Dakto was bigger than her, stronger by far, and a talented fighter. It was a shame he hadn’t thought through the consequences of his insubordination or ever imagined fighting Ilandeh. How she’d move; how fast she was. How her fierce loyalty to the Melody would outweigh anything she’d ever felt for him. She couldn’t get a lock on the arm above her head but the sudden spurting wetness over her right hand told her she didn’t need it. She ripped the knife out of his leg, danced back and kicked him in the chest.

Dakto scored a final cut on the top of her shoulder as he staggered backwards and only then, it seemed, did he realise that he was dead. He looked down as his leg collapsed into the pool of scarlet soaking into the mats beneath his feet. He met her eyes, surprised, horrified, and weakly amused.

‘Flight,’ he said.

‘Under the song,’ Ilandeh panted and his features creased with disgust.

‘No,’ he grunted. ‘May my ancestors guide me.’ He toppled sideways and bled to death. No one moved until it was done.

‘Well,’ Elaq said, advancing with a medicine chest he’d procured from somewhere. ‘Now I definitely understand why High Feather Pilos likes you. Though you’ll be the one explaining to him the cost of purchasing the new mats. Let me see your face.’

Ilandeh stood still, breathing through the pain and the adrenaline, rubbing together fingers sticky with the blood of a man she’d once considered a friend. Occasionally more than a friend, and one of shared heritage. ‘Forgive me for bringing disharmony to this house,’ she said. ‘If I had suspected, I never would have chosen him to live in the Sky City.’

‘Sometimes the rotten blood proves the stronger,’ Elaq said mildly.

Ilandeh winced as he poked at the cut. ‘I accept full responsibility. And I will see to the purchase of the matting and anything else the household needs to re-establish order. Again, I apologise.’

Elaq laughed. He took a needle and thread from the chest and gestured her to sit on mats not saturated with blood. He knelt at her side. ‘This is the house of the Empire’s greatest warrior. We are not unused to combat here, although it usually takes place in the training yard and doesn’t often end quite so terminally. Still, Dakto needed to die. His dangerous ideas had the possibility of infecting others.’ He paused and eyed her for an uncomfortably long time; Ilandeh’s Xentib blood yammered in her veins and leaked down her face.

‘I do the Singer’s will and the High Feather’s,’ she said in a low voice. ‘If you would put me to the test, I will walk into the Blessed River with this blood running into the water and let the holy Setatmeh decide my worth. As the eagle commands.’