“But I can’t walk outdoors in these!” Storm stared woefully down at her feet. A servant had brought delicate saffron-coloured leather slippers and showed her how to tie the long toes to her ankles. “The soles are thin as rice wafers. They will wear out within days!”

“And then you get the pleasure of new ones! In a five-day the fashion might be for longer toes, or heels, or no toes at all. What fun, eh? Come, you are no longer stuck on an outer island. Enjoy yourself!” Betaan smiled at her indulgently, but Storm thought she spied a hint of scorn behind the smile. She must be more careful not to appear provincial!

“The shoe-sellers must sell shoes, you know,” added Mer.

Storm’s face was still warm with embarrassment as she followed the other two out of the grand front door. But it wasn’t Betaan’s cheerful teasing or Mer’s gentle gaze that made her most uncomfortable. It was the four leathery-brown guards that followed them, with their impassive faces and long iron-clad pikes, watching and listening to everything while pretending not to. Betaan and Mer seemed not even to notice the presence of the three men and one woman.

“Surely we don’t need guards!” Storm whispered to Betaan.

“We never go out without guards!” Betaan’s eyes grew wide with amazement. “We are the Pact!”

“We might be kidnapped,” explained Mer. “All members of the Fifteen Families travel the city with guards.”

“Kidnapped? But this is your island! Oh … you mean by visitors, privateers?”

Mer opened her mouth to say something. Storm watched her eyes flick at Betaan, saw Mer shut her mouth.

Betaan turned, smiling. “Of course,” Talon’s daughter said smoothly. “Privateers, pirates. Everyone comes to Bellum Town to trade, even villains. We are the belly button of the world.”

Storm smiled, hiding her confusion. It must be true: on Yanlin every islander was a member of an extended family. You might have enemies among your own, but they were your own. Not even this island – belly button or not – could be that different.

A Pact daughter on each side of her, arms linked in her own, Storm walked through the echoey, sombre guardhouse out into the heart of Bellum Town.

The guards went front and behind and the crowded street emptied as if blown clear by Air-magic. Betaan led them from stall to stall. Though only mid-morning, the air was sticky with heat. Palm trees had been planted in clumps across the square, their fringed leaves offering patches of shade. Dust motes danced in columns of light where the sun speared through the leaves. The smell of fried onion and plantain from food stalls mingled with the odour of human sweat and exotic perfumes. Storm’s head swam at the richness of it all.