Now Xessa’s hands went to the cord around her neck. Four knots so far. Four promises she and Toxte had made. They’d agreed, reluctantly, that it would be reckless to make more when they had no idea what would happen in the coming months and years. Xessa had wanted to anyway, had wanted to promise him children – born or adopted – and to look after him for the rest of his life, to hold his hand through every hardship and end every day with ‘I love you’, but she couldn’t. They couldn’t. She told herself to be content with what they had, and that all else would come in time.

The cord was light, barely there against her collarbones and the nape of her neck so that she kept touching it to make sure it hadn’t somehow fallen off, and yet it carried a weight and a meaning she’d never really understood before. She was different now, a different woman. Not just eja, or friend, or occasional artist. Not just daughter or lover, but wife. Toxte’s wife.

Ossa bounded at Xessa’s side, tongue lolling, grinning, as they ran easily along the upper trail that led around the hill. It was good just to be out, breathing in the morning and the freshness of the scattered trees and plants, away from the overcrowded tension of the city.

She actually had the day to herself, and had decided to spend it foraging for medicine for the shamans to replenish their stocks. She felt guilty and yet utterly relieved at being outside the walls and away from the crushing press of humanity. The city was so overcrowded that people were sleeping in the plazas.

Not the slaves, though, she thought and that stole much of the pleasure from the day. The mood in the city was hostile and suspicious, so much so that all escaped slaves had been turned away, the gates shut against them. Most were camped around the walls, crying to be let in, pleading and begging, and Xessa would never have ventured out of the city if the Yaloh council hadn’t sent a couple of Paws to drive them away. Suspicion of outsiders had grown like fungus after Ilandeh and Dakto’s betrayal, even more so after the riots in Xentibec and the slaughter of the Quitob in the temple, and was now a ravening beast all of its own, and anyone with the wrong clothes or tattoos or piercings was forbidden entrance to the Sky City.

Xessa was profoundly ashamed, not just of the Yaloh, but of her own people, too. They had allowed this to happen. They had looked away and let those poor slaves be denied safety. They were going to die in the fields and orchards, be slaughtered in front of the Tokob walls, and no Toko would raise so much as voice, let alone hand, to stop it.

Including me.