‘That is the councillor’s thought also,’ Elaq said when their voices were covered by the Melody’s. ‘And the Great Octave sees you as her biggest rival. If she has as much power as Yana fears, it’s likely why the Singer didn’t meet you today. You need protecting, High Feather,’ Elaq added. ‘I’d like permission to come with you, to watch your back and front and every other fucking direction. I wouldn’t put it past Enet to have assassins among your Melody – even your eagles.’

Pilos smiled despite himself. ‘What an ignoble end for the mighty High Feather, to be gutted by one of his own, seduced from him by the snake in the council,’ he said with mock solemnity. ‘Peace, my friend. With fever in Quitoban, a conquest in the Wet, and the blooding of the song, my life means little in the grand scheme of things. Still, I promise to be careful,’ he added, seeing Elaq’s scowl. ‘But you know I need you in the city. You and Yana are the only two people there I can trust. I need you working – discreetly – to discover anything else you can. Definitive proof of the blooding, for a start. And look at my wealth, too, will you? Start drawing up papers to have me buy any mining rights in Tokoban. I’ll see it’s worked and gifted as it should be. For free. For the song. The more we can do to loosen Enet’s grasp, the better.’

‘As the High Feather commands,’ Elaq said with pointed courtesy.

Pilos gusted a sigh. ‘Setatmeh preserve me from overprotective eagles and the manipulations of beautiful women. I’ll be careful. And you be careful, too. You’re living in the viper’s den, remember. Under the song, my friend.’

TAYAN

Sky City, Malel, Tokoban

205th day of the Great Star at morning

They’d fled the fighting, deep into the darkness beneath the trees, moving fast and quiet until Tayan was thoroughly lost.

He’d sat in miserable, shivering silence through the rest of the night, and as dawn broke they’d returned to the ambush site. They’d found a few survivors and a lot of bodies. They didn’t find Lilla.

Tayan stopped paying attention after that. His husband was gone. Not dead, not unless he’d crawled away and died in the undergrowth somewhere. Captured, then. A prisoner of the Empire of Songs. A slave. Lutek’s mouth had moved and her arms flapped, but the shaman didn’t care. He’d followed numbly when the survivors began to head north, taking the straightest route they could towards Tokoban and Malel. He was going home. He just didn’t have anyone to go home to.