‘Sorcery?’ Calidus said. ‘What exactly does that mean?’ His mouth twitched as he spoke, a contained smile. ‘Specifically?’

‘The control of another’s mind, and their body,’ Veradis said.

He is trying to spare me.

All in the room looked at her now. She felt the desire to leave, to run from the room, to get away from their eyes. I will not feel ashamed. I fought him with all that I am. She raised her head and looked only at Nathair.

‘Mother, that is a grave accusation.’

‘Accusation? It is no accusation,’ she said, feeling her anger stir. She wished she were back in the wild with Maquin, where you faced an enemy face to face with sharp iron, and where you trusted the man at your side. There was a simplicity to that, both appealing and utterly absent in this room. ‘It is a statement of fact.’

‘Fact?’ Calidus said, frowning. ‘It is a vague accusation which is open to a multitude of interpretations. Control of your mind? So Lykos somehow invaded your mind by his sorcerous powers.’ There was a snigger to her left.

Lykos.

‘And he forced you to do . . . what?’

Fidele just stared at Calidus, at that moment felt an overwhelming hatred for the man. She forced her gaze back upon Nathair.

‘I would talk with you of this in private,’ she said to her son.

‘No, Mother. This must be open. I cannot, will not, be accused of nepotism.’

Fidele closed her eyes, bowed her head. ‘Very well then. What I mean when I say that Lykos used sorcery to control me is that he raped me.’ She looked away, swallowed, fought the tears. Saying it aloud seemed to give it a new power. She composed herself and looked back to Nathair.

Emotions swept across his face. Outrage. Anger escalating to fury. He glared at Lykos, then his head turned to stare at Calidus, who returned his gaze dispassionately. The old man said something, too low to hear, and slowly, incrementally, the emotion drained from Nathair’s face. He cocked his head, as if listening to another voice, then screwed his eyes shut, some kind of internal debate consuming him.

When he opened them he regarded Fidele with a deep sadness, mingled with something else.

Pity?

‘Oh, Mother,’ Nathair said, and she felt a glimmer of hope that he would now set things right, that justice would be done.

‘The loss of Father has hit you so much more than I ever conceived.’

‘What?’ What does he mean, why . . . ?

‘Your grief has overwhelmed you, I fear. I should never have given you the responsibility of a realm, and so soon after Father’s death.’

Fidele felt those strong walls that she had built within, layer upon layer of will and strength to protect her from the hurt Lykos had inflicted upon her beginning to crumble. She filled her lungs, slowly blew out. ‘This has nothing to do with your father’s death. Lykos—’