‘Holy lord, today is not the day for that,’ she tried. ‘Why not watch the entertainment in the garden? If you have desires, great Singer, let me satisfy them.’ None of her revulsion showed in voice or face or manner as she slid one palm against his knee. ‘Listen to the men in the garden, holy lord. Are they not pleasing?’

The Singer’s mouth was partly open in dull incomprehension, but then a glint lit his eyes and Enet’s guts writhed within her. ‘Fetch them in here,’ he said.

‘Holy lord, that’s not what—’

‘Fetch them in here,’ he repeated and though he did not raise his voice, gold flashed beneath his skin and the song swelled.

‘It is not the day,’ she tried one last time, her voice faint. Seven days. Seven since the last. Never had the intervals been so short. One every third month at most, her mind supplied over and over, a litany that had become meaningless through repetition. A mockery.

The Singer bared his teeth at her and she knew he was quite, quite mad.

‘Would the Singer like to practise his archery?’ Chorus Leader Nara asked from behind her and Enet breathed a sigh of relief. Even this was a risk, though: the Singer had shot one of the children who sang for him in the evenings. The girl lived, but still …

‘The Singer,’ Xac said in tones more frightening for being so even and without inflection, ‘would like to be obeyed. The Singer has no fucking qualms about finding a new Chorus Leader or a new Great Cunt if it comes to it. Now bring them in here – or take their place.’

He wasn’t even pretending to speak in riddles any more, and Nara moved to the gardens and summoned the lovers inside, as incapable of resistance as she was. They arrived quickly, flushed with their need and honoured to serve the holy lord, as they had not done for so long. He was radiant with magic and the strength of the song in the source was such that they saw only his majesty.

The Singer’s desire was rising steadily and it thrummed like fingertips across Enet’s nerve endings, speeding her heart despite her disgust and her worry. The tonic she’d drunk thrummed with it too, a little stronger each day, a little more perfect, gracing her with everything she would eventually need. Strength. Will. Rightness.

Eventually? It should have already happened, she thought as she watched the courtesans begin their work on the Singer. They had no idea what was coming for them.

The holy lord lunged forward and slapped Enet, hard. Her head snapped to the side and she tasted blood. For a moment of utter, adrenaline-filled terror, she thought he had read her designs through the song. ‘You offer me two.’