Dakto sighed, his disappointment clear. ‘You’ll learn,’ he said. ‘You’ll come to understand it eventually. And I hope you do, Fang Lilla. You’re a good man despite your pettiness earlier; I’d be pleased to fight alongside you for the glory of the Empire.’

Lilla bared his teeth. ‘I will never fight for the song or the Empire. You don’t have to fight for them either. If we’re in the song, then we’re in Xentiban. Your homeland. You could—’

Dakto laughed, cutting him off. ‘I was born in Pechacan. The only time I’ve spent here has been while bringing these people under the song. I am a macaw of the Melody, a Whisper. I have Pechaqueh blood in my veins and the song in my heart.’

‘You have Xentib blood in your veins too, the blood of free people enslaved. That blood gives you a choice.’

‘No.’ Dakto’s voice was cold. ‘Stop now, Lilla. Listen to the song; embrace it. You’ll understand soon enough. And when you do, your life will truly begin.’

PILOS

Melody fortress, the dead plains,

Tlalotlan, Empire of Songs

204th day of the Great Star at morning

For the second time in a month, the song had swept out of control and cut through them all with clangouring hate and violence and need. And for the second time in a month, Pilos hadn’t been there to help his Singer.

Again, Enet had refused to communicate with him, and all Citla could tell him was that the song contained a power she had never felt before. Enough to shake her spirit almost out of her flesh and send her into a faint from which she’d been slow to recover. The hairs stood up on Pilos’s arms at the thought of what might have happened to him if he’d been communicating through the song at the time. He had none of Citla’s strength or skill; surely he would have been lost.

It was because of the changes to the song, clear even now, ten days later, that they were ready to march early. Eagles, macaws, dogs, and even the more experienced slave warriors had tripled their efforts in response to the unknown threat to the Singer’s safety.

The hawk Talon would accompany the Melody to the capital and take up residence in the large compound on the outskirts to continue their training there. If the war went badly – praise Setatmeh it will not – then they were already a week’s march closer to Yalotlan.

Though if I do have to throw barely competent hawks at the enemy, we’re truly fucked.

Feather Atu stood at Pilos’s side. ‘Feels strange to be heading out again so soon. In the Wet. Reminds me of Quitoban.’