The wardlights were active again, and most of the other girls had already woven their bidos. Aching to make water, Inevera moved quickly for the privy curtain, but Melan caught her arm. 'You should have woken sooner if you wanted time for that. The dama'ting will come at any moment, and if your bido isn't fully woven when she arrives, a full bladder will be the least of your worries.'

Inevera's face went cold, and in an instant she was leaping for a fresh silk, her discomfort forgotten. The other girls watched her with scowls on their faces as she quickly wove her bido.

Asavi spat at Inevera's feet. 'So she's a weaver's daughter. It proves nothing.'

Barely a moment after Inevera finished tying, the heavy doors to the sleeping chamber opened and Qeva stood waiting. The girls lined up in only their bidos, and Inevera followed them out of the Vault and into another great chamber of the underpalace.

'We begin each day with sharusahk,' Melan advised. 'You will not speak. Do exactly as the dama'ting does.'

Inevera nodded as the girls lined up in neat rows, each standing two paces apart. Qeva strode to a small dais at the front of the room, reaching to unfasten her robe. The silk fell away in a whisper, and she stood nude before the assembled girls, save for her veil and headscarf.

Slowly, she began doing a series of stretches. The other girls copied her, and Inevera struggled to do the same. Qeva's flesh was smooth and muscled, soon coated in a sheen of sweat and scented oil. Inevera wondered how such slow movement could make the woman sweat as if she had run in the hot sun for an hour.

The movements were gentle and precise nothing like the broad, brutal motions Soli had practised. But though gentle in appearance, the poses proved far more complex than Soli's. Inevera was forced to attain positions she hadn't known possible and hold them for extended periods of time. Never-before-used muscles screamed at the strain, and she broke into a heavy sweat, heart thumping as she struggled for air. It seemed no amount of gasping could pull in a full breath, and she feared that at any moment she would lose control of her water.

Qeva leaned forward on her left leg until her body was perpendicular to the floor, arms out before her as if to embrace. Her right foot raised high into the air and curled back over, toes nearly touching her tailbone.

Inevera attempted the pose, but lost her balance, pitching forward onto her hands.

'Hold pose,' Qeva said, and the other girls were left balanced in that precarious position as she stepped down from the dais.

'Stand up straight,' the dama'ting commanded. Inevera got quickly to her feet, and Qeva put one hand on her bare chest and the other in the hollow where her shoulders met. 'Breathe in through your nostrils. Deeply.' She squeezed, and Inevera had to overcome the resistance to inflate her chest.

The dama'ting grunted. 'Out. Slow.' She continued to squeeze as Inevera slowly let the air out at an even pace.

'Again,' Qeva said. 'Breath is life. If you have breath, you have your centre. If you have your centre, nothing can truly touch you. You will not feel hunger or pain. Not love nor hate. No fear. No anxiety. Only the breath.'

Already, Inevera felt herself calming. The insistent cries of her full bladder and empty stomach faded as she followed the path of her breath from her nose to her belly and out again. Around her, the girls began to wobble, strain telling on their faces as they held the difficult pose.

'With me,' Qeva said. Still squeezing, she began to breathe in a slow rhythm, and Inevera paced her own breaths to match. 'As the breathing cleanses your mind, these will hone your body, until the two act as one.' When they were in sync, the dama'ting took her hands away and grabbed Inevera's arms, spreading them wide above her.

'Cobra's hood,' Qeva said, and glanced at the other girls. 'Resume.'

There were sighs of relief throughout the room as the girls all stood straight, reaching for the ceiling with arms spread.

'These are the sharukin,' Qeva said as she guided Inevera through the next several movements, gently correcting her posture. 'Vulture's beak. Jackal's spring.'

She leaned Inevera forward into the position she had stumbled in. 'Scorpion's tail.' The dama'ting stepped her left foot on Inevera's, holding her in place as she hooked her right foot around Inevera's right ankle and lifted her leg until she could catch it, pulling it higher and higher, then bending it over until Inevera felt her tendons straining to the limit. She gasped and wobbled.

'Breathe,' Qeva said. 'You are the palm, and breath is the wind. Use its power to lead you back to balance and guide you from one form to the next.'

Inevera returned to the rhythm, and found the steady breathing did indeed aid her. Qeva noted her renewed balance and nodded, returning to the dais.

The lesson went on for some time. Inevera still wobbled and felt awkward, her joints stretched into fire, but she kept her breath steady, and was relieved when Qeva finally relaxed, reaching into a box beside the dais. There was a clatter of metal and she came away with four tiny cymbals, one strapped to each thumb and forefinger.

