Olmaat nodded his acceptance of the honour. He was a superb warrior. The fastest of the TaiGethen. Katyett turned back to the front of the stage. The noise was growing steadily. A distinct divide had grown between those facing the stage, chanting and taunting, and those behind, waiting and watching. Katyett headed left to join her Tai.

‘Altogether too organised,’ said Merrat.

‘Watch the torch carriers. We-’

An order was barked from down on the floor. A volley of missiles arced overhead. Clay broke against the stone walls behind the tapestries and liquid spilled on stone, seat and wool. Katyett sniffed the air.

‘Oil.’ She knew what was coming next. ‘Tai, with me.’

Katyett leapt out over the Al-Arynaar in front of the stage and crashed into the crowd feet first. Elves scattered from around her. Merrat and Grafyrre landed close by, both moving towards targets to the left. Screams erupted. Katyett rose fluidly. A Tuali ula stood no more than three yards from her, torch in hand, cocked to throw.

‘Don’t do it,’ she warned.

‘Keep her from me,’ shouted the agitator. ‘She’s only one.’

In the roar of the crowd down here on the public floor, Katyett let her senses take over. One with nature, Yniss at her side, she focused, her mind clear of encumbrance and distraction. Most continued backing away from her. One came in from her left, swinging an unlit torch towards her head. Katyett moved a pace forward and blocked up and out with her left forearm. The torch broke over her wrist.

In front of her, the agitator caught her gaze. When he threw the torch she had already plotted its trajectory, was already in the air as it left his hand. She snatched it from its path, landed and kept moving. The agitator had no chance to escape. Katyett dropped the torch, crushed the flame underfoot, took another pace and snapped out her right fist, catching him square on the chin. His head rolled back and he crumpled.

Katyett stood over his prone form. She was standing in open space. No one was within five yards of her. But this was not victory. To the right, torches spun end over end to strike the stage, its seating and walls. And in the centre of the press the crowd had bunched and, as she watched, they rushed the stage. Pelyn ran in from the back offices, eight Al-Arynaar behind her, the sounds of violence sending a shiver through her back. Her mind was still aflame at the memory of her treatment at the hands of the public and the smirking contempt of Helias. Making sure he was safe had taken a significant effort of will.

She saw the crowd run right through her thin line of Al-Arynaar guard and onto the stage. She saw torches strike tapestry and wood, and sheets of flame leap up where the oil she could smell had splashed. There were TaiGethen powering in from left and right but of Katyett she could see no sign.

‘Get those fires out,’ she shouted, waving a hand to her right. ‘Keep people away from the tapestries. I want this stage clear.’

Two Al-Arynaar moved right, taking cushions from the chairs to act as beaters. Two more came with them, moving to head off those intent on seeing the fires consume a national treasure. Pelyn headed directly for the centre of the stage, where the first of the public were closing on the lecterns. She saw knives in hands, faces contorted with righteous rage. But no direction. Nowhere to truly vent the anger that had eclipsed the joy of their victory.

Pelyn and the four with her were a woefully inadequate number. She ran forward, throwing her arms out.

‘Back. Get back. Get off the stage.’

But her voice was lost. Pelyn led her Al-Arynaar across the lectern space. Below, at the front of the stage, her warriors were still trying to keep as many from the stage as they could. Right in front of her, an ula hefted a hand axe, clearly intent on taking it to the lectern carvings. He was Tuali like her, and his face was full of contempt. From behind him, sudden movement. Katyett and her Tai leapt over the crowd, executing tuck and roll before stretching out to land softly and turn, backing her up. To the right, Al-Arynaar pressed elves back, allowing the two with beaters to attack the flames.

Pelyn’s warriors moved to her sides. The ula with the axe stepped up, backed by others.

‘Out of my way.’ His voice was a snarl, his face ugly in his fury. ‘Takaar is denounced. We will remove his image.’

‘Stand down. Sheathe the axe.’

The Tuali laughed. ‘You no longer have the authority to stop me.’

Pelyn pushed her face right into his.

‘Don’t make me embarrass you,’ she said. ‘You are Tuali. Act like it.’

‘Run back to your Ynissul friends,’ he said. ‘You are no more Tuali to me than a dog. Efra.’

The ula spat on her, the saliva spattering over her nose and right eye. Pelyn felt her control give. She smashed a fist in his gut. He doubled over. Pelyn stepped aside and cracked her elbow into the side of his head. He went down, rolling onto his back. Pelyn took a knife from her belt sheath, dropped to her knee and raised her hand to strike into his heart.

A hand grabbed her wrist. A strong hand.

‘No.’ Katyett. ‘Don’t give them what they want.’

Pelyn was aware of silence sweeping out over the chamber. Her mind was clouded and she couldn’t shift the fury.

‘He-’

‘Pelyn. Listen to me.’

Pelyn jerked her arm, but Katyett’s grip merely hardened and all she succeeded in doing was dropping the knife.

‘They want a fight,’ said Pelyn.

‘They want a martyr,’ said Katyett. ‘Please, Pelyn. Not by your hand.’

Pelyn nodded. ‘All right. I’m all right.’

Katyett let go her wrist. Pelyn turned back to the ula. He displayed no fear. Instead a half smile played on his lips.

‘See?’ he said. ‘You are still their slave.’

Pelyn balled her fist and cracked it into the ula’s nose. Knocking him out cold against the stone stage.

‘Get him out of here,’ she said.

She stood up and straightened her clothes. Dozens more Al-Arynaar were entering the chamber from front and rear. Pelyn faced the subdued crowd.

‘The next one of you that calls me efra will be the martyr you so crave. Clear the chamber.’

Katyett put a hand on her shoulder.

‘You and I need to talk. Now.’

Politicians seek victory to taste further glory. Soldiers seek victory to taste further life. ‘You cannot let them goad you like that,’ said Katyett, the moment the door to the records office was closed behind her and Pelyn.

Outside, the Gardaryn was being forcibly cleared by Al-Arynaar and TaiGethen. The aggression had dissipated, water through a cracked jug, and Katyett had left behind her a sullen cowed mob. No doubt they would find more targets for their frustration outside.

‘You heard what he called me. You saw what he did.’

‘Yes, and you nearly gave him what he was looking for.’

‘He deserved nothing less.’

Pelyn had her back to Katyett. She was wringing her hands and her whole body was shaking. Her rage clung on, giving way slowly to shock. Katyett took a pace and went to reach out. She stopped herself midway.

‘Pelyn, look at me.’ There was a slight turn of the head, nothing more. ‘Pelyn, please.’

Pelyn turned. There were tears on her young face, smearing the dust and dirt that had filled the air of the chamber when the riot began. There was power within her, great charisma too. Yet in this moment she was the frail iad in whom Takaar had seen such potential when he was building the Al-Arynaar to back the Tai-Gethen’s elite skills. Pelyn stared at Katyett with all the old pain in her face.

Katyett’s heart fell.

‘He cannot have known what he was saying,’ she said.

‘He knew exactly what he was saying.’

‘No, I mean, he knew the word he used, sure, but not what… happened to you on Hausolis. No one, almost no one, knows about that.’