‘Eja Toxte?’ she guessed and he nodded. Xessa’s stomach churned and her temples pounded with sudden tension. She thanked the warrior and left the city, breaking into a run as soon as she was out of sight. What are you doing, Toxte? And why pretend you were going home? What don’t you want me knowing?

She fell twice in the dark, the wind so strong at her back that it seemed to want to blow her into the rock, and even the toughened skin on her feet struggled as she scrambled and scuffed unseen stones. Her knees were bleeding and the palms of her hands were bruised by the time the trail began to descend into the womb.

The dogs belonging to the ejab on duty spun at her approach, alerting their owners, and Eja Nallet brandished her spear before Xessa came into the flickering torchlight. ‘What’s going on?’ she signed, sucking in cold air that chilled the sweat on the back of her neck.

‘Toxte. He’s—’

But Xessa had seen the rope in Eja Quin’s hands and understood what her lover was doing. Toxte hadn’t taken the spirit-magic today. He could hear. ‘How long has he been in there?’

‘He said pull him out after a two hundred count. He insisted. Said it wasn’t right to risk anyone who wasn’t an eja, and that you thought it was up to something. That it was clever.’ Nallet shuddered.

‘Pull him out now. Now,’ she emphasised, and then snatched up Nallet’s spear from where she’d rested it to sign. She ducked past the pair and followed the rope into the gloom, towards the distant glow of the womb. Her heart was in her throat and sweat prickled her palms and her back, cold and sour.

Not Toxte too. Please, Malel, please, ancestors, not Toxte too. If a life is owed in here, you can have mine.

Xessa worked to steady her breath and her hands, so that she would not be surprised by what she saw. It didn’t work. Toxte was on his knees in the water, at the limit of the tether that was knotted across his chest and beneath his arms, tied securely in the middle of his back in such a way he couldn’t reach it and free himself. The rope was taut but he was fighting its pull, one hand hooked around a little bump of rock to hold him steady.

The Drowned was opposite him, propped upright against the wall, singing. Toxte’s other hand was on its leg, fingers feeling around the bones of the knee. His chest was heaving, but Xessa couldn’t see his face. Ekka was at the edge of the water, barking, her tail curled under her. She wasn’t obeying her training; she wasn’t dragging him clear. It made no sense.