Dakto dropped out of the tree and clapped him on the back. ‘Let’s find some Pechaqueh, have ourselves a little chat,’ he said and winked. Lilla grinned, sharp as a cat, and followed his friend deeper into Yalotlan.

XESSA

The womb, above Sky City, Malel, Tokoban

183rd day of the Great Star at morning

There must have been a hundred torches and candles burning to chase away every last shadow and leave the Drowned nowhere to hide. It lay on its side at the far end of the cave, both gills and lungs having to work to keep it alive in the shallow pool. Its twisted legs were stretched out in front of it, the remains of the net still tangled around its upper body, and they’d managed to get a thick, rubber-coated collar and rope around its neck while it was still in the cage. The rope was secured around an outcrop high in the vault of the roof. It couldn’t stand, let alone climb the wall, in order to pull the tether free. It was as restrained as they could make it.

Xessa crouched at safe distance, her spear in her hands, and watched it. It didn’t move, didn’t even seem to register she was there, but she could feel it watching her. Thinking. She had no doubt it recognised her as the author of its agony.

Ossa stood at her side, hackles raised. The dog refused to remain outside whenever Xessa visited – the Drowned’s cold, alien smell invoked all of his protective instincts. Even after a week of its captivity, he had yet to relax, and Xessa was glad of it. On the other hand, it meant she couldn’t spend as long here as she wanted to. She couldn’t allow Ossa’s training to be confused by prolonged exposure to the Drowned’s presence and scent, and besides, the constant threat fatigued him. It wasn’t fair. But the dog wouldn’t leave her side. He knew she was angry and grieving and he did all he could to raise her mood.

As did Toxte. Xessa bared her teeth, but still the Drowned made no move. Her lover had nearly died at the Swift Water with his stupid heroism, his insistence on interfering. She knew her anger had nothing to do with him – and, thank the ancestors, so did he – because he bore it stoically and silently. And then, when she inevitably broke down, he held her and let her cry. Never any reprimand, never any recrimination.

Nor did he complain when she woke him screaming. Kime’s wild, agonised face, one eye obscured by his hair, fingers missing, and the Drowned rising up behind him, cursed her dreams. It recurred multiple times each night until the thought of sleep terrified her and she was hollow-cheeked with fatigue and Toxte wasn’t much better.