Next to her, Melan snorted. ‘You have as much chance there, bad throw, as you do in beating me to the veil. Those are push’ting. Man lovers. There are said to be none finer in battle than Dama Baden’s Sharum, but they would sooner bed a goat than you.’

Asavi snickered. ‘And be better for it.’

‘Silence!’ Qeva hissed.

Cashiv and the other Sharum came before the dama’ting and bowed deeply. As they did, Soli’s eyes passed over Inevera, but though her face was bare, there was no recognition in the dim light.

‘Rise, honoured Sharum,’ Qeva said. ‘The blessing of Everam be upon you.’

Cashiv and the others straightened. ‘Everam is great. All honour and glory begins and ends with Him. Our lives belong to Him and his sacred Brides. It is the first night of Waning after winter solstice. We have come to deliver Dama Baden’s tithe.’

Qeva nodded. ‘Your sacrifice in blood does not go unnoticed by Everam, or his Brides. What gift have you brought?’

Cashiv bowed again. ‘Twenty-nine alagai, Dama’ting.’

Qeva raised an eyebrow. ‘Twenty-nine? This is not a holy number.’

Cashiv bowed again. ‘Of course the dama’ting is correct. Twenty-eight is the traditional tithe; seven sand demons, seven clay, seven flame, and seven wind. One each of the common breeds for every pillar of Heaven.’ He paused, his eyes sparkling with amusement. ‘But Dama Baden is grateful for the blessings of the dama’ting, and commanded us to lay a special trap. To honour the one Creator, we have also brought a single water demon.’

Several of the nie’dama’ting gasped. The Brides showed no obvious sign, but Inevera could read the shift in their stances as easily as if they were shouting in elation. Water demons were beyond rare in Krasia, and there were spells that could only be made from their bones. The spell to create water alone could be accomplished with a fraction of the hora.

‘Everam is pleased with your gift to honour Him,’ Qeva said. ‘How did you accomplish this?’

‘Dama Baden had us wall off a section of the Maze, removing the wards and breaking the sandstone floor that prevents alagai rising. We dug a deep pool, which the dama filled with water from his own stores, and seeded with fish and other life. It took many months, but at last, the bait was taken and a water demon took residence there. It killed one of my men and injured two others as we hauled it out in the nets this night, surviving far longer than we expected in the night air. It eventually died of suffocation, and is otherwise intact.’

The dama’ting exchanged a glance. The cost of this endeavour was not lost to them. The water alone was a Damaji’s ransom – tainted now and useless. It spoke of Dama Baden’s incredible wealth … and of a favour he sought.

Dama Baden did nothing for free.

‘This gift pleases us greatly, Cashiv asu Avram am’Goshin am’Kaji. Your honour, and that of your men, is boundless. The pleasures of Heaven will be yours forever when you pass from this life. Bring forth your wounded.’

The two most heavily wounded men stepped forth, and there was no hesitation as the dama’ting warded the skin about their injuries and drew forth small bits of hora to effect magical healing. The other men had only superficial scrapes and burns the Brides treated with more conventional means.

When it was done, Qeva turned back to the Sharum. ‘Bring the gifts into the Rendering Chamber.’

Moving with the assuredness of men who had been this way many times, Cashiv and the others began unloading alagai corpses from the cart and carrying them down through a trapdoor Inevera had never seen before, right in the entrance hall. Large punctures in the chests of the sand and wind demons told of death by stingers – arrows the size of spears, launched from wooden scorpions atop the walls. The armour of the clay demons was crushed by heavy stones dropped into demon pits. The smell of rank ichor was nauseating.

The flame demons – drowned in shallow pools – were unmarked, as was the water demon, a slimy mass of horned tentacles and sharp scales. Its mouth was enormous for its body, with row upon row of wicked teeth.

When it was done, Qeva gestured and Cashiv came to kneel before her. ‘Four questions,’ Qeva said, ‘and a boon.’

Cashiv nodded. ‘Thank you, Dama’ting. I humbly accept this gift, though we are yours to command, and act only to bring glory to Everam, not from thought of reward.’ His words had the ring of practice, more a chant than speech. Inevera understood that this meeting likely played out every year, a business transaction that had become ritual. The way everyone smoothly gathered into a ring around the scene spoke of it as well.

Qeva knelt across from Cashiv as she reached into her hora pouch. ‘Have you the dama’s blood?’ Cashiv drew forth a polished wooden box. Contained within was a delicate porcelain vial. He passed this to the dama’ting, who emptied its contents onto her dice.

‘Lower your veil.’ When Cashiv complied, she asked, ‘Do you swear now that this is the true blood of Dama Baden, and that you speak with his voice – his words and not your own – with Everam as your witness?’

Cashiv put his hands on the canvas floor of the pavilion and pressed his forehead between them. ‘I do, Dama’ting. I swear before Everam himself, in the name of Kaji and on my honour and hope of Heaven, that this is Dama Baden’s blood and I have memorized his questions precisely.’

Qeva nodded, raising her hand and causing the dice to flare with a harmless glow. Cashiv flinched in spite of himself. ‘Then ask, Sharum. The dice will know if you lie.’

Cashiv swallowed hard and drew deep breaths, finding his centre in much the same way as a dama’ting. Their sharusahk might be vastly different, but the philosophy at its core was not.

Cashiv met Qeva’s eyes, his words slow and careful. ‘What will be my greatest loss this year, and how can I profit from it?’

‘Well said,’ Qeva congratulated. ‘That was two questions last year.’ Without waiting for a response, she shook the dice in her hands, chanting as they began to glow. She threw, then studied the pattern carefully.

‘A sickness will spread through the goat herds this winter,’ she said. ‘Only two in five will see the spring, and those too weak to have much value. Tell Dama Baden to sell his stock now and buy as many sheep as he can afford.’

Cashiv bowed and asked his second question. ‘As my palanquin passed through the city a month ago, a khaffit spat upon me from the crowd. How may I find this one again, to visit justice upon him?’

Inevera knew full well what ‘justice’ the dama meant. One fool enough to spit on a dama no doubt deserved it, but it said much of Baden’s pride that he would waste such a valuable question on revenge.

Qeva showed no emotion at all as she consulted the dice. ‘You will find him in the bazaar. His stall three hundred twenty paces east of the statue of the Holy Mother near the Jaddah gate in the Khanjin district. A seller of …’

Inevera tilted her head, studying the pattern still glowing softly on the dice. Honey melon, she read.

‘Honey cakes,’ Qeva said after a moment. Inevera stiffened, looking at the dice again, positive of her reading. She glanced at Qeva, and did not know what filled her with more fear, that Dama Baden was going to torture and kill the wrong man, or that her great teacher had made an error.