Her mother’s house, which was hers now, had been built by Dain and Wing upon their marriage. It was only slightly older than Storm herself. And it would die naturally, of rot and decay, probably in her lifetime, for houses on Yanlin were made of simple reeds, thatch and bamboo, with bits of wood scavenged from the shipyard. Not of dead plaster, like this place.

An immortal house. It made her skin creep. But it was beautiful, she had to admit. A person might kill for a house like this.

“This is your room.” Talon’s daughter watched Storm from behind her face paint as the servant slid past them and pushed open a tall door of carved teak.

The room was as big as her mother’s entire house. A rug of knotted silk lay upon waxed floorboards; the sleeping mat was a thick pad on a low platform of carved teak, with linen neck pillows and a silk coverlet. It was wide enough for three! A clothes cupboard stood against one wall, a tall cabinet lacquered a rich dark red. There was a round mirror of polished bronze hanging on one wall, and a simple low table against another, with a kneeling mat in front of it. The window was filled with squares of coloured glass that threw a rainbow on the floor and across one wall, rippling across a picture hung there.

The image showed squares that must be buildings, doubled lines that must be streets. There were images of fountains, warehouses, the harbour with ships floating in it. All surrounded by the lava wall. It was all drawn upon parchment with flowing brown lines and painted with the soft colours of the earth itself.

“What is this?” Storm stood in front of the image and stared, fascinated.

“It’s a map.” There was a tinge of amusement in Betaan’s voice.

“Map?”

“Like a sea chart.”

“But why would you need such a thing? Bellum Town isn’t enormous and featureless like the sea.”

“Not full of treacherous reefs and hidden rocks?”

“Exactly.”

“But isn’t the map beautiful?”

“It is. Do you know the person who did it?”

Betaan laughed. Storm was being teased, but the mockery was gentle. “The artist died long ago. That is a very old painting. And it was painted out of vanity. Of course we don’t need a map of Bellum Town! But one of my ancestors wanted one – wanted to chart the town as it was in her day.” Betaan shrugged. “Life isn’t about what we need, but what we want.”

Storm turned from the map to see Betaan gliding across the room to a second, smaller door. The serving woman darted forward and pushed the door wide.

“Fill the bath,” Betaan ordered. The servant bowed and left. “I assume you would like a bath? The facilities aboard ship can’t be that luxurious.”