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He never asked his father what crime he had committed.

It was Atticul, a few days later, when plans for Damon’s leaving were well underway, who delighted in telling Damon and Lukas his version of the story.

“Father was asked to choose which son would be allowed to take the punishment in his stead,” he explained, grinning as he leant against the orchard wall in the grounds of the Rose Palace, he had been happy ever since he had first heard the news that Damon was being sent away. “Father chose Lukas, and Gelen the Green said that as Father wanted Lukas to offer the stead he must love Damon more and so it should be Damon who was allowed to offer.”

Damon told Atticul this was a lie. How would he even know what had been said? But Atticul’s words did fit with what his father had told him when he had come to his bedchamber.

That night Lukas had run away from The Rose Palace to join the Mortingale Outlaws.

On the day Damon left Attar to join the army, Atticul had been happy. His father had been in tears again. Ullinor had not shown any emotion, but he was sure she was pleased to have him gone too. Karo had also been emotionless. As ever, when it came to Princess Karo, Damon had little idea what she thought about anything, least of all him — the son her husband had sired with a whore.

Atticul and his mother had delighted far less in Damon’s fate when he had returned in glory only five years later, having played a pivotal role in the retaking of the western half of Pluma-Ferris from Plumian rebels. He was called The One Man Army and been made a Commander – a thing previously unprecedented for an indentured soldier. He had been celebrated by Emperor Selim and gifted the island of Sanvicta. That evening Atticul had announced his own intentions to join the Imperial Army.

After he ran away, Damon did not see Lukas until a decade and a half later, when he found him in Emperor Selim’s quarters in the royal palace.

He had joined the enforcers and palace guard that night to defend the palace, but he had known Lukas would be amongst the outlaws. He had found him. He had made sure he was not killed in the bloody battle. He had steered him subtly towards a place where he knew Lukas could run – promising him only that if he ever returned to Attar, Damon would make sure it was him that took his head.

Eventually, he feels the sounds of the ship coming to a halt. Someone gives him a cup of honey water mixed with sofi. It makes him soft.

He is dimly aware of the pallet he lies on being lifted. A small boat rows to shore and he is set down in front of Sanvicta island’s keep.

Damon has not visited Sanvicta for years, but he remembers it. It’s small. The only building the tiny keep – not much more than a stone tower with a cellar for storage. It’s a scrubby place with chalky ground.

There is a garden here, Damon knows, well kept. His staff of three, a keeper, a gardener and a shepherd tend the place. They send him reports. He enjoys them. On the front, he would read about Sanvicta with quiet satisfaction. Before Felgrace, before Sanglora, he had his island. It was always meant to be his escape, but now it would be his grave.

Those reports mean nothing now. He knows what the enforcers will do. His servants will be removed, by force if necessary. The enforcers will dig up the trees, apple, plum and olive, they will destroy the herbs and roots growing in the garden and salt the earth. If they are very thorough, they will poison the well too.

He will be left forty days' supply of bread and water. It’s a death sentence couched in civility.

The enforcers leave. Damon is still foggy from the sofi and shaky from the fever. He will die here, he thinks. He has been betrayed and he will die here.

When he finally opens his eyes and sees Lyr standing over him, backlit against the sun, he thinks he must already be halfway to the afterlife.

22

LYR

Lyr does not know how long he is left in the dark cell under the Rose Palace. It is not the same cell as the night before but it is similar. They are all dark little holes deep below the Rose Palace with dirt floors and chains bolted to the walls. The woollen cloak is scratchy on his skin but he is glad he has been allowed to keep it. Without it, he is sure he would freeze in the hip cloth.

He does not sleep. He waits. Waits for what Selim promised. Someone who understands Ur-Ambolk who will come and see the marks on his skin. Will read all the secrets that are written on him.

He startles when the door opens, light from the single candle held by the man at the door is blinding.

He can make out scant details of the man. Tall, thin with a neat beard. Purple robes. He is familiar. This is one of the people he has met today, a member of the Rose Court, but he cannot remember who.

A pair of enforcers with the familiar man take hold of Lyr. He is brought to a square room with stone walls. Candles glow in each corner.

Lyr is placed on the room’s single wooden chair.

The enforcers leave and a woman walks into the room. She is as tall as the man. Lyr can recognise the Brides of Zai now. She wears their robes, white and grey, covering everything but her pale face. The familiar man says, “Good Evening Lyr. My name is Chancellor Vindar. And this,” he indicates the woman, “Is Pershel, the Moon Truth, an expert in false heathen religions and their filthy rituals.”

Lyr says nothing.

Pershel looks Lyr up and down. “I understand you were the personal slave of Queen Jareleezi?”

“Yes, My Lady,” Lyr says, voice shaky.

“Tell me what she did to you?”