His gaze continued to rove along the wall, until it stopped on something else inexplicable. There were several pegs in the wall, from which hung what appeared to be lengths of shining copper chain, each coiled up like a whip or a harness. In this place, where there was little to look at but bare walls and iron bars, the chains sent a shiver down his spine.

Unable to sit or stand still, he resumed pacing his cell as his worried thoughts turned to one topic after another. This place felt old and alien. He wondered if it was built by the ancient Aleutheans.

Hearing voices, he looked up.

Palemon entered with a woman at his side. Dion remembered Zara, the sorceress who had allowed him to go free. She carried a staff with a glowing circle of gold on the top, filling the shadowed chamber with light. The disfigured magus, Tarik, followed behind them. And then, supported between them, two soldiers dragged a slumped, bound woman.

Dion rushed forward, gripping the bars. ‘Isobel!’

She lifted her head, looking harrowed. Her crimson chiton was torn and travel-stained, her blonde hair in disarray. The sight of her made him want to scream, or roar with rage. Kyphos hadn’t been lying. If Dion didn’t do what they asked, they would kill her.

‘Dion, what’s happening?’ Isobel said hoarsely. ‘Why are they doing this?’

‘Isobel, listen to me. I’m going to get you out of here. I’ll find a way. How is . . .’ He recalled that Kyphos knew. ‘How is the child?’

Isobel started to cry. Dion grabbed at the collar around his neck, pulling it hard, making the iron cut into the skin of his throat, wanting nothing more than to rip it off and change his shape.

‘They killed Father.’ She spoke in between sobs. ‘Please, Dion . . . I don’t want to die.’

Dion drew in a sharp breath. He glared at Palemon. ‘Be strong, Isobel. I promise you I’ll do everything in my power to get you home—’

‘Enough.’ Palemon cut the air with his hand. Approaching the bars, he scowled at Dion. ‘As you can see, your young bride is alive. Do as we say and she won’t be harmed. Zara, perhaps a demonstration.’

Standing beside Palemon, Zara turned and nodded at the scar-faced magus. Lifting his staff, Tarik touched the iron claw to the bare skin of Isobel’s arm, before glancing at Dion to make sure he was watching.

‘No—!’ Dion gripped the bars.

Tarik’s eyes narrowed and the iron claw flared up brightly. The metal glowed like a red-hot poker, and Isobel screamed, writhing in the grip of the soldiers as she tried to pull away. Her skin sizzled and the smell of burning flesh wrenched at Dion’s guts, making him feel sick. Wisps of smoke rose where the iron made contact with her arm.

‘Stop!’ Dion shouted. ‘Stop it!’

‘That will do,’ Palemon said.