She felt guilty thinking it about fellow Tokob, about the people who killed to keep her and those she loved safe, but the idea wouldn’t leave her. Something indefinable had changed, and she didn’t think it would ever go back to the way it was again.

PILOS

West of Sky City, Malel, Tokoban

33rd day of the grand absence of the Great Star

They were running out of time. Every report that that Elaq sent to Listener Citla in Yalotlan, that she forwarded via runner, told him so.

The Sky City should not still be resisting: they’d cut off their water supply and they outnumbered the defenders. There was no relief coming. There was no way out. And yet still they fought, Tokob and Yaloh still allied, just, against them, marching out each dawn in their bright paint and hair charms, their brighter righteousness.

Pilos offered up a prayer to Singer and Setatmeh alike that they would surrender before dusk. They’d taken the Tokob holy cave on the first day of the attack and the city had to know that. People had been seen fleeing through a small gate in the upper western wall, so he’d stationed three pods out of sight around the flank of the hill; they’d captured the runners and dragged them back in ropes, paraded them within sight of the city. If the defenders could see that their efforts weren’t buying anyone time to get away – if they could see their own loved ones among the captives – surely that would break their resolve.

But still – thirsty, exhausted, with no hope and no reinforcements – they’d marched out at dawn to offer battle once more. Pilos had no choice but to accept it and to respect them for it. He wiped sweat from his face and knew, deep in his belly and balls, that they’d fight until they died, until there was no one left who could stand or lift a spear. It would be red slaughter before it was over and the number of slaves they’d reap for the Empire would be pitiful. Another failure for Enet to condemn.

‘The song will provide,’ he muttered to himself and, as if in answer, he noticed a figure waving its arms as it slogged uphill, wide of the battle, towards him.

Pilos frowned and then swore. It was Citla and two guards. But the Listener shouldn’t have come herself – she should have sent a message. Pilos jogged down the hill towards them, Feather Detta following.