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But before Tobi can ask anything about that, Mereli says, “Would you like some more tea?”

“I’d love some,” Tobi says sweetly.

“Ah, yes. Of course.” Mereli places his hands on his knees as if to rise.

Tobi jumps up. “I can get it.”

Mereli sinks back down with a sigh of relief, saying, “Thank you, kushir.”

Tobi rounds Mereli’s settle and goes over to the urn. It’s warm to the touch. Close up he can see that there is a hole in the top for adding the hot coals to a chamber in the centre of the urn, keeping the tea inside hot. It’s quite ingenious. When he returns to the Rose Palace in glory he will share this invention along with the deliciously enlivening bittersweet tea. He refills his cup and says, “Would you like more too, Chancellor Mereli?”

“No, no,” says Mereli, turning. “One is all my nerves can take these days.”

Tobi brings his own steaming cup to his spot on the facing settle and adds several spoonfuls of honey. As he sits back, he says, “Do you know where my clothes are?”

Mereli looks puzzled. “Your clothes? Has Harok not instructed you about how he would like you dressed?”

Tobi thinks of the fresh alit that was brought for him that morning. The alit he wears now. Nevertheless, was that actually an instruction? “Not really,” he says, thinking this is not an untruth. “Last night he charged me to wear an alit, but this morning he left quite hurriedly and we do not share a tongue. I would dearly love to have the clothes I was wearing when I arrived, which were taken away when I was bathed and dressed for the anointing. Perhaps they are being washed somewhere? And I brought a trunk with me. I would like to know where it is. I have no shoes.”

“No shoes, really,” Mereli says with a smile that seems a little mocking. “And this trunk wasn’t sent to your room?”

Tobi shakes his head.

“I will look into it,” says Mereli. “But I would advise you to dress in the way Irgo Harok wishes. He can be quite particular. And as kushir, you are a part of his position. Many will look to an Irgo’s kushir and judge him by it. A kushir’s behaviour reflects on that kushir’s Irgo. A kushir who displeased his Irgo would be taken as a sign that Irgo was not able to please his kushir in the bed chamber. An Irgo can seem strong, but the kushir often reveals the truth of his deepest strengths. And Harok is a strong Irgo.”

Tobi wonders if strong means cruel. Harok can be cruel. Tobi has seen that. But he has seen more. Harok’s careful way of asking for Tobi’s consent when he took him to bed. Harok’s soft reverence for Tamello. Without speaking the same language it is impossible to judge what kind of man Harok really is.

“Do you know where Irgo Harok is today?” Tobi pauses and makes a bashful expression. “I simply ask because I want to be available should he require me.”

Mereli nods. “Didn’t he tell you?”

“Sometimes it is difficult for us to communicate. But I hope I did nothing wrong.”

“Oh, I doubt you did anything wrong. If you had, you would be in the dungeons or tied to a tree for the wolves.” Mereli says this quite lightly, but Tobi does not think it is a joke. Mereli continues in the same soft tone. “And your Master has much to do. His lands are vast and complex. He may have gone to the mines. Or to visit one of the timber merchants. Who can say? He relishes his deep connection to this forest. He has been known to ride north until he reaches the Starlight Sea and the far isle of Varia. He is Irgo. You are simply his kushir. He is your world, but you are only a small part of his. You exist for his comfort. I would advise you to find a way to occupy yourself without him. You will spend much more time alone than you will in his bed.”

Tobi nods. Keeping his voice deliberately conversational, he decides to ask his most burning question, “Did Harok really kill a demon? This Diazuul? Your God?”

“He did indeed,” says Mereli. “Diazuul had convinced the Ambolk to worship him as a God for centuries. You mentioned the stories of blood sacrifices in the Sacred Hall. I am sorry to tell you those stories are true. For centuries the Solwen worshipped Diazuul and every year on the Long Night, his Blood Priests would choose one of us to be given to him as blood sacrifice. Ending that darkness was Harok’s first act as Irgo. He returned the Ambolk people to their true faith of the Triple God under the guidance of the Green Women of Urynwud.”

“Blood sacrifices,” says Tobi, with a shiver. “The Ambolk really did sacrifice people to a demon?”

Mereli waves a hand, “Solwen, please. We are the Solwen. Ambolk is our language, not the word for our people.”

“Solwen,” says Tobi, nodding.

“But otherwise, your Azurian tale is true. Every year one of the Solwen was given to Diazuul.”

Tobi feels quite sick at the thought. He drinks more tea. “And no one tried to stop it before Harok?”

“I am sure there were dissenting voices over the years, naturally, but no one powerful enough to stand against the Blood Priests. And it was our way. Our culture for two centuries. And the truth is it did not seem so much to ask. One life. One person in return for protection for us all.”

“Not so good for that one person.”

“Not at all, my dear,” says Mereli in a soft, unctuous tone. “It was a great honour to be chosen. Many people would live their whole lives, hoping and praying to be chosen for the blood sacrifice and be joined to Diazuul to live forever in his paradise.”

This makes Tobi shiver. “Our God in Azuria, Zai, is a cruel God. But he never demands men lay down their lives.”

Mereli raises an eyebrow. “Doesn’t he?”