'Stop pacing, Rojer,' Leesha said. 'You're making my head hurt.' Indeed, the motion of the Jongleur's garish motley had set off a throbbing behind her right eye. She worried her temple with the heel of her hand.

Ahmann had invited them to breakfast at his table before they joined the caravan back to Deliverer's Hollow. Leesha assumed he meant at dawn, the traditional time for breakfast before a long journey, but the Krasians seemed to be dragging their feet. They had been left waiting in one of the receiving rooms for hours.

After the first hour, Rojer produced his fiddle and began to play, but as always his emotions came through in the music, a piercing melody that reminded Leesha of nothing more than fingernails on slate. She had asked him to stop, but it was too late. She felt her sinuses constrict. No stranger to the feeling, Leesha knew a headache cycle was beginning.

She had known headaches her whole life. Sometimes the pain and nausea lasted an hour. Other times it would come and go for a week or more, like rain in springtime. Most of the time the aches simply made her irritable, and many were fended off with easily mixed remedies and avoidance of triggers. Other times, Leesha had a choice between blinding pain or such powerful medicine that she was delirious for hours. On the worst and thankfully least frequent occasions, there was nothing to do but find a private place and weep.

The cycles worsened as she grew older and took on more stress and responsibility, and were regular visitors by the time she became Herb Gatherer of Deliverer's Hollow. Now, in Everam's Bounty, surrounded by their enemies, it was a near-constant state, like a long winter with no sign of spring.

She wasn't alone in her discomfort. Tension was thick in the air as the delegation from Deliverer's Hollow waited on this last formality before they could begin the long trek home. Her father, Erny, had stood and strode urgently to the privy room seven times in the last hour, and he blushed furiously as her mother harangued him about it.

'It ent natural, Ernal, piddling in drips and drops. You should have Leesha examine you.' Elona was across the room, but Leesha's sense of smell would put a wolf to shame when a cycle was upon her. She caught the scent of her mother's perfume, and it nauseated her. The pressure in her skull increased.

Like everyone else, the Cutters pretended not to hear. Wonda, who fancied herself Leesha's bodyguard, sat hunched forward in a chair much too small for her massive frame. Her giant warded bow, unstrung, was slung with her quiver of arrows over the chair back, and a heavy knife hung at her belt.

Big enough to wrestle strong men to the ground, Wonda Cutter was just sixteen, and when she was nervous, as now, she rocked slowly back and forth, tracing the demon scars on her face with her fingers.

Gared Cutter, close to seven feet tall and thick with muscle, was the only one in the room built on Wonda's scale, though they were only distantly related. Bored and with nothing to kill, he was attempting to carve a wooden horse, but his massive hands perfect for throttling a downed wind demon were unsuited to the careful work. He put too much pressure on the knife, and for what felt like the hundredth time the blade skipped from the wood and nicked his hand.

'Corespawn it!' He stuck his bleeding thumb in his mouth and made as if to throw the bit of wood, but Leesha raised an eyebrow at him, and he restrained himself. She immediately regretted the gesture, minute though it was, as a stab of pain struck her eye.

Rojer rounded on her. 'Can't pace, can't fiddle. What can I do, Your Highness?' Everyone looked up at that. Leesha wasn't known for tolerating that tone even in her best moods.

But the last thing Leesha needed at the moment was an argument. There was still hope to blunt the attack, and every heated word would halve her chances. She took a dose of headache powder with a sip of water from her mixing flask. The liquid splashed in her empty stomach, making it roil with a mix of hunger and nausea. The last thing Leesha wanted was food, but if she didn't eat soon, it would be all the worse.

She cursed herself silently for passing on the tea and pastry Abban's wives had put out that morning in the Palace of Mirrors, but she had just cleaned her teeth, and wanted her breath fresh when she greeted Ahmann. His invitation was for breakfast, a last meal before their journey began, but the sun was already high in the sky.

