Lilla took a deep breath and rubbed at the stinging pain of the scar in his chest. The scar Dakto had cut into him and then rubbed with charcoal. A messy, unpretty triangle – a pyramid, a crude rendering of the slave mark he would soon be forced to wear on each shoulder. An extra reminder of his servitude. His shame – if he chose to see it as such. He knew that had been Dakto’s intention and so Lilla did his best to wear the mark proudly.

I made him so angry he had to do this. That in itself is a victory.

And yet now he’s gone. I could have used that anger. He was starting to listen, starting to see the truth, I know he was. Why else would he have told me what he did?

Despite Lilla’s determination, the thought of beginning again, of trying to convince another macaw or dog warrior, filled him with weariness. Dakto’s time in the Sky City had primed him, given him a taste of something he’d never had before and surely couldn’t help but miss now he was back in the Empire. Lilla didn’t like to think how long it would take to build up that trust with another so he could begin to turn their thoughts to freedom. Rebellion. He stiffened his spine; it didn’t matter how long it took. What mattered was that he’d do it.

Kux found him and Lilla adjusted his tunic to cover the scar. ‘Another fight about swearing to the Empire.’

Lilla grunted. ‘They always are. After everything Dakto told me about how they control their slave warriors, about how we can control at least this one choice, and still they think swearing is the answer. Think claiming their families will ever benefit any of them …’

Kux’s face twisted. ‘You speak of choice and your faith in that Xentib bastard in the same breath,’ she said in a harsh whisper. ‘Why do you trust him, especially after that?’ Her hand slapped the healing symbol on his chest and Lilla couldn’t help the hiss of pain.

‘His time with us changed him, Kux. A whole sun-year out from under the song, away from the Empire. Free. He didn’t need to tell me what he did.’

Kux shook her head and the scent of old sweat rose from her tangled hair. They were all of them filthy, stinking, starving. ‘Who cares? He’s not here, Lilla. We’ve got nothing left but the promise that we’ll see our families again once we’re freed, yet you want us to swear to the Empire but not name our families, our children? You’d rather we abandon them to the Pechaqueh for the rest of their lives, never to be freed except by their own efforts, which may never be enough? At least if we work for freedom together, we can achieve it.’