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church; that is enough for now.’ It was more than enough. He needed the support of the church, but he dreaded his men’s reaction when they realised he meant to acknowledge Imoshen as his equal. It was a delicate balance. Somehow he had to appease the people of Fair Isle, yet retain the respect of his men.
    Imoshen radiated impatience but she held her tongue for once. A small mercy. Their escort was pressed close about them and it would not help matters for his men to hear her debating with him.
    She brooded in silence as they entered the outskirts of T’Diemn. Mullioned windows glowed with welcome and the rich smell of roast meat hung on the winter air, making Tulkhan’s mouth water.
    Imoshen stiffened in his arms. ‘Stop.’
    A plump woman thrust through Tulkhan’s elite guard to clutch Imoshen’s hand.
    ‘You must come, Empress. This way.’ She ran off as though Imoshen’s agreement was a foregone conclusion.
    Tulkhan halted the horse. ‘What is it?’
    ‘Down the lane, General,’ Imoshen said, face tight with foreboding.
    Tulkhan turned his mount.
    Wringing her hands, the woman waited outside a modest two-storey house which bore the Cooper Guild’s symbol of two half-barrels.
    Imoshen pointed. ‘The new-life garland hangs on the door. The woman of the house must have given birth within the last small moon.’
    A man threw the door open and staggered out, his face a mask of grief, a hat clutched in his hands.
    ‘His hat bears the new-father’s badge,’ Imoshen whispered. ‘I dread...’ She dropped to the cobbles. ‘You, cooper, what’s wrong?’
    He cast aside his hat as he made a deep obeisance, lifting both hands to his forehead. By this Tulkhan knew he accorded Imoshen the honour of Empress, just as the woman had. Old habits died hard.
    ‘T’Imoshen?’ The cooper used the royal prefix. ‘You must help me.’
    ‘Of course.’ Imoshen threw Tulkhan one swift glance as she disappeared inside.
    Responding to her unspoken plea, he swung down from his horse.
    ‘Wait here,’ he told his men, tossing the reins to Wharrd. He paused long enough to retrieve the man’s hat. Only in Fair Isle would a man don a badge of fatherhood and decorate his house with a garland so that his neighbours could celebrate the birth of his child.
    The plump woman watched Tulkhan anxiously as he ducked his head to cross the threshold. The man’s voice carried down the stairwell to him.
    ‘Larassa gave birth to our daughter this time yesterday. I offered to stay with her, but she urged me to go to the tourney.’ A groan escaped him. ‘Why did I listen?’
    Tulkhan hung the hat on the hall peg and took the steps two at a time, but slowed as he came level with the landing. A young woman lay in a pool of blood.
    ‘No one stayed with her?’ Imoshen asked, incredulous. ‘Right after birthing, a woman is –’
    ‘I know. But all our relatives died in the war and we know few people in T’Diemn. I should not have left her!’
    Imoshen knelt to touch the woman’s neck. When her eyes met Tulkhan’s he knew there was no hope.
    ‘A woman walks death’s shadow to bring forth new life,’ Imoshen whispered. ‘Sometimes...’
    The cooper dropped to his knees, rocking back and forth. ‘I failed her. I must not fail her soul. You must say the words over my Larassa. Send for your T’Enchiridion and say the words for the dead.’
    ‘I know the passage off by heart,’ Imoshen said. ‘But you should send for the priests to do this.’
    As she rose Tulkhan noted her strained face. Imoshen carried his son. Was she thinking that soon she would be facing the trials of childbirth? The thought of Imoshen lying dead in a pool of blood was too much to bear.
    ‘My daughter.’ The cooper sprang to his feet, darting through a door. He returned with a babe so tightly wrapped in swaddling clothes that only her face was visible. ‘Does she live? I cannot tell.’
    Imoshen took the baby from him, pressing her fingers to the infant’s