Warrior and shaman left earlier than usual for their own home and bed and privacy before they were separated again. The way their eyes had lingered on each other again and again sparked longing in her belly, and when Toxte, tipsy and laughing, said goodbye later that night, she surprised him with a kiss, the first against his cheek, the second grazing the corner of his mouth.

He blinked at her, hope and caution blurring in his eyes, and Xessa’s belly filled with butterflies. ‘Get some sleep, drunk eja,’ she signed, her cheeks warm, ‘and we’ll see if you remember that in the morning.’

Toxte’s lips parted and she couldn’t prevent her gaze flickering down to watch. They curved in another smile. ‘Believe me, I’ll remember,’ he signed. ‘Though I’m not sure I’ll get much sleep thinking about it.’ And he touched her cheek with his knuckles, light as feathers, and then he was gone.

TAYAN

The Neck, Xentiban, Empire of Songs

140th day of the Great Star at morning

‘We wear the peace feathers; we mean no ill intent or violence, but seek passage to the Singing City to begin a peace-weaving that will end the war on Yalotlan. We would speak with your Singer himself if that is possible; if not, then one of his representatives.’

The warriors surrounding them wore the tattoos, paints and hairstyles of three different tribes. ‘You’ll be lucky,’ one scoffed from the rear of the group that barred the trail. ‘Peace-weaving? May as well turn around now, little shaman, and scurry back home. We’ll be along to take it soon enough.’

‘Enough,’ snapped another. This speaker, a woman, wore a long scarlet feather in her shoulder-length, tightly braided black hair. A frog tattoo was visible at the base of her throat, just above her salt-cotton. She turned back to Tayan and Betsu. ‘Though the Coyote leader speaks true. The Pechaqueh have no need for nor interest in peace-weavings, and you would never be granted so much as to look upon the source, let alone meet the Singer.’ There was a bark of mockery in her tone. ‘No one meets the holy lord, and certainly not a no-blood, frog-licking, god-killing Tokob.’

‘I am Yaloh,’ Betsu said heatedly and was ignored.

Tayan blinked at the raw hostility in the faces of the warriors. ‘One of his council then. You … you do have a council?’

The warrior sneered at him. ‘Even they are too far above you,’ she said.