‘I never realised the thrill of opulence would fade,’ he said, as if to himself. ‘I never realised how the power and the divinity are so inextricably bound up with the responsibility and the sacrifice.’ He swept an arm out to encompass the room. ‘Sculpted gardens, a tamed stream and offering pool, wide verandas with views over the city, and the platform at the summit beneath the songstone: the heart of my power. All colourful and pristine, populated with only the most beautiful slaves, courtesans and sculpture. The finest musicians and actors, jewellers and dressers. The most talented potters and artists to paint their wares. Everything so … Fucking. Perfect. It makes me sick.’

Enet flinched. The song tore at her with teeth and claws, made nausea surge at the base of her throat and heat build between her legs. Beneath the anger sat Xac’s lust – for life and death and cock and cunt and everything in between – desires impossible for any in his presence to ignore.

It was the official reason, the most obvious reason, why Singer Het had failed so soon – she’d been a child at the mercy of feelings she had neither name for nor familiarity with. They’d frightened her and then they’d consumed her. Children should not be Singers; they had not the experience to control the changes. Even Xac had struggled to contain his impulses in the first years of his divinity.

The Singer rubbed a hand across his face, weariness souring his lovely, song-brightened features. His lips peeled back from his teeth and Enet squirmed where she sat, wanting him and him knowing it. His denial of her desire bringing him more pleasure than acceptance would. A dark pleasure, a spiteful pleasure, and that too entered the song. All through the source, harsh words would be spoken, parents might pinch their children just to make them cry, secrets would be spilt and arguments started. Chorus warriors practising their weapons might spill blood in earnest.

‘These rooms and gardens, maybe the slave quarters if I wander down there: they’re all I will ever know,’ Xac continued, surprising her again. She’d expected angry sex or dismissal, not confession. ‘All the years I had before my selection and what did I do with them? Nothing. Barely travelled, never visited the untamed jungle or saw the dead plains. Never fought a battle. Never took a life except when making an offering. And I don’t take them even then.

‘This is it. This is the rest of my life within these walls and gardens. This sacred prison. The Tokob murder my divine kin and I sit here unable to help them.’