of farmland were a parody. The balance demanded each creature lived in harmony, not taking more than it needed, not exhausting the soil or the game. The Pechaqueh either didn’t understand that most basic of necessities, or they thought themselves immune to its consequences. Slaves and cleared jungle, monkeys in cages and sacrifices to the Drowned – the Pechaqueh were so far out of balance that only catastrophe could set them right.

When Enet finally came to fetch them, Tayan wondered for one arse-clenching second whether catastrophe had found him. It wasn’t just her own slaves the Great Octave could choose from, after all. ‘Honoured guests,’ she said, smooth as honey as if the previous night’s confrontation had never happened, ‘it is time. Please come with me.’

A child, a boy of perhaps nine, scampered ahead of her. He had the monkey from the cage in the gardens on a thin, supple leash and was pulling it along. It opened its mouth to screech and Tayan saw its canines had been pulled out. He shuddered.

Betsu was silent and obedient, again draping the gifted shawl around her, and Tayan was immediately suspicious, though of course he wore his own as well. They followed Enet and the boy and his monkey out of the house towards the litter. ‘Can I walk, Mother?’ the child asked and Enet smiled.

‘Of course, Pikte. But keep the monkey under control, will you? I won’t have you running off after it again. If it gets free this time, that will be the last you see of it, understand?’

The boy pursed his lips in consideration. ‘That’s all right. I saw the other one you got. I’m going to teach them both to dance!’

‘The other monkey is for your father, that’s why I haven’t put it in your pet’s cage,’ Enet said as she climbed into the litter. The peace-weavers followed her in, ducking so their new crowns of turkey feathers, more lavish than the previous ones, didn’t scuff the roof. Tayan was mortified; of course Enet would show off her son after what Betsu had claimed the previous night. Shame twisted in him and he wished, for what felt like the hundredth time, that the Yaloh had sent anyone else but her.

‘Is the Singer allowed a monkey?’ Pikte asked and Tayan’s neck cracked, he twisted so fast to look at Enet. Pikte was the Singer’s son?