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‘Those you see here represent most of our country’s interests,’ said Bahba, as the one called Imani poured some cups of tea, offering them around. ‘We decided it would be enough to understand your king’s message, and what he asks of us.’

‘We understand,’ said Chalada, ‘you are in some border dispute with Talicia?’

‘Talicia has invaded Middren,’ said Lessa. Efana scoffed.

‘I told you they were sea raids—’

‘Daesmouth is half burned,’ Lessa continued as if he had not spoken, not missing a beat.

‘The Vittosk lands have been overrun, Benin is like to fall, and my own lands to the east of the Daes have been forcefully evacuated.’ She turned her gaze to Efana.

‘If you consulted a map, advisor, you might note those lands border the Bennites, not the sea.’

She turned towards the Mitha and held out Arren’s signet ring, marked with his sigil. ‘I have come on the king’s behalf, for aid in weapons, arms and soldiers, to fight back against the Talicians and their god.’

‘We have a l-long held agreement … hmm … to remain neutral,’ said Sosul. ‘Providing arms violates that t-treaty.’

‘We have received reports, too, of civil strife within Middren,’ said Bahba. ‘After we lent weight to your petition, there have been mass arrests, protests, dead gods, and spilled blood. Unhappy stories of a kingdom at war with itself.’

‘Your son may exaggerate,’ said Lessa curtly. Was she annoyed at being blindsided? Or that Bahba’s intervention had lost them Kissen?

‘My son has told me nothing,’ said Bahba calmly. ‘Irisia is not blind any more than it is dumb. You yourself led a coup against your king, and now expect us to supply you both with arms to use against each other.’

Lessa picked up the tea she had been given, turning the cup in her hands. ‘And yet I come bearing the king’s sigil,’ she said. ‘At his request. Does that sound like civil strife to you?’

‘We hear he burned your manor to the ground,’ said Mirim quietly.

Inara saw the flash of Lessa’s colours, bright white with anger, before they were hidden again. Inara swallowed, remembering the blackened bodies, the sound of the king’s knights, laughing.

‘Our dispute has been settled,’ said Lessa quietly. ‘Which shows how seriously we are taking this threat from the north.’

Settled, dispute is settled. Inara felt Skedi’s power working, but the Restish who had hidden colours was not looking at Lessa; he was looking at them.

Inara held his gaze, trying to blink innocently.

If she could hide her colours, perhaps she had been trained also to hear the whispers of gods, like Kissen.

‘You have thrown your lot in with a king who had chased Irisians and Restish from your land with their gods,’ said Imani. ‘Last time we provided aid, we reaped no reward, and great gods of the world were killed.’

Mirim nodded coldly.

‘You cannot have us believe you would join arms with the king out of honour and duty,’ said Chalada. ‘You wish to benefit.’

Inara was about to protest, but a warning glance from her mother stilled her. She wished Kissen was here. Her anger would have been so vivid they would all have been forced to have a taste of it.

‘Of course I wish to benefit,’ said Lessa, picking up her tea and taking a sip.

‘Do you think I desire for my daughter an inheritance of ashes? You think this is a squabble of swords? No, this is a fight for the heart of the Trade Sea, a battle against a god who desires to dominate them. A god of flame and war, greater than anything I have ever known.’

‘You speak of Hseth,’ said a councillor who had introduced herself as Narikast. Lessa nodded.

‘Nonsense,’ said Mirim. ‘Hseth was killed only months ago. Even great Yusef took three years to return to life.’

‘And we d-do not meddle in the w-w-w-ays of-f quya ,’ said Sosul, his left hand trembling in agitation, like a bird unready to alight on a bough. ‘If you h-had done the s-s-s-ame, your gods would not have t-t-urned mad.’

The others did not interrupt Sosul, nor express any impatience. They leaned on his words as they came, respectful and quiet.

‘Hseth is no normal god,’ said Lessa gently. ‘Her madness started long before the God War. You must have heard stories? They paint their own faces as if they have been burned. If that is the pastime of the lucky ones, what do you think they do to those less fortunate?’

