The small man considered. ‘This would be easier if he were on his back.’ His voice was low and quiet, barely a whisper. ‘And his limbs held tight.’

Abban nodded, clapping his hands loudly. The Sharach twisted their poles, throwing Hasik flat onto his back as the doors opened and a number of black-clad women entered – Abban’s wives and daughters. Many wore marriage veils, while others, like Cielvah, had their faces uncovered. More than one of them had fallen prey to Hasik’s attentions over the years.

Four of the women carried alagai-catchers of their own, and in short order they had looped Hasik’s wrists and ankles, pulling tight. The Sharum was strong as only a warrior who regularly felt the magical rush of killing alagai could be, but the women had numbers and leverage, and he was held fast, even without the Sharach. The two kha’Sharum eased tension of their nooses, that all might better enjoy Hasik’s screams and frantic, impotent thrashing as the Nanji sliced open his pantaloons.

The women all laughed at the sight of Hasik’s limp member as it was revealed. Abban, too, chuckled, knowing the presence of the women multiplied Hasik’s pain and humiliation a thousandfold. ‘This pathetic thing is what my women fear when you visit my pavilion?’

‘Dogs have tiny members as well, Father,’ Cielvah said. ‘That does not mean I wish to be humped by one.’

Abban nodded. ‘My daughter has a point,’ he told Hasik. He nodded to the Nanji. ‘Cut it off.’

Hasik shrieked, thrashing again, but it did him no good as the women held him fast. ‘I am the Deliverer’s ajin’pal! He will not let you get away with this, khaffit!’

‘Tell him, Whistler!’ Abban laughed using the mocking nickname Hasik had been given after Qeran knocked out one of his teeth for calling Abban a pig-eater’s son when they were boys in sharaj. ‘Tell the whole world a khaffit cut your manhood away, and watch as they snigger at your back!’

‘I will kill you for this!’ Hasik growled.

Abban shook his head. ‘I am of more value to the Deliverer than you, Hasik.’ He gestured to the three kha’Sharum. ‘In his wisdom, he has given me warriors to see to my protection.’ He smiled. ‘And to protect the honour of my women.’

Hasik opened his mouth again, but Abban gestured and the Sharach choked off his words. ‘The time for talk is over, old friend. We were taught in sharaj to embrace pain. I hope you took the lessons better than I did.’

The Nanji worked quickly, skilled as a dama’ting as he wound a tight cord around shaft and sack both, cutting them away and dropping them onto a plate as he inserted a metal tube to drain waste and sewed up the wound with practised efficiency. When he was finished, he lifted the plate. ‘How shall I dispose of this, master?’

Abban looked to Cielvah. ‘The dogs have not yet been fed today, Father,’ she noted.

Abban nodded. ‘Take your sisters and see that they have something to chew on.’ The girl took the plate and the other women dropped their alagai-catchers to follow her out the door, all of them laughing and talking amiably among themselves.

‘I will encourage them to be discreet, my friend,’ Abban said, ‘but you know how women are. Tell a secret to one and soon they all hear of it. Before long, every woman in the bazaar will know to no longer fear Hasik, the man with a woman’s slit between his legs.’

He tossed a heavy leather sack at the warrior, eliciting a grunt of pain as it struck his stomach with a clink. ‘Take that to the Damajah on your way back to the palace.’

Jardir followed Inevera down the winding stair leading from their private quarters to the underpalace. He had never had need to visit the underpalace – he had not hidden in the night for over a quarter century – and was mildly fascinated as they descended. Wardlight lit their way, but Jardir’s crownsight was all he needed. He could see the eunuch Watchers hiding in the shadows as easily as he could in brightest day. Their auras were clean, intensely loyal to his wife. He was glad of this. Her safety was everything.

She led him through twisting tunnels, freshly hewn from the rock, and several more doors, leaving even the eunuch guards behind. At last, they arrived at a small private chamber where a man and a woman sat on pillows, sharing tea.

Inevera pulled the door closed behind them as the couple quickly got to their feet. The woman looked much as any other dal’ting, swathed in black robes that hid all but her eyes and hands. The man was in a khaffit’s tan and pushed hard on a cane as he rose. His aura ended abruptly halfway down one leg.

Cripple, Jardir noted, not having to ask who they were. Their auras told him everything, but he allowed Inevera the niceties all the same.

‘Honoured husband,’ she said. ‘Please allow me to present my father, Kasaad asu Kasaad am’Damaj am’Kaji, and his Jiwah Ka, my mother, Manvah.’

Jardir bowed deeply. ‘Mother, Father. It is an honour to meet you at last.’

The couple bowed in return. ‘The honour is ours, Deliverer,’ Manvah said.

‘A mother need not cover her face when alone with her husband and children,’ Jardir said. Manvah nodded, removing her hood and veil. Jardir smiled, seeing many of the features he loved in the woman’s face. ‘I can see where the Damajah gets her legendary beauty.’

Manvah dropped her eyes politely, but she was not truly moved by the words, sincere though they were. Her aura was sharp, focused. He could sense her pride in her daughter, and the respect Inevera gave her in return, but nevertheless there was discomfort in the room. Jardir could see it dancing in the auras of his wife and her parents, a discordant web of anger and fear and shame and love that doubled and redoubled on itself, all of it centring on Kasaad.

He looked at his khaffit father-in-law, peering deeper into his aura. The man’s body was covered in the telltale scars of a warrior, but the wound at his knee was not from the rending claws or tearing teeth of an alagai. It was even – surgical. ‘You were once a Sharum,’ he guessed, ‘but you did not lose your leg in battle.’ The words caused a spike in the man’s aura, yielding another flood of information. ‘You lost the black over a crime. The leg was removed as punishment.’

‘How did you …’ Inevera began.

Jardir looked at her, reading the waves of emotion connecting her to her father. ‘A crime your wife and daughter long to forgive you for, but dare not.’ He looked back to Kasaad. ‘What was this unforgivable crime?’

Shock registered in Inevera’s and Manvah’s auras, but it was worse for Kasaad, who paled in the wardlight, sweat running down the side of his face. He leaned heavily on his cane and lowered himself to his knees with as much dignity as he could manage, then put his hands before him and pressed his forehead into the thick carpet.

‘I struck my dama’ting daughter and murdered my eldest son for being push’ting, Deliverer,’ he said. ‘I thought myself righteous, defending Kaji’s law even as I broke it myself with drink and behaviour that brought far more dishonour to my family than anything my son could ever have done. Soli was a brave Sharum who sent many alagai back into the abyss. I was a coward who got drunk in the Maze and hid in the lower levels where alagai seldom wandered.’

He looked up, his eyes wet with tears, and turned to Inevera. ‘My daughter was within her rights to have me killed for my crimes, but she deemed it a greater punishment to let me live with my shame and the loss of the limb I used to strike her.’