Idiot girl, she heard Bruna say in her head, chew a mint leaf next time. Leesha knew her old mentor's spirit was right. She fumbled in the pockets of her apron for something to eat, but for all the thousand and one medicines she could brew from their contents, she did not have so much as a nut.

Rojer kept glaring at her, and she suppressed the desire to snap at him. 'I'm sorry, Rojer. I'm as frustrated as you. At this rate, it will be past noon before we're on our way.'

'If they let us go at all,' Rojer said. 'Every minute we're kept waiting makes me all the more sure I'm going to end up in a dungeon with my stones on a chopping block by sunset.'

Rojer had good reason to be afraid. Ahmann had sent his eldest daughter Amanvah a full dama'ting and his niece Sikvah to Rojer as potential brides some weeks past. The two, selected by Inevera, had proven to be spies, pretending not to speak Thesan when in fact they were fluent, and attempting to poison Leesha when she threatened the status quo in Everam's Bounty.

Nevertheless, and much to Leesha's annoyance, Rojer had allowed himself to be seduced by them, bedding Sikvah while Amanvah coaxed them on. Since that night he had been on edge, wondering if at any minute the Spears of the Deliverer would come and take him away for despoiling the girls without first agreeing to marry them.

'Perhaps you should have shown some self-control,' she said.

'Like you should tell,' Rojer said.

'And what is that supposed to mean?' Leesha asked.

Rojer's face became one of such comic incredulity Leesha almost laughed, but for the lash of words that followed. 'Do you honestly think there isn't a person in this room, this palace this city, even who doesn't know you've been sticking Ahmann Jardir?'

Leesha closed her eyes and took a breath. 'I made a calculated decision with Ahmann, pondering all the variables. Your calculus was done solely with your cock.'

'Calculus?' Rojer laughed. 'I grew up in a brothel, Leesha, I know all about that sort of maths.'

'That is enough, Rojer!' Leesha's temper flared, and a bright ball of pain flared hot in her skull, giving her strength as she surged to her feet.

But Rojer refused to back down. 'Or what? I'm getting tired of your holier-than-thou attitude, Leesha. You're not the Duchess Mum of Angiers. I don't have to do as you say, and I won't have you acting better than me after whoring yourself to the demon of the desert.'

Gared rose to his feet, pointing at Rojer with his carving knife. 'Can't have you talking to Leesha like that, Rojer. Painted Man said to keep you safe, but I'll scrub your mouth with soap, you say that again.'

A knife spun into Rojer's hand. 'Try it, you backwoods bumpkin, and you'll have a knife in your eye.'

Gared blanched, and then his face narrowed into the look of an angry predator. Wonda had her bow strung in an instant, arrow nocked and ready. 'You throw that knife, and I'll-'

'Stop it, all of you!' Leesha shouted. 'Wonda, put up your bow. Gared, sit back down.' She whirled on Rojer. 'And you, mind your ripping manners and remember that my "whoring" may be the only reason your stones remain attached!'

'Leesha Paper!' Erny barked, and all eyes turned. Erny was close to sixty, much older than his wife, but he looked older still. He was thin, with only a few wisps of grey hair atop his head. He wore wire-rimmed spectacles and his pale skin was almost translucent. A moment ago his head was down, looking ill as Elona harped at him, but now he met Leesha's gaze and his eyes were sharp. 'Is that how I raised you? You demand respect, and that's your due, but you give it in return and tell honest word.'

Leesha felt her face go cold, and for a moment her headache was forgotten. Her father didn't speak up often, and he took that tone even less, but when he did there was nothing for it but to obey, because he had the right of things.

'I'm sorry, Rojer,' she said. 'I have an empty stomach and a splitting headache and I was out of line. The whole reason they sent those girls to you in the first place was because they think you can pass on your talent for charming demons to your sons. Not much chance of that if they kill you, or take your stones. If you were some khaffit or chin off the street caught sleeping with the Deliverer's niece out of wedlock, you might have to worry. But after Inevera made such a show of Sikvah not being a virgin, I think it's safe to say this was planned from the start.'