At a nod, Melan went and took up the box, taking her own cymbals and passing it along. All the other girls did the same, and soon they were back in place, waiting for Qeva to begin this next part of the lesson.

Qeva turned to stand in profile, her hands held high, cymbals poised. One leg was stretched out before her, the other kept close.

The other girls assumed the same pose, and Inevera did her best to imitate it.

'Knees bent,' Qeva said. 'Weight on the balls of your feet.'

When Inevera corrected herself and found her centre, the dama'ting clapped her cymbals four times, each time snapping her round hips so they cracked like a whip.

'All,' she said, and repeated the move. The other girls copied her with practised precision, but Inevera found the move trickier than it looked.

'Again,' Qeva said. 'Watch closer.'

Again she rang the cymbals and snapped her hips, and again the move eluded Inevera. At first she could not figure out how to move her hips, and then her cymbals were out of sync with the others. Doing both at once seemed impossible.

Over and over Qeva took her through the move. Inevera could sense the irritation of the other girls as she struggled, but there was nothing she could do save try and try again.

Finally, Qeva seemed satisfied. She grunted and began to ring the cymbals in a continuous pattern, snapping her hips to match. Inevera fell into the rhythm, and soon it was second nature. She found herself smiling.

But then the dama'ting began to move, stepping around her dais with lithe grace, never ceasing the rhythm of the cymbals or her hips. It was beautiful. Mesmerizing. And when Inevera tried to imitate her, she walked right into Melan, bringing them both down in a heap.

'Idiot!' Melan snapped.

Qeva leapt from the dais, slapping Melan hard on the face, her cymbals rang with the impact. 'The fault is yours, Melan! The Damaji'ting assigned you to teach her the ways of the nie'dama'ting! What have you taught her? She did not know so much as cobra's hood or the first turn of the hips.'

She lifted a finger and put it in Melan's face. 'You must learn to take your responsibility seriously. Until Inevera can keep pace with the class, you are denied the Chamber of Shadows.'

All the other girls gasped, and Melan's eyes bulged.

'Point those wilful eyes at me a moment longer,' Qeva said, 'and you will find yourself living in the great harem, a plaything of the Sharum.'

Melan dropped her eyes, bowing deeply. 'Yes, Dama'ting.'

After sharusahk, the girls lined up by the kitchens where a pair of aging eunuchs gave each a ladle of thin porridge. Inevera could see in the eyes of Melan and the other girls that they meant to shove her to the back of the line, so she gave way freely. There was nothing to be gained in pointless confrontation. It was best to appear meek as she learned the ways of the nie'dama'ting.

Inevera's bowl was less than half full, the final watery remains of the porridge pot. Even so, she barely had time to gulp it down before Melan came for her.

'It is nearly dawn,' Melan said. 'The dama'ting leave for the pavilion shortly, and Nie take us if we are late.'

'The pavilion?' Inevera asked.

Melan looked at her as if she were an idiot. 'The Sharum will be returning from the Maze at dawn, and the injured are taken to the pavilion. We assist the dama'ting in the healing.'

Inevera remembered the screams of injured Sharum filtering through the canvas walls the day before, and imagined men all around her, covered in blood, howling as she helped the dama'ting cut and stitch their flesh.

She felt suddenly dizzy, and her face flushed hot. The thin porridge rose back up her throat.

Melan slapped her hard in the face. Porridge and bile flew in a spray, spattering the stone floor as the crack echoed off the chamber walls. Every girl in the room looked up at that, their gazes cold. There were no dama'ting present, and the eunuchs were mute as ever.

'Everam's balls, find your centre!' Melan snapped. 'The dama'ting take nothing so seriously as the healing. Already the Chamber of Shadows is denied me. If so much as a drop of Sharum blood falls because of your weakness, the dama'ting will have it from my hide a hundredfold.' She moved in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. 'And if that happens, I will cut off your nipples and make you eat them.'

Inevera stared at her as the words sank in. Melan gave her no time to respond, grabbing her arm and pulling her back towards the Vault. The girls quickly washed their hands and faces, donning their white robes and lining up once again. Melan led the way back to the Vault doors, where they met the dama'ting who guided them out of the palace and through the Undercity to the catacombs beneath the Kaji dama'ting pavilion, where they waited for the dama to sing the dawn from the minarets of Sharik Hora.

