The Spear of the City let none of the scalding humiliation she felt show on her face or in her manners. She refused to think of it, of how the Singer had left her kneeling there through seven dances, before finally dismissing her like a whore, not a courtesan. Like a no-blood slave.

Her own slave had a red handprint slapped into the side of her face and a bead of blood at the corner of her mouth. It was deserved; Enet’s humiliation was not. With ruthless precision, she excised that thought from her mind.

She’d ordered the litter’s curtains left open so that she could be seen as her slaves bore her and Pikte back towards her estate. The old woman laboured behind them where Enet didn’t have to look at her. She let the Pechaqueh awe and excitement at seeing their Spear soothe her until the memory of what the Singer had done … She did not complete the thought, bending her mind to adoration of the holy lord. If Singer Xac or one of his Listeners was reading her through the song, they would find nothing in her heart and mind but love.

The slaves trotted across the plaza in front of the great pyramid which held the source, the Singer’s temple-home and the heart of his power. They moved onto the Way of Prayer, travelling past temples to the holy Setatmeh and former Singers, and out into the city. The wide roads here were built of limestone and swept daily to keep them bright. They contrasted with darker stone of the temples and the councillors’ great palaces. Enet had a palace here herself, owing to her position as Spear, but she preferred her family estate on the outskirts of the city. The air was sweeter, and there were fewer beggars.

Her bearers were swift and smooth, and soon enough they passed from the temple district into the markets. This close to the great pyramid and palaces, only the finest pottery and textiles and carvings were sold, only the freshest and sweetest fruits and meats. Choosers patrolled in pairs, armed with stone-headed clubs, their presence scaring off the cast-out and abandoned who tried to steal from the shops and stalls. There were few enough about this afternoon; the monthly offering to the holy Setatmeh was only a few days away, and those with no status or protection knew better than to fall beneath the gazes of the Choosers so close to new moon.

It both pleased and irritated Enet. Pleased, because she did not have to smell their stench or see their filth. Irritated, because the Choosers would have to hunt them down, searching the whole city and the surrounding fields for offerings.