Rojer cocked his head. 'What, like a trap?'

Leesha smiled wanly. 'One you fell right into. The question is, what will happen now that it's sprung?'

Elona snorted. 'May be they'll lock you in a harem for the rest of your life, breeding and training them an army of little fiddle wizards.'

Gared roared a laugh, slapping a gigantic paw on his knee. 'Beats cuttin' wood all day, ay?'

Rojer did not seem to share his enthusiasm, paling and beginning to pace again. He rubbed his chest, where his family medallion rested safely beneath his shirt.

'Why is everyone ignoring the obvious answer?' Elona said. 'Idiots, you and my daughter, both. Just marry them, you nit.'

'Even if I wanted to,' Rojer said, 'they'll expect a dower worthy of them. I have nothing to offer.'

'The only thing they want from you is your seedpods.' She grabbed a handful of material at the crotch of her seated dress and gave it a meaningful shake. 'You have a power no one has ever seen or heard of outside a Jak Scaletongue story, and they want to know if you can breed it. Jardir told you as much when he offered to find you brides in the first place. And who knows? Maybe he's right, and it's something in your blood that lets you charm demons. Can't hurt to check.'

'I couldn't ...' Rojer said.

But Elona didn't relent, her voice a lash that made the pain in Leesha's head flare. 'Couldn't what? Accept the best marriage offer anyone's ever heard of? Jardir is rich and powerful beyond belief. Sit next to me and shut up for ten minutes alone with Inevera and the girls, and you can have it all. Lands. Titles. Peasants to tax and rule. More gold than a Milnese mine.'

'Stolen gold,' Leesha said. 'Stolen people. Stolen lands.'

Elona waved a dismissive hand. 'Everything's stolen in the end, land most of all. Those people it was taken from ent getting it back in any event, and Rojer'll be a better lord than some Krasian.'

She turned back to Rojer. 'And let us not forget daily bed rights to two beautiful women. Creator! They'll even help you pick more! Do you think offers like that come every day? Believe me, boy,' her eyes flicked to Erny, just for an instant, 'they don't.'

'I-' Rojer began.

Elona cut him off with a cruel grin. 'Or do you prefer boys? Ay, maybe that's why you chase my unattainable daughter instead of more willing lasses. No shame if you want a man to bend you now and again, but you should still accept and put a pair of brats in those girls. Just close your eyes and picture Gared for the deed.'

'Ay, now!' Gared cried.

'I don't prefer boys!' Rojer snapped.

Leesha leaned forward, massaging her temples. 'If I don't eat soon, I may scream.'

'Sharum break their fast late,' a voice said, and Leesha turned to find Abban standing in the doorway. 'It comes from sleeping in after staying up all night killing demons. But fear not. I will escort you to the Deliverer shortly.'

Leesha wondered how much he had overheard as the fat khaffit hobbled over to her on his camel-headed crutch. Wonda tensed as he reached into his robes, but Abban bowed slightly to her, pulling his hand free to show he held only a ripe red apple. Leesha knew then he had heard everything. She wouldn't put it past Abban to have engineered the entire delay, just for the chance to listen in.

'Thank you.' Leesha took the apple and immediately bit into it, the first delicious wet crunch as welcome a medicine as any in her herb pouches. Like smell, her senses of taste and touch were heightened during an attack, and she closed her eyes to savour every chew.

'Remember, mistress,' Abban said in a low tone the others could not hear. 'You may be a creature of calculation, but Ahmann is one of passion. His blood tells him right from wrong, and he reacts immediately and without remorse. It is a trait that serves him well as a warrior and leader of men, I imagine.'

'What of it?' Leesha asked.

'It means the Deliverer believes that one day, you are fated to marry him. That it is Everam's will. He may let you go now, but he will never stop pursuing you.

'As for you, Jongleur,' Abban continued, raising his voice and hobbling Rojer's way, 'I would worry less about the Deliverer and Damajah, and more about Hasik. If he learns you have lain with his daughter without marrying her honourably, he will consider it rape. The moment Ahmann turns his gaze elsewhere, he will return it tenfold on you, and your little knives might as well be silken kerchiefs, for all they will hinder him.'