Assisting the dama'ting in their healing was every bit as bloody and horrid as Inevera had feared. Her ears rang with the shouts and screams, half from Sharum too lost in agony to embrace their pain, and half from Melan and the dama'ting, cursing her slowness.

Once, while carrying a jug of instruments soaking in a harsh fluid that made couzi smell mild, she tripped and spilled a few drops. Melan punched her full in the face for that, with Qeva and another dama'ting looking on. Neither woman said a word, more interested in the instruments Inevera carried than her swelling cheek.

On the table before them, a warrior thrashed and flailed as they tried to cut the black robes away from a deep gash in his abdomen. The Brides tossed shattered bits of ceramic armour plates into a palm basket where they clattered, wet with blood.

Qeva threw a pair of silk cords to Melan. 'Pin him.'

Melan took one of the cords, handing the other to Inevera. 'Be swift, and do exactly as I do.' She wound the cord around her fists with perhaps a forearm's length between.

Inevera had no time to ponder those instructions before Melan moved in, impossibly fast and graceful as she wrapped the cord around the warrior's wrist, twisting back and using leverage to hold his arm out straight. He tried to resist, but Melan knew the angles where his arm was weakest and kept control.

'Now!' she shouted, as the man grabbed at her awkwardly with his other hand. Inevera rushed in, attempting to do as Melan had. She caught the Sharum's wrist in a twist of silk, but she did not know precisely where to step or how to shift her weight as Melan had. The warrior caught her with a backhand blow that made Melan's punch feel like a kiss.

Inevera hit the floor hard and Qeva hissed, stabbing two stiffened fingers into the man's shoulder joint. His arm spasmed and lost its strength long enough for Inevera to recover her cord and pin him once more. Qeva glared at Melan in irritation, and Melan in turn glared at Inevera silently as they held the warrior prone. The dama'ting forced a sleeping draught down his throat, and he soon went limp. The Brides began to cut, oblivious to the blood and other, fouler fluids that stained their pristine white robes.

'This will not do,' Qeva said after a time.

'He needs hora magic, if he is to survive,' the other Bride agreed. She looked at Melan. 'Take him to the catacombs.'

Melan nodded, and she and Inevera heaved at the poles of the stretcher that hung limp at the sides of the operating table. The warrior easily outweighed the two girls combined, but Inevera was no stranger to hard work, and her steps did not falter. Asavi scurried ahead to open the trapdoor, and the dama'ting led them down into the darkness.

Asavi waited until Inevera and Melan had descended the steps, then pulled the door shut behind them, leaving them in perfect pitch until Qeva produced her glowing bit of demon bone, lighting the way to a stone chamber with another operating table. There was a steel door cut into the rock wall, and Qeva took a key from around her neck and opened it, revealing what looked like an assortment of coal lumps and blackened bones. Alagai hora. She selected a modestly sized lump and closed the door with a click as the locking mechanism re-engaged.

'Suction,' Qeva said, and Melan fetched a device of tubes and bellows, operated by a foot pedal. Inevera pumped the pedal evenly as Melan inserted one of the tubes into the warrior's open wound, siphoning the blood into a glass chamber.

The dama'ting cleaned the edges of the wound, first clearing the blood and then shaving the surrounding area. As they worked, Asavi prepared brushes and a bowl of ink.

'Inevera, step close,' Qeva said. Asavi took her place at the pedal, and Inevera approached the Brides, taking care to stay out of their way.

Qeva did not look at her as she spoke. 'First, the siphon ward, drawn at the north edge of the wound.' She dipped a brush in the ink and drew a strange symbol. Inevera watched intently, expecting the ink to glow, but there was no effect. 'Next, the wards for strength, endurance, and blood.' She drew quickly, moving her brush clockwise along the Sharum's flesh, putting wards at each compass point around the wound.

'Now they must be connected,' Qeva said, drawing the same ward four times in the gaps between the others, forming an octagon.

When she was done, she gestured to the other dama'ting, who held forth the lump of demon bone from the cabinet. As soon as the bone was brought close to the wound, the wards Qeva had drawn did indeed glow, flaring fiercely to life.

'The wards are not magic,' Qeva said, 'but they leach magic from the demon bone and turn the alagai's power to Everam's purpose.'

As Inevera looked on open-mouthed, the Sharum's flesh began to knit back together, the wound closing like two cupped hands of water brought together as one. In moments the wound was gone without so much as a scar. The new flesh looked paler, untouched by the sun or ever-blowing sands, healthier even than the skin around it.

