‘You have a visitor. Out . . . Outside . . . On the Orange Terrace.’ He shook his head with apparent disbelief. ‘You . . . need to go.’

Dion felt his heart beat out of time at his uncle’s reaction. ‘Who is it?’

‘I’m . . . I’m sorry, lad. I’m sorry things had to turn out this way.’

Now truly alarmed, Dion left the banqueting hall and reached the Orange Terrace via the throne room. Though it was late, the fruit on the trees was bright, lit up by the flaming torches on tall poles. As always, the ocean breeze carried the smell of citrus, rustling the branches, with the backdrop of waves crashing on the shore forming a staccato rhythm.

He walked quickly, following the winding path past the stone table and continuing toward the rail facing the sea.

He came to a sudden halt.

It was a cloudy night, but he could see a woman dressed in a white chiton, standing and facing the sea. The wind was blowing her dark hair around her face and ruffling her clothing against her slender figure.

He knew his imagination was deceiving him. In a moment she would turn around and she would look nothing like the woman he thought she was.

She moved slightly, her face now in profile. Strong sensation, like pain mixed with grief, gripped a cold hand around Dion’s stomach. It couldn’t be her. Her name formed on Dion’s lips, but he couldn’t say it out loud; there was no way this was the same woman, for she was long dead. His heart threatened to leap out of his chest. Blood roared in his ears. He put a hand out, supporting himself on one of the orange trees.

She turned around to face him.

‘Dion,’ she said with a smile.

‘Chloe?’

She moved a little closer, and as the flickering light from the terrace caught her face, it no longer felt like he was staring at an apparition. It was her. She had the same almond-shaped eyes, triangular face, and wide mouth with ruby-red lips, the same sharp nose and flowing dark hair. She was real, flesh and blood. She was standing in front of him, as beautiful as ever, just a couple of paces away. He had dreamed about her, had nightmares about her death. He met her brown eyes and looked into them, and he forgot all about the sounds of the sea and the ocean breeze.

He took a step toward her. ‘Is it you?’

She came closer, moisture brimming in her eyes.