“Boy or girl?” I pulled at Sezarre’s shirt.

“I say boy.” He grinned at me. “I wager five days of taking dishes back to the kitchen.”

I laughed and took the scrap of earthenware he passed me, the token covered in looping Aldabreshin script.

Laio and Gar were standing together in the corridor when we reached the top floor of the residence. Both looked drained and disheveled, heedless of bloody smears on their clothing. Gar stepped forward to embrace Sezarre in a surprising display of emotion, tears glistening on her cheeks. I looked uncertainly at Laio, who seemed to be on the verge of crying herself. She shook herself like a kitten caught in a shower of rain and clutched at my hand. “Come and see our new son.”

So I was in for five days of maneuvering overloaded trays down the stairs and corridors while Sezarre took life a little easier. Smiling nonetheless and shaking my head at him as he grinned over Gar’s head, I followed Laio to Mahli’s rooms where the new mother lay in a bed of fresh quilts, reclining against Shek Kul’s shoulder. She was cradling a tiny bundle of snuffling cotton swaddling topped with a tuft of thick black hair that certainly suggested he was Shek Kul’s child. Mahli smiled at me and I managed to smile back, although I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look quite so exhausted and still remain conscious.

Shek Kul looked over her head at me and addressed me directly for the first time since I was caught up in this whole mess.

“This is my son, Shek Nai. You will protect him as if he were blood of your blood.”

I looked at the tiny, fragile face, eyes screwed shut against the strangeness of the world, and nodded; that much was no hardship, no threat to any other allegiance I held. I looked around for Laio, wondering how soon she was going to act to remove the threat of Kaeska’s malice that was hanging over this infant life. She must have read this in my face, a faint frown marring her brow as she gestured me out of the room with a shake of her head.

“Is Mahli all right?” I asked as we headed for Laio’s apartments, walking the customary pace behind her. I only have a hazy notion of the sorts of things that can go wrong for women in child-bed but I’ve seen a handful too many men of my acquaintance sobbing as they place a crimson urn in a shrine to Drianon.

“She’s come through it very well. The midwife is delighted,” Laio nodded. “The aspects of the heavens are highly propitious as well. We must make sure the stars are fully recorded.” She looked upwards, her mind clearly occupied elsewhere. I couldn’t help that.

“When are you going to tell Shek Kul about Kaeska and her magician?” I demanded.

“What are you talking about?” Laio turned from pouring herself a drink from a jug of fruit juice. “You mainlanders only make a note of the sun or which moon is uppermost, don’t you? Do you know the time of your birth? We could chart your stars if you do—”

Of all the irrelevancies I could imagine her wanting to discuss, the fact that I was born under the lesser moon seemed the most pointless.

“Kaeska and the magician attacked me today, look at my leg. I could have been killed. She has been using poisons; she has tried to kill the fish and the birds.” I wondered with a cold horror where the bitch had been creeping while Sezarre and I frustrated her plans in the gardens. Any standing drink could have been fouled. I dashed the porcelain cup from Laio’s hands; it shattered on the floor, sticky juice splashing us both. Laio was too taken aback even to rebuke me.

I knelt with a curse as my bruised leg protested and touched a finger to a puddle of juice, smearing it on my lip and waiting tensely for any burning or numbness that would betray any taint. Laio listened, astounded as I told her about my eventful day.

“I will get you a fresh drink from the kitchens,” I told her firmly. “So we can be sure it’s safe.” I strode off, determined that Laio should denounce Kaeska as soon as possible, refusing to countenance this degree of uncertainty and fear.

On my return, I found Laio in the bathroom, stripping off her bloodied and juice-spattered clothing. I handed a cup and retreated in some confusion. It had been easy enough to ignore her tempting form when I had thought any hand laid on her would be instantly hacked off by an outraged Warlord. It seemed her earlier revelations had removed that particular chain on my desires and the old dog was up and barking. To my relief this appeared to be one nuance of our relationship that Laio was failing to comprehend as she emerged, hair tied up in a silken scarf, a loose yellow chamber robe belted negligently over her nakedness. Her expression was still thoughtful.

“When you find a moment, ask Sezarre for some green oil, will you? I want some of the first pressing, do you understand? I know Gar has some and that’s the best.”

Wondering why the topic of conversation had suddenly turned to condiments, I nodded my understanding nevertheless, turning to find something else to look at. “The flavor is so much better.”

“Ryshad!” Laio half laughed and half gasped. I looked around to see her blushing, unmistakable even given her complexion. “I didn’t think you mainlanders went in for that kind of thing!”

I looked at her uncertainly. “What do you mean?”

Laio rubbed a hand over her mouth, smiling now though her eyes were still startled. “What do you mean?”

We looked at each other for a moment, the noise of the revelry below invading the silence of the room.

“We prefer the first pressing of green oil for dressing fresh vegetables,” I said cautiously. “What do you use it for?”

“Keeping ourselves from pregnancy!” Laio giggled, hands cupping her face. “I want a bit more time to think about having a child now I’ve seen what Mahli’s had to go through!”

Caught off guard like that it was my turn to blush and I cursed as I felt the heat in my cheeks.

“So what do mainlander women do,” Laio’s eyes were bright with mischief, “to keep themselves without child?”

I ran a hasty hand through my hair. “I don’t know.” I quelled a sudden memory of the pot of salted cedar resin my father had given me in his workshop, together with some very straight talking, the day after I had laid my first whiskers on Misaen’s altar.

Laio moved closer and laid a hand on the bare skin of my arm. The hairs rose like a hound’s at her touch. “Come to that,” she purred, “what do you mainlanders do—”

A loud knock interrupted her and Sezarre stuck his head around the door. “The tree-planting will be done at moonrise,” he said to Laio before ducking out again.

The thread between us snapped. “I’ll want the blue gown with the feather-patterned wrap,” she instructed me briskly. “I’m going to wash my hair.”

Not sure whether I should be cursing Sezarre or blessing him, I obeyed and was pleasantly surprised to find I was also allowed plenty of time to wash and dress myself in a new green tunic and trousers that Grival brought by, a gift from Mahli apparently.

As the last half of the greater moon rose over the distant horizon, the black stone of the keep grim in the cold, bluish light, I followed Laio down the stairs and into the inner garden at the heart of the residence. I kept close to her, alert for instruction or reprimand as the air was thick with expectation and a sense of ritual, slaves from the household lining the walls, silent and respectful. Laio moved to stand next to Gar and I exchanged a fleeting glance with Sezarre. He tilted his head a finger’s width and I saw Kaeska on the far side of the garden, Irith standing behind her, swaying slightly, mouth slack, no spark of life in his eyes. The Elietimm stood next to her, hair startlingly white in the night, his jaw set as he stared at me, unmistakable hatred crackling across the distance that separated us. I touched Laio’s shoulder and leaned forward slightly.