She told herself that they could not leave her there to rot for no reason. Not for ever. And yet, her fears answered, when they do come. . . That thought filled her with an even greater dread.

The iron clank of the door and the grind of rust-bound hinges was the first she knew of it. The flare of torches blinding her for a second. She screwed her eyes closed. When she opened them again, she saw for the first time the cell they were keeping her in – a gloomy cube of black stones with a smear of green mould across their surface – and the men who held her.

Four of them – two tall sentinels, their white tunics and green cloaks absurdly clean in this filthy place. Then two other men, shorter, stockier, with close-cropped hair and dirty tunics that fell to their knees, and grimy, hairy feet in slime-fouled sandals. One carried a large bucket of water, the other a small bench. No one said a word. Hanging grimly from her chain, she watched the sentinels take up position either side of the little doorway. And then the fifth man entered.

Lord Katāros.

It was odd seeing him. She had not once thought of the eunuch in all the time they had held her here, and yet. . . something in her recognized him. Recognized that all that while, this was his domain.

He was dressed differently. In place of his brilliant white robes, he wore a long dark cloak with its hood thrown back. His long sweep of hair was pulled into a single tail, bound to its tip with gold rings that caught the light of the flickering torches.

‘Far from home, are we not?’ the eunuch said in Norse.

‘Why are you keeping me here?’ she replied in Greek, her voice a croak.

‘Has no one told you?’ he asked, switching to her choice of tongue.

‘No.’

‘A terrible oversight.’ Yet he offered no further explanation. His painted lips smiled. ‘Perhaps they were waiting for you to tell them.’

‘Tell who?’

‘Tell anyone. Tell me. Tell God.’ A sliver of chuckle escaped his pale throat. ‘Confession.’ Slowly he circled around the back of her, passing so close she felt a ripple of dead air in his wake. ‘Confess your sin, my lady. The priests say it is very cleansing. Unburden the shame on your heart. We are listening.’

‘What shame?’ she croaked. ‘What sin?’

‘The All-Seeing God sees the heart. He sees the truth of a person. There is no hiding. Come now – of what are you guilty?’

A chill ran through Lilla’s blood. What was this game he wanted to play? Hide-and-seek? Yet was she the one hiding or seeking? And if seeking, what was she supposed to find? ‘I may be guilty of many things. But nothing deserving of this treatment.’