'Praise be to Everam,' Inevera whispered, awestruck. 'With such magic, no Sharum need ever die again.'

Qeva shook her head sadly. 'If only it were so. Even hora magic cannot cure the most serious wounds, and such power is not without its price.' She gestured to the lump of demon bone, which was crumbling away in the other dama'ting's hand. 'Healing is the most taxing of magic, and not used lightly. The alagai may be an endless scourge, but harvesting their bones is costlier in lives than the bones can save. We must use the power sparingly.'

'And secretly,' the other Bride added sternly. 'The Sharum are already too reckless with their lives. Everam only knows what heights of idiocy they might reach if they knew we possessed such power. Better to let as many as possible heal naturally.'

Qeva nodded. 'We will keep this one from his brothers for some time, drugged senseless as he "heals".'

'But is he not needed to defend us from the alagai?' Inevera asked.

Melan laughed, and Qeva glanced her way. 'Thank you for volunteering to carry this warrior back up to the pavilion and wash bido silks for the rest of the day, daughter.'

Melan stiffened, but she bowed. 'I apologize for my disrespect, Mother.'

Qeva whisked a hand, dismissing her. 'Accepted. Take Asavi with you.'

Unsure of what to do, Inevera stood frozen as the two girls heaved the healed Sharum back up on the stretcher and carried him from the chamber. The other dama'ting led their way with a glowing demon bone.

When all were gone, Qeva turned back to her. 'Despite her lack of respect, Melan is not incorrect. It is the wardwalls, not warriors, that protect the Desert Spear. Until the Deliverer comes again, alagai'sharak is only the pride of men, throwing lives away for victories not worth their price.'

Inevera's eyes widened at the blasphemy. Soli and Kasaad risked themselves in the Maze every night. Her grandfathers, uncles, and male ancestors going back three hundred years had died in the Maze, as she had always thought her own sons would. It could not simply be the pride of men. 'Does not the Evejah tell us that killing alagai is worth any price?'

'The Evejah tells us that obeying the Shar'Dama Ka is worth any price,' Qeva said. 'And the Shar'Dama Ka commanded we kill alagai.'

Inevera opened her mouth, but Qeva raised a finger and cut her off. 'But the Shar'Dama Ka has been dead for three thousand years, and took the fighting wards to his grave. Each night, more men die in the Maze than are born each day. There were millions of us before the Return. Now, less than a hundred thousand, all because of men and their ridiculous game.'

'Game?' Inevera asked. 'How is defending the city's walls from demons in sacred alagai'sharak a game?'

'Because the walls need no defence,' Qeva said. 'Kaji built the Desert Spear with two wardwalls one outer, at the city's ancient perimeter, and one inner, to protect the oasis and its surrounding palaces and tribes. Between them lies the Maze, built on the ruins of the outer city.' She paused, making sure to meet Inevera's eyes. 'Neither wall has ever been breached.'

Inevera looked at her curiously. 'Then how do demons get into the Maze each night?'

'We let them in,' Qeva growled. 'The Sharum Ka opens the gates wide till the Maze is well seeded, then closes them again, trapping the demons in the Maze for his men to hunt.'

Inevera felt much as she had earlier in the day, when Melan slapped her. She felt dizzy, and put a hand to the wall to steady herself.

'Breathe,' Qeva said. 'Find your centre.'

Inevera did as she bade, drawing deep, rhythmic breaths and using them to steady both her limbs and her pounding heart.

The technique helped, but not enough to step away from all the anger she felt. Part of her wanted to slap every man in the city across the face. She had thought Soli and her father brave; their sacrifice great as they stepped into the Maze each night. But if the solution was to simply leave the gates closed ...

'Those ... idiots,' Inevera said at last.

Qeva nodded. 'But idiots or no, it is not the place of nie'dama'ting to make light of their sacrifice.'

Inevera remembered Qeva's punishment of Melan, and her face flushed. She bowed. 'I understand, Mother.'

Qeva's eyebrow arched. 'Mother?'

Inevera bit her lip. 'Is "Mother" not the proper form of address from a Betrothed to a Bride?'

Qeva's eyes crinkled in what Inevera took as a smile. 'No. Melan addresses me so because she is my daughter.'

The knowledge did nothing to quell Inevera's sudden tension. 'She called Kenevah Grandmother ...'

Qeva nodded. 'And so she is. I am the Damaji'ting's heir.'

Inevera felt her heart clench. Qeva had always seemed stern, but fair. Not a friend, perhaps, but neither an enemy. But now ...