Enet wasn’t like the Singer’s other courtesans. She didn’t just rely on the delights of her body to charm him. Instead, she studied the histories and the prophecies, the old tales and those yet to come. She cast fortunes with dice and bones until she was the most sought-after diviner in the source. She learnt, she thought, she spoke, until Singer Xac was as enamoured of her mind as he was of the warm hollow between her thighs. Enet intended to keep it that way until she had all the pieces and had cast all the possible futures and was ready to act.

There was a knock at the door. Enet flinched, the book dropping from her hands. No one knocked at this door; no one would dare. Heart lurching, she darted a glance at the massive chunk of rock, flecked with tiny crystal until it almost seemed to glow, that dominated the centre of the room. The other item that made this place both secret and sacred. She stood, brushing off her kilt. ‘What?’ Her voice was harsh.

‘High one, there are … there are peace-weavers at the gate,’ her estate slave murmured. ‘From Tokoban and Yalotlan.’

‘Peace-weavers?’

‘Yes, high one. They say they are here to negotiate a truce and a lasting peace between their peoples and the Empire.’

A high, disbelieving laugh broke from Enet’s lips. She put the book back on the shelf and then faced the stone and touched her belly and throat in salute, before licking her finger and running it across the section she’d been working on with the chisel. Her fingertip gathered a fine white coating and Enet sucked it clean, relishing the way the dust had the slightest roughness against her gums and tongue. Then she crossed to the door and pulled it open. The slave stood back against the tall painted screen that normally concealed the entrance.

‘They’ve travelled all the way from Tokoban?’

The slave nodded. ‘Yes, high one. They wear … full heads of turkey feathers.’ Enet’s eyebrows rose. ‘I have sent a boy to fetch what he can, should you wish to see them and be likewise attired. Eight Melody macaws led by Second Flight Beyt brought them. They await your pleasure at the door. The peace-weavers’ – he stumbled over the unfamiliar phrase – ‘I have shown to the small room.’

Irritation took over from amusement. ‘I will see this half-blood macaw and learn their intent in disturbing me. Make sure Pikte is kept away from the northerners.’

‘As the high one commands,’ the slave said. He stood aside and then wrestled the screen back into place so the door was invisible. Enet didn’t wait for him, striding along the brightly painted corridor towards the main door.