Enet affected a careless laugh and put her hands on his hips, coaxing him forwards. He resisted. ‘I am Spear of the City, holy lord. I administrate your councils, run the Choosers and the flesh markets and oversee the provision of songstone and erection of new pyramids. My days are full of work on the Empire’s behalf and for your glory. You have fifty other courtesans, great Singer,’ she added when he seemed unmoved. ‘Any of the women among them can and do give you children, and I know of at least five of the men who are actively seeking promising youngsters you might wish to adopt with them. Our time here together is for pleasure, not for—’

‘You are a courtesan,’ the Singer interrupted. ‘My courtesan.’

‘Spear of the City,’ Enet corrected him with a smile. ‘And so much more than a mere vessel for your seed.’

The Singer went very still and too late the words echoed in Enet’s head, the tone of them misjudged and faintly repulsed, curdling with the choir singing softly in another room. Their teasing, faintly barbed banter was a spice to their relationship, but she knew that this time she’d gone too far.

Singer Xac reared up, lurching off her as if she were a week-dead corpse. ‘What?’ His tone was deadly.

Enet scrambled onto her knees and put her forehead to the mats. The quick patter of feet behind her and then the cold, lethal point of Nara’s spear was pressed against the side of her neck. Heartbeats later the soft weight of her body slave crashed onto her back, shielding her from harm.

‘Holy lord?’ Nara’s voice was colder than the obsidian. Just as deadly. The Singer was quiet for far too long and Enet began to sweat again. The slave was little more than wrinkled skin stretched over bird-hollow bones, but her elbow was jammed in the crook of Enet’s neck and shoulder as she sought to protect her, though the absurdity of their tangle was more painful than the pressure. It was also deeply humiliating.

And then the Singer began to laugh. ‘I do love Chitenecah slaves,’ he said. ‘Loyalty is bred so deep in their bones they can’t help themselves. Either that or she wants to fuck you, eh, Enet?’

Enet blushed but was silent. The Singer waved and Nara stepped away and hauled the slave off her back. She still didn’t move. Around them, the song grumbled and then settled, and the Singer’s emotions were palpable, swirling through the source like the breeze through the colonnaded wall out to the gardens.

The slave scurried away and Nara retreated to the wall, slow and wary. Enet still didn’t move.

‘Dancers,’ the Singer called and she heard the slap of bare feet running into the room. A drum began, and then a reed flute. The Singer settled back in the pillows. Enet still didn’t move.