The Spear put it from her mind and instead allowed Pikte to climb into her lap so that he could point out the market’s finer items. The boy had seen one Star cycle since his birth – eight sun-years – and was as lively and clever as she had prayed for. She revelled in the simple joy of his presence, of his warm wriggling in her lap. She had no need of more children – another thought she cut off before it could form.

Pikte’s status as offspring of the Singer made him both someone for the ambitious to befriend, particularly as he grew older, and a target for disaffected councillors or those ruined by the latest purge. In addition to the four litter-bearers, four warriors surrounded them, clearing the way and ensuring no one came too close.

Everywhere in this district, Pechaqueh in brightly dyed and woven kilts and tunics hurried, glancing up at the darkening sky and the coming rain. Among them were slaves in undyed maguey cloth, holding purchases or carrying messages, their eyes down and brands visible on their upper arms.

‘Look!’ Pikte exclaimed, pointing. ‘Axib.’

Enet gave him an indulgent smile. ‘And how do you know that?’

‘Because they shave one side of their heads. See? And they’re free, too.’

‘So they are,’ Enet murmured, distracted. Free Axib in the most exclusive market in the Singing City. It was … unusual. ‘Guard,’ she called and the warrior leading them looked back. ‘Tell the next Chooser you see to find out what those free are doing in here and move them on. They’re unsightly.’

‘As the Spear commands,’ the man said.

‘They weren’t born free, though,’ Pikte added as they passed the trio. He pointed again. ‘Look, their slave brands have been cut through.’ He was quiet for a while, craning his neck to keep them in view as the litter passed. ‘How horrible to be a slave.’

‘And yet now they are happy and productive members of the Empire,’ Enet said, making him look at her. ‘Why?’

‘Because they have embraced the song and become Pechaqueh in their hearts,’ the boy said obediently. Enet smiled at him and he grinned back, delighted at her approval. ‘Have you ever been outside the Empire? Have you ever not heard the song?’

She shifted him in her lap again. ‘I have, yes.’ His eyes were round. ‘Many years ago. The silence is … unpleasant.’ The Spear changed what she’d been about to say at the last moment. She had no desire to terrify her son. ‘You may hear it too, one day, when you are older. If you join the Melody and become a great warrior, it may be your destiny to travel outside of the Empire and hear the quiet.’

The awful, clanging, emptiness in the blood and body. The disconnection from people and duty and honour. The violent absence of purpose.