Rojer's mouth fell open, and he clutched for his medallion again. 'Hasik is Sikvah's father?' They knew Jardir's brutal, hulking bodyguard well.

'That's if Hasik finds out, Rojer,' Leesha cut in, 'and he won't. Don't let Abban scare you.'

The khaffit shrugged helplessly. 'I speak only truth, mistress.' He bowed. 'Variables, for your calculus.'

'Give them all, then.' Leesha took another bite of her apple. She was close to the core now, nibbling it down to nothing but seed and stem. 'We both know it's not in Sikvah's or Inevera's interest to tell anyone. Evejan law forbids women to bear witness to rape. Ahmann would have to take Rojer's word over theirs, and even if he didn't, the admission would mean Sikvah's death as well.'

'Honest word?' Rojer asked.

'Disgusting, but true,' Leesha said.

'Evejan law can be flexible where the blood of the Deliverer is involved, mistress,' Abban said. 'Consider the insult of refusing the girls as unworthy.'

'Hasik is going to kill me if I don't accept,' Rojer said, as if testing the words.

'Rape and kill, yes,' Abban agreed.

'Rape and kill,' Rojer repeated numbly.

'Bah, he's no bigger'n Wonda,' Gared said, slapping one of his great paws on Rojer's shoulder. 'Don't you worry, I ent gonna let him hurt ya, even if yur acting the fool.'

Rojer was a foot and a half shorter than Gared, but still seemed to look down at him. 'Don't shine yourself, Gared. You're used to being the biggest kid at the swimming hole, but truer is Hasik would have you on the ground in seconds.'

'And bugger you in front of the other Sharum so all see your shame,' Abban agreed. 'He is known for that.'

'Why you fat little ...' Gared lunged, reaching for the khaffit's throat, but Abban stepped smoothly aside on his good leg, then delivered a sharp rap of his camel-headed crutch to the back of the giant Cutter's leg.

Gared roared in pain and fell to one knee. Stubborn, he turned to grab again, but froze when he found the crutch pointed right at his throat, a thin blade extended from its tip.

'Ah,' Abban said, lifting the blade into Gared's beard, making him gulp. 'I haven't been in sharaj since my stones dropped, but even I recall enough sharusahk to put down a brainless oaf, and I have my tricks to keep them down.'

He stepped back, and the blade disappeared into his crutch with a well-oiled click. 'So listen to me when I offer you wisdom. When Hasik comes to my house without Ahmann to hold his leash, I bow and stay out of his way, no matter what, or who, he does. That one is a killer of killers, and I have seen many. Heed Drillmaster Kaval and you may one day be his match, but it is not this day.'

He looked at Rojer. 'Learn from your Mistress Leesha. If you do not wish to accept the girls, delay.'

'How?' Rojer asked.

Abban shrugged. 'Say your custom is to be ... promised, you say?'

'Promised,' Rojer agreed.

'Say your custom is that you be promised for a year, or that you must first compose some great work of music to bless the day. Say you will not marry until you learn the Krasian tongue, or until the first day of spring. It does not matter what you say, son of Jessum, only that you save face for my master and the girls and give yourself time to get far away from here.'

Rojer and the others followed Abban into Jardir's huge dining hall. Sunlight streamed in from high windows, filling the room with light. The main section of the marble hall was a collection of long, low tables, surrounded by pillows where hundreds of Sharum, the elite Spears of the Deliverer as well as the personal guards of the Damaji, sat cross-legged, spears and shields at hand as they gorged themselves on bread, couscous, and spits of roast meat, served in beautifully painted pottery by boys clad only in white bidos.

Rojer gave no outward sign, walking as casually as he would through a field of flowers, but he could feel his heart beating wildly as he passed the warriors. There would be no running from this room, no trick of smoke or fiddle that could spirit them past such a host. They would leave at Jardir's sufferance, or not at all.

