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Rafus jumps to his feet, setting Umbert down from his lap. “My boy,” he cries out as Endrew enters the hall in great triumph with an entourage that numbers more than forty. Dressed in boiled leather armour and a helm with the Darek crest gleaming bright. He approaches the high table and bows low before the throne.

“A drink,” Rafus cries, “to my son. Scourge of Ik-Sundal.”

As far as Damon knows, the drive into Ik-Sundal has been a disaster. But this is no place for that, here in the heart of the Rose Palace.

Lyr appears at Damon’s elbow to refill his cup for the toast. Damon turns to look at him. Delicately, very briefly, Lyr bites his lip. Damon joins the toast as Selim walks down from the dais and bows to Endrew. He bids him sit on a chair. A moment later two priests appear with the golden bowl and Selim kneels to wash Endrew’s feet.

Lyr is still close behind Damon. He leans down, “Why is he doing that? He is Emperor?” he murmurs.

“He is the humble servant of Zai.” Damon wonders what Lyr would think if he knew that this custom was done often. That Selim had washed Damon’s own feet only a few moons ago and that he had done so many times.

The first time it happened was when he was being sent away to the army. Selim had washed Damon’s feet slowly in his private prayer room.

When Selim’s ritual is done, the feast begins with great extravagance. Servants bring forth heaving platters of roasted hog, bowls of candied flowers, sweet berries and bread. There is more pear wine and, for the nobles, pearl tonic with calcis, Endrew’s favourite drink.

Next to Damon, on the other side from Inez and his father, sits a woman. When she speaks Damon realises she is the woman he met in Emperor Selim’s dining room, Lady Underlia. “Master Damon Darekul,” she says. “How wonderful to see you again. What an honour to be seated with such a hero.”

“Thank you, My Lady,” says Damon. “His Imperial Highness must favour us both.”

“Master Damon,” Lady Underlia says, “You know it’s a great injustice you aren’t styled Prince Damon and allowed to use the name Darek unadorned by your shame.”

Damon smiles, but he is a little shocked at such a bold statement in the Hall of Twelve. “I am a bastard, My Lady, my very creation was a crime against Zai. That is reason enough that my name is Darekul and I bear no inherited title.”

“Crime against Zai,” Lady Underlia says in a low, almost scoffing tone. “But the crime was not yours. I suppose you are used to paying for your father’s sins.” She takes a drink from her glass of pear wine. “Prince Rafus sins to create you and then uses you to pay for it when he sins again.”

There is a small, awkward silence. Damon drains his cup of wine solely so Lyr will come and refill it.

Damon enjoys watching Lyr as he moves forward and refills the cup again. As Lyr steps back, Endrew comes over. He smells strongly of pearl tonic. He hugs Damon and slides onto his lap the way he used to do as a young boy. “I’ve missed you so much, brother,” he says. “We needed you in Ik-Sundal. I failed. The men do not fear me like they do you. I had to rely on Trysta to command your battalions.”

“Trysta is a good commander. You were right to seek her guidance.”

“My men thought me weak, that I took advice from a woman and a Plumian slave.”

Damon shakes his head. “I took advice from Trysta many times. I miss her.” He realises how much he misses her as he says this. Like a great hole inside him.

“She won my pleasure slave from me in a game of arca,” Endrew says, then laughs. “But you should go and greet her. She is here. All your old battalions are with me to see your heroism rewarded at the ceremony tomorrow, but Trysta was required to sit at the back with the women.”

Damon’s heart skips. It seems amazing that Trysta could be here and he did not know it. He pushes Endrew gently off his lap and gets to his feet, scanning the room.

Endrew points. Damon follows his direction and sees her. How could he not have noticed her before? She is at an unmarried women’s table – one of the farthest – sitting with Opeth. Damon cannot wait. He takes Lyr by the wrist, “Come,” he says. “Come, Lyr, we must greet Trysta.”

Lyr has met Trysta. He was there when Damon said goodbye to her. Lyr – he would suspect – knows how much Trysta means to him. However, there is no real reason to take Lyr with him, but he doesn’t even think about the reason why.

Over at their table, Damon embraces Trysta and Lyr hugs Opeth and another, smaller woman with them. “Razelii,” Lyr says, his voice full of delight, “this is Razelii. My friend.” He looks at Trysta. “She is with you?”

Damon says to Trysta. “She is the slave you took from Endrew?”

“Lyr, the male pleasure slave of King Ramel,” Trysta says, greeting Lyr, “Yes, Razelii is under my protection.”

Razelii smiles at Lyr. “I am Trysta’s now. She won me from Endrew in a game of arca.” Razelii laughs.

Trysta puts an arm around her. “She is the slave of a slave.”

Both of them seem happy about it.

“Damon, your home is beyond my imaginings,” says Trysta. “Look at this place.” She tilts her head back, “The great spring from where all of Azuria begins. I have never seen anything so fine.” She says to Razelii, “This great palace was built on the site of The Rose Temple. The biggest Artemian temple in the world.”

“Yes,” says Opeth, “See the Sidu remain, carved into the ceiling. This room must have been the prayer hall.”