Rage turned towards him. 'I already have, boy. He is Cara's father, and because of him a child I loved killed herself.' He patted Bane's shoulder. 'The circumstances are different, I know. He did not set out to kill Palia, but the result was the same. I lost someone I loved. So did you.'

'I'll forgive him', said Bane, his voice shaking with anger, 'the moment he lies dead at my feet.'

Rage fell silent and the carriage moved slowly up the hill. A servant opened the wrought-iron gates before the villa, and the driver picked up the pace along the gravel path, hauling on the reins outside the main entrance. Rage paid him, and the two men strolled inside.

Cara came walking out to meet them. 'Why are you not at school?' asked Rage, taking her into a hug, and kissing her cheek.

'It is Mid Term, Grandfather. Are you not pleased to see me?'

'Always,' Rage told her. She swung to Bane.

'And what about you, tribesman?' she asked him.

Bane smiled and looked at her. She was wearing an ankle-length blue silk gown, gathered at the waist by a wide belt of grey leather, stitched with golden wire. Her yellow hair was tied back, save for two ringlets at her temples.

'You are looking beautiful, princess,' he said, offering her a bow.

'No-one calls me princess now. That's a child's nickname,' she scolded him. 'You think me a child?'

'Far from it,' said Bane, keeping his gaze from her full breasts and the curve of her hips. 'Welcome home, Cara.'

'Walk with me in the garden,' she said, advancing on him and hooking her arm into his.

'It used to be my arm,' grumbled Rage. Cara grinned at him.

'I adore you, Grandfather, but there is something I want to talk to Bane about.'

Lanterns had been hung on iron poles along the garden path, and the two young people walked slowly towards the circular fountain at the rear of the house. 'Well, what is your news?' asked Bane.

Cara glanced back. 'Let me show you something,' she said, moving off to stand beside a yellow rose bush, which was covered in blooms. 'But first you must promise not to tell anyone.'

'I promise,' he said.

Cara knelt before the rose, scanning the flowers. 'This one,' she said at last, pointing to a fading bloom, its stalk bent, its petals falling. 'Come and look.'

Bane knelt beside her. Cara cupped her hands around the bloom and closed her eyes. Bane watched for a moment. The rose stalk stiffened, the bloom lifting. Slowly the dying petals swelled, as if with new life. When Cara removed her hands the rose stood proud, and its scent was magnificent.

'A clever trick,' said Bane. 'How is it done?'