He sighed, and swore under his breath. “I do not question your power to divine,” he said, turning side on to me, his jaw setting in a hard, determined line. “I question. your right to be here. You are female. Quelled. The Chosen do not accept you. The priests do not accept you. You have stayed here this long only because you can divine, and they thought they would need your skill. But now you are unnecessary, your powers irrelevant. I am here.”

“I will go in peace and name you Firelord, if you will make all the changes in the laws that I demand.”

“You will name me Firelord? You demand changes?” He turned on me, his rage terrible. “You have no rights, no demands, no privileges! How dare you stand there and discuss the terms of my office? I could strike you dead now with my sword, and not one in all the world would lift a hand in your defence! You cannot change the laws! The laws have stood five hundred years, have created order out of chaos, and life where there was death.”

“Life for the Chosen,” I said. “Slavery for the Quelled. I will make changes that will give the Quelled rights, give them honour, ease their burdens, allow them time for themselves, for education and proper homes, and—”

“Honour! Ease! Harsha, you are mad! Our very lives depend on their slavery, on their getting us the firestones. I agree with you, some of the laws are hard, and those I am prepared to change. I talked with the Firelord of those. But you talk of reforms that sweep the whole fabric of our society into disorder! You talk of utter chaos!”

“Is dignity and a fair day’s labour ‘chaos’?” I cried. “All I ask is that the Quelled be treated like human beings, with feelings and needs … and intelligence! All I ask is that they work fewer hours, and are given proper shelter and food, and that their children are given a fair childhood. It wouldn’t alter your Chosen lives at all! You could still lie about all day in your furs and priceless timber houses, and discuss your evil myths. Nothing would change for you!”

He threw the goblet on the floor, and it spun on the polished wood, spilling wine as red as blood. “You’re mad!” he yelled. “Our whole civilisation is built on Quelled slavery. Jeopardise that, and you have anarchy and rebellion! Is that what you want, harsha – civil war?”

“No! And I know the lies your civilisation—”

“War is what you’ll get! There’s already fighting over you, fighting between Quelled and overseers, between free- thinking. Chosen and the authorities. I’ve even heard the priests here in disagreement over you. You cannot stay as Firelord, harsha. You will cause only disruption and mutiny and bloodshed. Go home. Go anywhere you like. But I am Firelord here.”

“I will not leave.”