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and leadership abilities. Among skyearls, Emperor was a democratic position, not an inherited one.
    I wondered if newlyweds felt the same way—separate beings thrust into one life together and suddenly having to share everything.
    Ciera’s priorities and motivations had begun to merge with Rekala’s, Tiaro’s and mine, leaving us all trying to sort out where that left us. My bonding with Rekala hadn’t been anywhere near as complicated, because she had come into the civilised world through me. Rekala brought few desires of her own save filling her belly and snoozing for as much of the day as she could.
    Ciera, on the other hand, had countless responsibilities to the people of Lantaid and other parts of Tanza as well as the thousands of Sleffion-kin he knew personally. My desire to get help for Jaria and Lyth had pushed its way forward in his mind, but also now I perceived a bigger picture.
    For the time being, our quest to speak with the king of Tanza was on hold. Using the waves, Ciera had contacted the Sleffion-kin of the royal couple’s chief scribe, a lady by the name of Skylien. Ciera had been assured that the king and queen would attend to us soon after our arrival in Centan to discuss the needs of Jaria and Lyth. The sense of urgency that had driven me thus far had diminished somewhat, to be replaced by a sick feeling of dread. It was too late now for trade agreements—all I could hope for was Tanza’s charity and its willingness to send a rescue party.
    Those Jarians who were enslaved were completely uncontactable—their Rada-kin were probably warded—but I had been in contact with the escapees. Namal had led the group of about 60 into the grotto and collapsed the tunnel behind them. With supplies from the emergency stash, they were travelling through the darkness, rationing the torch oil, water and food. The going was slow because more than half of the party were children, and many of the rest were elders and the sick or injured. There were also seven women with babies under a year old and two pregnant women, so the group had to pause every few hours. Though their situation wasn’t desperate, it was uncomfortable and many of them were sick with worry or grief.
    ‘They’re strong people,’ Rekala counselled me. ‘They’ll get through it.’
    ‘Krii is with them.’ Tiaro added her agreement.
    It occurred to me that Krii being with them didn’t necessarily mean they would be free of suffering and death. It meant he was with them through anything, offering his comfort and guidance. As Krii had lived in this world of pain and death, it meant he was fully aware of the needs of his people. Having suffered through some of the worst pain possible, he was able to lead the way no matter what one of his followers was going through. With a sigh, I put aside my concerns—Ciera had bidden me to wait until we went to Centan.
    I brought my attention back to the room I was in, confirming to myself I hadn’t missed anything important. Something off to the side of the dais caught my eye. I sensed Rekala sit up to get a better view as a pair of men about my age carried out a small golden cupboard with a gilded and etched glass front. Inside hung an ancient scroll with spidery black words written in straight lines from top to bottom.
    ‘This is the oldest scroll of Anzaiia we now possess,’ Duke Alger announced. ‘It was unearthed in the Chilwen ruins six months ago and has been meticulously translated and cross-referenced with our other copies of this book to produce an even more accurate version. As most of you know, a team of scribes recently completed over a hundred copies of the new Tanzan holy scrolls, including the updated interpretation of all the books written by Astas. They will be available after the service at no cost, but if you wish to contribute to their work, you are, of course, welcome to place an offering in here.’
    He held up a large silver pot, which was engraved with the sigil of the