He looked back at the Damaji, still waiting in shocked silence for his response to their petty drama. ‘It shall be as both my sons suggest. The contested land will go to Jayan, and Damajis Ichach and Qezan will have the kiss of the alagai tail.’

All the clerics save Ashan and Aleverak opened their mouths to protest, but Jardir raised the Spear of Kaji and the words died on their tongues. ‘Damaji Aleverak will administer the punishments here and now.’

He set the spear butt on the dais with a thump that made several clerics flinch. ‘Sharak Ka is upon us, Damaji. We have no more time to fight among ourselves. From now on, these matters will be handled within your closed council. Waste my time like this again, and the next whippings will be in the city square for all to see.’

Faces blanched as Jardir descended the seven steps from his dais and strode past them, following Inevera.

Jardir watched the sway of Inevera’s hips as she strode into her pillow chamber, mesmerized as always by her beauty. Like his warriors who absorbed demon magic each night in alagai’sharak, years of manipulating alagai hora had lent his First Wife the air of immortality. She moved with the confidence of a matriarch, yet despite being forty-two and having borne him several children, her curves still had the bounce of a woman on the bright side of thirty.

But only a fool would think her value lay in her beauty. Would he be where he was today without Inevera? Would he have seized power when the opportunity came to him? Would it even have come, or would he be just another illiterate dal’Sharum – or worse, a bleached skull in Sharik Hora?

And I love her still, he thought, hating himself for the weakness. There were times he dared dream that she loved him in return, but in his heart he could not trust her. Not since the Andrah.

An image of the two of them entwined flashed in his mind’s eye, Inevera beautiful and seductive as ever as she rode the fat old man, manipulating him to her ends much as she did Jardir. What did her cries of pleasure in their marital pillows mean, now that he saw how easily she feigned them?

The Damajah’s pillow chamber had been completely remodelled since Ahmann’s last visit, when he stole inside with Leesha Paper. It had given them both pleasure to mark Inevera’s special place, the lovemaking intense and passionate. If his intent had been to hurt her, it seemed he had succeeded. His Jiwah Ka had never spoken of the incident, but there had been a fire in the room the next day, destroying everything down to the stone walls. Officially, an oil lamp had accidentally tipped onto a pillow, but palace rumour had Inevera storming out of the burning room with a flame demon skull in hand. Now any hint of Leesha Paper was expunged.

For some reason, this only made Jardir love her more.

She is the Damajah. Her jealousy is a storm, and she will suffer no woman to stand above her. Did not Kaji ponder in his private diaries the same questions of his Jiwah Ka? The holy verses said she vexed him and soothed him in turn, for the Deliverer’s First Wife was his zahven.

Outside the room, there was a crack, and a cry. Damaji Qezan had forgotten his lessons on embracing pain, it seemed. This refresher was a good one. Aleverak scolded his weakness, and the next blow was borne with only a gasp. The third in silence.

Not bothering to light a lamp, Inevera moved to close the thick curtains that hung beside the room’s great windows. As she shrouded them in darkness, Jardir’s senses came alive.

The Crown of Kaji had always conveyed wardsight, much as the coins on Inevera’s brow, but ever since the fight with the mind demon when the greater powers of his crown came alive, he had begun to see more – auras surrounding people that told him their feelings and gave him insight into their motives. Suddenly the infinite wisdom of Kaji began to make sense. With the crownsight to see the hearts of his people, Jardir could be a greater leader by far.

More, he realized that he could tap into the power of the crown and spear at will. During the day, he could pull power from the ancient artefacts to heal himself, ignore exhaustion, or give himself superhuman strength and speed. It was a powerful advantage, but not without its limitations.

In the darkness, many of those limitations faded away. He was powerful like he never dreamed possible, but, with Waning approaching, he feared in his heart it was still not enough.

Inevera moved to her favoured casting pillow, and Jardir moved to take the one facing as was his habit. Outside, Damaji Ichach’s punishment had begun, and the cleric shamed himself by weeping. Jardir turned his attention from it as Inevera drew the curved blade that had cut him countless times over the years.

‘What shall I ask first?’ she said.

Her aura pulsed on the word first, and Jardir knew she had already used the dice for her own purposes. It was not a lie precisely, but it told him much. Inevera had always kept her own plans a mystery while insisting she be privy to his.

Jardir rolled his sleeve and held out his arm. She pressed the sharp point into a vein and tipped a small bowl to catch the flow. When it was full, she pressed her thumb against the vein and reached for her herb pouch.

‘There is no need,’ Jardir said, pulling a touch of power from the spear resting beside him. He lifted his arm from her grasp, showing that the blood flow had ceased and the wound closed. Inevera eyed the healing in surprise, but he gave her no time to question. ‘Let us begin with Abban’s plan to assault Docktown on first snow. Those plans must be set in motion soon, if we are to have the advantage of surprise.’

Hatred skittered across Inevera’s aura at the mention of Abban. He knew she blamed the khaffit for their rift, and did not trust him. She was eager to prove her worth by showing him the errors in the plan and offering better advice in turn.

But these were surface feelings. At her centre she was calm as she reached for the dice, spilling a bit of his blood upon them as she whispered her prayers and shook. As always, the evil glow pulsing between her fingers unsettled him.

Inevera cast the dice down and spent a few moments staring at them, studying the pattern. Jardir studied her in turn, searching her aura for hints of truth behind her coming words. She was not pleased with the results. This much was clear.

‘You cannot go back,’ she said, staring at the patterns. ‘And you cannot afford to stand still. The only way is forward. The khaffit’s,’ she hissed the word, ‘plan will spare many lives.’

‘More to stand in Sharak Ka,’ Jardir said.

‘Or oppose you later,’ Inevera noted. It was good advice, but her aura said it was spoken more in bitterness at having to admit Abban was right.

‘That is a risk I must take,’ Jardir said. ‘What else do the dice say? Tell me everything for once, and spare me the dissembling!’

Inevera’s aura flashed at him, telling him to step wisely. She wanted to impress him, but her pride was a mountain. He could not bully her as he did the Damaji.

‘Doom befall the armies of the Deliverer if they should march north with enemies unconquered at their back.’ She tilted her head, examining the dice from another angle. ‘You cannot take your forces to the Hollow without first taking Lakton, nor Angiers without the Hollow beside you.’

‘Of that, at least, I am unconcerned,’ Jardir said. ‘The Hollow tribe will follow me when called.’

An image of Mistress Leesha hovered ghostlike above Inevera, connected to her by anger, jealousy, and hate. It was a vision he had seen before, but there was genuine doubt beneath this veneer. Inevera did not believe the Hollow as secure as he did. She thought him a fool to be so trusting. ‘You will not have the loyalty of the Hollow until you kill the Painted Man. The one they call Deliverer.’