‘Wh-where did you get that?’ she asked, shocked, for the ritual knife was stored in the source’s treasure vault deep in the earth. Xac hadn’t been down there in years.

‘So be it,’ the Singer said, ignoring her question, and there was no emotion in his voice or face, not even the bloodlust she expected. His skin began to glimmer gold and the song changed, darkening, demanding.

Enet put up both her hands. ‘Wait, wait! As the Singer commands, holy lord. As the Singer commands. Give me one hour and I will bring you a prize.’

The knife was poised above her chest and Xac lowered it until the tip pressed between her breasts. Enet held her breath. He pressed, digging it in until it hurt, and then relented.

‘Less than one hour,’ he grunted and got off her. ‘Run, little Enet,’ he added and rubbed his hand hard over her cheeks and lips. ‘Run. And fix your face before you come back.’

Enet scrambled to her feet and backed rapidly from the source, her slave hobbling after her. When she was around the corner she paused, leaning against the wall, dizzy. Councillor Yana watched her, Chorus Leader Nara by his side.

‘Look what you’ve created,’ Yana said, his voice low and throbbing with anger. ‘You’ve broken the song and doomed us all, Great Octave. All that comes next, you have caused. All of it.’

Enet couldn’t meet his eyes. She brushed past him and fled. An hour wasn’t long enough to reach a decent flesh market. She hurried down the corridors towards the courtesans’ rooms. One of them would lend her fresh cosmetics while she bathed.

A second would honour the Singer with their screams. Enet would work out how to explain their death later, but she knew, now, that Yana was right. She’d lost control. She wasn’t even certain she’d ever had it. Those fucking books; all those fucking books had promised her an outcome she could manage.

And they had lied.

THE SINGER

The source, Singing City, Pechacan, Empire of Songs

I am the song and the song is war.

The song is death for glory and glory for the Empire and the Empire for death. The song is me, my will, my divinity that I choose to share with those mortals who crawl on their bellies and die and fuck and kill at my command.

I am the song and my will is inviolable. The song demands war. The song demands conquest and vengeance and the blood of my enemies to paint the walls of this sanctuary. The song demands war because I demand it. Because I am war.

There will be no rest, no surrender and no retreat. The Yaloh will fall under the song and embrace it. The Tokob will fall under the song and die for their atrocities, for ripping my divine kin from the world.