There was a rumble from the Singer, as of thunder, that stole Enet’s reply. The council paused, waiting for the lightning to accompany that threat. It didn’t come, or at least it wasn’t aimed at them. ‘High Feather, the shamans were right; the war is over for this season. Rest your warriors, break in the new slaves, and be ready to march after the Wet. I will give you the exact date when I have consulted the stars.’

Pilos bowed his forehead to the floor, hearing the rustle as the council did likewise at the Singer’s rising. Their lord padded from the council room without another word, his favourites scurrying behind. The High Feather stood and beckoned; Atu jumped up and together they strode out of the source without a backward glance, though Pilos could feel eyes on him all the way. Slaves waited at the exit with their sandals, weapons, and cloaks, and they dressed and stepped back out into impending dusk and a city shining with moisture.

They descended the pyramid in silence – the Melody had long since dispersed to barracks and the homes of families, brothels, and drinking huts. The slaves would be penned in the flesh markets for onward transportation.

‘That was … not what I expected,’ Atu said eventually.

Pilos grunted and clapped him on the back. ‘The council meetings rarely are. Go and fuck your wife and get drunk, Feather. There will be many people who seek my favour now they know I’m back. I’ll send the new slaves on to the Melody compound, but depending on how things play here, we might be leaving soon. Make the most of the time you have.’

Atu grinned and touched belly and throat in salute. ‘Under the song, High Feather.’

‘Under the song.’ The young warrior practically sprinted through the plaza towards the litter-bearers for hire at the far end. Pilos smiled again. ‘All right, Elaq, out you come,’ he said and his bodyguard, a retired eagle warrior and the head of his estate here in the Singing City, emerged from the shadows at the edge of the pyramid.

‘Spear,’ he said, touching belly and throat and using the title Pilos preferred when in the Singing City. ‘Under the song.’

‘Under the song, my friend. How are you?’ He clasped Elaq’s wrist and clapped the big man on the arm. Retired a decade and still with shoulders wider than the bole of a mahogany tree.

‘I am well, Spear, thank you, and your estate and the fighting pit too. Your wealth increases.’