Bahba looked to Sosul, who appeared perturbed.

‘And Mirim, it is strange that you do not know,’ said Lessa. ‘The Three great priests of Talicia ordered living beings to be sacrificed for her resurrection. Hseth is reborn as a god of war, and she comes for all of us.’

Inara found herself brimming with admiration. Her mother would neither be silenced nor spoken over; she was greater than all of their prevarication.

‘I am not here to ask for pity,’ Lessa added. ‘I am here to advise you all to fight for your future.’

The Mithrik were silent, looking at each other. Their colours had been so certain, already set when they entered, and now they danced, unsure.

‘What, then, of your king?’ said Imani.

‘What of him?’ said Lessa. ‘I speak for him.’

‘He did not tolerate our Irisian faiths,’ said Chalada. ‘Our people. Even Mitha Bahba here lived in Middren over twenty years, but was forced to leave because of his intolerance.’

‘I didn’t realise our personal lives were on the bargaining table,’ muttered Bahba.

‘Our king is a man still,’ said Lessa. ‘Mortal, and fallible. Unlike Hseth, his strength will wax and wane like the moon on water, and so will his conviction. Tell me what reassurances you need in return for your aid, and I will make them certainties. Above all, the king desires peace.’

‘Is it true …’ said Efana, ‘that King Arren fashions himself Sunbringer ?’ He smiled. ‘I heard despite all that he professes to believe, he has a god’s fire in his heart.’

Can we lie? Inara threw to Skedi.

Not with my power, said Skedi. It is too great a lie.

‘Are we to help such a man as that cling on to a throne that has almost been wrested from him?’ laughed Imani without humour. ‘Are we to sacrifice our own people, our lives, for his cause?’

‘It isn’t just his cause,’ Inara blurted out. ‘People are dying. People who need your help.’

Imani shook her head. ‘Countries are not built on pity, child.’

‘Maybe they should be,’ said Inara. ‘Maybe it would make them better.’

Lessa smiled softly, and Inara wondered if she had made her proud.

‘Hseth is a threat to all of our world,’ said Lessa. ‘Ask the archivists you now harbour, what other gods have done when they turned to tyranny. Save Middren, save Talicia, save the Trade Sea. That is what I ask.’

‘To us, you are the foreign threat, Lessa Craier,’ said Efana. ‘You and your pirate captain there.’ He nodded up at Lertes, who smiled brightly. ‘They masquerade as merchants and gentry as if that dispels what they once were.’

‘Y-yes,’ said Sosul thoughtfully. ‘You rebelled ag-g-ainst your own king, Lady Craier, and now expect us to join-n you against another nation that has already made treaties of its own.’

‘Mitha Sosul,’ came a sharp reprimand from Chalada, as Efana’s shades turned a sudden murky pink. Ah – a secret.

‘Oh,’ said Bahba. ‘Is it not true that some of our own Mithrik have entered trade agreements with the Restish and Talicia? Or is that your personal life, Chalada?’ Bahba maintained a look of innocence, but Chalada scowled, his colours turning bleached aquamarine.

Ah, agreements had been reached before they had even seen the Long Harbour, before they had set sail perhaps. Inara could feel her mother’s fury like a cold breath of air. Inara’s face flushed, but Skedi grew slightly larger, pricking up his ears.

‘May I speak?’ he said out loud.

Skedi?

Skedi had no love of Middren, nor of the king.

He had spent the past years of his life bound to her, in hiding, afraid of being hunted and killed.

He had hated being trapped, hated the world for forgetting him.

Inara knew that it was not so long since Skedi had pushed his power on her to try to free himself.

Even before that, he would have flown away from her in a heartbeat at the slightest taste of freedom.

Perhaps he still would, if he gained enough shrines. He had no reason to speak for them.

Trust me , Skedi murmured to her. Gods can change too.

