Atelli must have sensed Anapa’s mood, or he was still awed to discover his former master alive and wandering about in the desert, because he stayed silent as he trudged along behind them. In the still, carrying air, Anapa had to keep his voice very low to ensure only Tahl could hear him.

“Because,” he breathed the words, keeping his eyes on the nearing palace, “your instincts are unfailing.”

At least they weren’t going to die. Yet.

At the edge of the desert, the bronze-wrought gates opened to admit them, glittering in the sunlight. Anapa had heard the flurry of activity inside on approach – someone must have recognised him and started spreading the word – and he braced himself, but it was worse than expected. The courtyard was filled with more people, somehow, than ever before. Most stared and whispered improperly, their faces gripped with shock, although it was only a matter of time before…

It only took a minute or two. Once the first person sank to the floor, everyone in the vicinity followed suit so hastily, it was almost comical. No one wanted to be the last one left standing. Anapa bit back a wince as a sea of people curled up the floor all across the courtyard, their hands flat against the ground and their foreheads pressing against their hands. Behind him, he heard the scuffle of sand as Atelli belatedly remembered to do the same. In the space of a few seconds, the bustling courtyard was as still as stone, with every person on their knees except Tahl and Anapa. The only movement came from the fountains, which reliably continued to spew vibrant blue water six foot into the air. Anapa gritted his teeth, knowing from experience there was only one way to get these people to move now, but wishing like hell there was an alternative.

“Rise.” He raised his voice so it would carry across the courtyard, avoiding looking at Tahl.

The crowd came to life again, rising up onto their feet and parting as he and Tahl made their way through them, Atelli trailing behind. The number of people thinned significantly once they made it inside the cooler walls of the palace, but it was still busier than Anapa ever remembered seeing. Almost as if he’d read Anapa’s mind, Tahl raised the question. Anapa glanced back at Atelli.

“Is it a beastmoon?” He asked quietly.

Atelli’s already too-large eyes were wide as saucers. He shook his head mutely. Anapa’s forehead creased a fraction, but he was prevented from enquiring further by a voice hailing him. He turned back and regarded the approaching figure with a wariness he tried not to show.

This person didn’t bow. Lord Zetena, a high-backed politician with the manner of one who had never set a foot outside the palace a day in his life, stopped in an archway a respectful distance away and just looked at them for a moment. His calculating gaze flicked over Anapa first, before moving to Tahl with more curiosity, lingering in particular over his clothes. He might have been twice Anapa’s age, but his eyes glinted with youthful ambition.

“Lord Anapa, live and prosper in good health,” he opened in a voice which didn’t quite match the warmth of his words. “We believed you had gone with the ancestors. Atelli,” he added in a much sharper tone, “your duties await you.”

Atelli cast Anapa a nervous look before scuttling away and vanishing behind an archway. Anapa inhaled slowly, feeling his heart beating a touch faster. He’d almost forgotten what it was like, being in this place. With these people.

“You should come at once to the Great Throne.” Zetena told them, his eyes flicking between the two remaining men. Anapa noticed it wasn’t a request.

“My companion and I are weary from travel,” he replied coolly, “we shall present ourselves to the Great Throne – ”

“Immediately,” Zetena cut in smoothly. “Of course, your highness. After so long away, you will want to behold your magnificent and magnanimous father immediately.”

He watched them, his lip curling slightly. Inwardly, Anapa cursed. He’d been out of the game too long, and now he’d lost this round before it had even really started. If they didn’t go to meet the king now, Zetena would tell on them. Any hopes he might have had of being able to sneak in and out without having to see his father were shattered.

“Of course.” He was forced to answer. Zetena’s expression was so smug as he half-turned that Anapa couldn’t resist playing his ace card to flip the conversation back in his favour. “Not there, my lord,” he shifted to the left and indicated where Zetena had been about to step, his tone one of light concern. “You should avoid stepping on cracks.”

It was a made-up warning, and a ridiculous one at that, but Zetena’s face instantly lost its confidence. He stiffened, shot Anapa a wary look, and turned to lead them down a new corridor. As they followed, Anapa noticed that he avoided stepping on the cracks. He resisted the urge to smirk.

The familiar scenery, as they took the most direct route to the throne room, dampened that urge. Anapa deliberately slowed up, keeping Zetena in sight but dropping out of earshot.

“Don’t speak unless spoken to,” he muttered under his breath to Tahl, “do what I do. Keep one step behind me.”

There were a thousand more things he needed to say - don’t make eye contact, don’t use my name, don’t let them separate us - but Zetena had stopped outside an imposing set of doors. He turned to them, his smile back in place.

“Who shall I present to the Great Throne of the Canids?” He asked Tahl directly, his tone eminently polite.