And then they were over, thumping down into waterlogged soil, the river behind them. They were dragged a little further and then released, and Tayan slumped to his knees, barely resisting the urge to embrace the ground and kiss it.

When he looked up, Beyt had her hands on her hips. ‘You’re learning many lessons of the Empire’s greatness on this journey, aren’t you?’ she asked, the mocking edge to her voice sharper than obsidian. ‘You see how proper reverence, proper understanding, shows your childish fears for what they are?’

Humiliation flashed through Tayan, followed by the first unwilling stirrings of awe. The song was right: the Pechaqueh were truly blessed, truly special. They had even tamed the Drowned. But then he saw it, a lucky break in the clouds casting just enough brightness onto the woman’s face. Sweat at her hairline and glistening in the lines on her palm as she wiped casually at her upper lip. She’d been afraid. Terrified. Only bravado was giving strength to her voice now, when in truth crossing that bridge had been as hard for her as it had for them. Tayan deliberately crushed his awe and replaced it with contempt.

‘Admitting fear makes a person stronger than pretending they don’t feel it at all,’ he said and forced himself to his feet. ‘The Drowned are an abomination sent by the lords of the Underworld. They—’

‘You should stop talking before we take you back and throw you in,’ Beyt said, and the edge in her voice had hardened. She jerked her head and the seven warriors spread out around them again. The woman took the lead, striding along the road towards the city.

‘That was well said,’ Betsu murmured as they followed her. The nod of respect was unexpected, but it poured strength and courage into Tayan. He nodded back and set his sights on the Singing City, straining to make out the details and wondering what other tests and horrors lay in wait.

There were horrors, but they were far more mundane – and so all the worse for it. The peace-weavers had become uneasily used to the presence of slaves. On the occasions they’d stopped in a city or village during the trek, slaves had been everywhere, obvious in their undyed maguey and bare of jewellery, charms and feathers. Many still bore tattoos, but without the honour that would have once accompanied them.