He had proven himself to her over and over since his first cruel betrayal. Though their trust had been broken, it had been remade stronger, like wood that had knotted over a wound.

I trust you.

‘You m-m-may,’ said Sosul .

Skedi hopped down to the table, landing delicately between plates of food, and sat back on his haunches.

‘I wish to ask whether you were there? ’ He looked at Imani first but turned then to Efana.

‘In the God War. Did you come with the ships, into the harbour? Did you try to save people, Irisians, Middrenites, Restish, from the fury of the wild gods?’ The gathering was silent. ‘Do you remember what made them angry?’

Efana didn’t answer, none of them did.

Skedi tipped his head. ‘I was there,’ he continued.

‘Lady Craier too. The fury of the gods was not just at Middren, it was anger that their worship was fading, changing, dying in favour of the new gods of the Trade Sea. The ancient versus the new, the wild versus the profitable. They did not care whom they hurt or why, be it quya or commoner, knight, lady or king.’

It was half a lie, a remembered history that he had barely survived. His power covered it though, his will soothing the shades of the others, drawing them to believe him. Gently, gently.

‘I myself fought,’ he said. A truth. ‘Alongside the great god of safe haven.’ Mirim frowned. She put her cup down. ‘He died begging for mercy, not for himself, but for his charges.’ A lie? Even Inara wasn’t sure any more, so drawn she was to this tale he was weaving. ‘For his people.’

Skedi had them, they were listening, even the Restish.

‘Hseth is not like Yusef,’ he said. ‘I have seen her try to drag Lessa Craier’s daughter into flame for daring to stand before her.

’ Inara blushed. ‘I have seen her kill indiscriminately, cruelly, painfully. Her priests sacrifice humans, and destroy any gods that dare defy her. Is that the work of a quya? Of your god of change?’

No one answered. Mirim looked slightly ashamed, but Efana’s colours had gone puce with anger.

‘The tale of Blenraden is one of bravery,’ said Skedi, growing slightly larger so they would not interrupt him.

‘One of human strength, and gods’ compassion against madness and fury, but it is not a finished tale yet.

The battle for the heart of the Trade Sea goes on, between peace and trade, fear and faith, tyranny and oppression. This is the next part of that story.’

Inara held her breath, trying not to burst with pride.

Skedi’s will lent power to his storytelling.

He used no threats, no great falsehoods, nothing outside his nature, he simply told what he knew, and pretended what he didn’t.

They knew he was a god and could exert that influence, and perhaps they could resist it, but they could not resist the sound of his voice, the certainty in his proud stance.

‘I am a god of people,’ said Skedi. ‘Of little lies, little hopes, little stories. Middren has not been kind to me, but its people have. A godkiller has helped me, a child has saved me, a knight has cared for me.’ He looked at Bahba.

Her expression was unmoved, but she knew of whom he spoke.

‘There is hope still in the land and hope still for its king. But if you avert your eyes from Middren now, the story told of Irisia, and Restish, will be of cowardice.’

Aslani swallowed, looked hopeful, glancing sideways at Sosul, then Narikast and Chalada. The latter, at least, seemed moved, his cheeks flushing, his colours soothed from aggressive stabs to a softer, deep violet.

At last, Efana moved, sitting up, making them all aware of his presence. Then he smiled. ‘A wonderful yarn that is,’ he said, picking up a small pastry. ‘But treaties are treaties. And if Irisia moves in favour of Middren, their part in it will be broken.’

He stood, popping the sweet in his mouth, and Mirim stood with him, then Imani and Chalada reluctantly got to their feet.

No one protested, no one denied them. Efana’s colours spiked around him bright and glistening, oddly playful, victorious.

The meeting was over, the unspoken threat of Irisian enmity hanging over them.

Inara dragged her eyes away, breathed in a shaking breath and shared a look with her mother. Skediceth’s wings dipped in disappointment. The Mitha would not help them. Their work had been for nothing.

It was only then that Inara deciphered what the colours might mean. So insistent, almost like burning.

Like violence.