Abban led them through the warriors to a stair to the dais where sat the Damaji, Jardir's sons and heirs, and various other ranking clerics. There was thick carpet on the floor and warm tapestries on the wall. They sat on silken pillows and ate delicately from rich food piled upon moulded silver wares served by women clad in black from head to toe.

The clerics watched with hate-filled eyes as the Hollowers passed and ascended above them to the next dais. There was no change in his casual stride, no hint of it on his face, but Rojer felt his chest constrict as if the air were being slowly squeezed from his lungs. He knew the skill with which the clerics fought, deadlier with open hands than a Cutter with an axe.

On the next and smallest dais, though still a huge space rich with thick carpet and gilded marble, sat Jardir's own table. The pillows were embroidered in gold, like the gem-studded bowls, pitchers, and plates, which were served by Jardir's own women, many of them black-veiled dama'ting. Rojer's stomach twisted at the thought of eating at a table where almost every server was skilled in poisoning. They were all covered from head to toe, but Rojer nonetheless caught sight of Amanvah and Sikvah among them, their shapes and the graceful way they moved etched forever into his mind.

Jardir sat at the head of the table with Inevera at his right, the Damajah clad as ever in diaphanous silk that drew the eye, yet promised a painful death to any man whose gaze lingered too long. At the foot of the table sat Damaji Ashan and Aleverak, their heirs Asukaji and Maji, Jardir's first- and secondborn sons, Jayan and Asome, kai'Sharum Shanjat, and, of course, Hasik.

Despite the obvious futility, Rojer felt a mad urge to run for his life. Subtly, he slid a finger between the buttons of his motley shirt to touch the cold metal of his medallion. As he did, he felt much of his tension ease.

The medallion was the highest award of bravery from the Duke of Angiers, given to Rojer's adoptive father Arrick Sweetsong as reward for throwing him and his mother to the corelings and then later lying about it. Even Arrick had been unable to stomach that, and when he gathered his things before being expelled from the duke's palace, he had left the medallion behind even as he took everything else of value he could get his hands on.

But where Arrick abandoned him, others stood fast that night. Geral the Messenger had thrown his mother a shield, and he and Rojer's father interposed themselves between mother and child and the demons that poured through the ruin of their front door. They had died, much as Arrick many years later, protecting Rojer.

Leesha had etched the names of all who had given their lives for Rojer into the medal of valour, and it had become his talisman. It was a comfort when fear threatened to overwhelm him, but also a reminder that his remaining days were bought with the lives of everyone who had ever cared for him. He wanted to believe it was because there was something special about him, something worth saving, but in truth he had never seen much evidence that was the case.

Leesha took the pillow to Jardir's left with Rojer after, followed by Elona, Erny, Gared, and Wonda. Abban took his customary place, kneeling a pace behind Jardir, almost invisible in the backdrop.

Sikvah immediately set a tiny cup of thick coffee in front of him, and as he caught her eye, she winked at him, her lashes thick and black. No one else caught the look, and it was a warm, artful gesture that sent a little thrill through Rojer. But he had practised such looks in front of a mirror enough times not to be taken in. Amanvah and Sikvah might be fond of him, and willing to be his brides, but they did not love him. Did not know him well enough for it to be true even if they believed it.

Neither did Rojer love them. They were brilliant, beautiful creatures, but beneath the surface they were still a mystery to him.

But there was something ...

He thought back often on the night they seduced him, but it was not the lovemaking that he recalled. At least, not most often. It was the Song of Waning they had sung for him in duet. There was power in their voices. Power that Rojer, raised by arguably the greatest singer of his time, knew was rare and potent.

Inevera and Elona had done everything in their power to pressure Rojer into accepting the brides. Abban wanted him to dance around the promise. Leesha seemed to want him to turn them down on the spot, though she herself danced Abban's dance like she was in the centre of a reel.

No one seemed at all interested in what Rojer himself wanted.