‘Oh, don’t worry. I’m not here to assail your virtue.’ She rose to her feet; in the cramped little room, there was barely any distance between them. ‘I know it is unassailable.’ Her voice was dry, mocking him. ‘Your reputation is safe – the landlady didn’t catch sight of me.’

‘Why have you come?’

She turned away from him, trailing her finger-tips over the table, the wooden bedhead…

‘Just the barest necessities. A hard bed, a table, a chair.’ She lifted the knotted scourge from the case which he had left beneath his bed and turned it over in her hands. ‘What are you punishing yourself for, Acir?’ Her fingers stroked the handle of the scourge suggestively.

He blushed and reached out to take it from her.

‘I must ask you to leave, Fiammis.’

She had obviously been through all his possessions. But what had she been searching for?

‘Don’t you want to hear the message I’ve brought you from Commanderie headquarters?’

‘The message?’ Acir said. He had no desire to prolong the encounter. To be so near to her again was torment enough.

‘Girim nel Ghislain wants to see you. In Bel’Esstar. Do I need to elaborate?’

‘Elaborate,’ he said shortly.

‘You haven’t fulfilled the task he set you, Acir. So you are recalled to Commanderie headquarters.’

‘And you?’ he said, frowning. ‘He hasn’t sent you here merely to relay a message.’

She looked up at him; her cornflower eyes hard, bright as jewelled enamel.

‘I am to replace you.’

‘You!’ The implied criticism wounded him deeply. Girim nel Ghislain no longer trusted him. How had he come to fall from favour so fast?

‘Until you have received new instructions from the Grand Maistre. Whatever they may be,’ she said, smiling again. The smile which he had once found so bewitching now seemed charged with menace.

‘Your authority?’ he said coldly formal, hand extended, palm upwards.

She slid her fingers into the soft cleft between her breasts and drew out a token and placed it on his outstretched palm. He tried to stifle a shiver as he realised the token was still warm from the heat of her body. He looked down and saw the crimson rose of the Order of the Rosecoeur enamelled on the metal token, weeping its jewelled tears of black blood.

The badge of the inner circle of the Commanderie.

Without a word he returned it to her.

*

Orial could hear Dame Jolaine puffing as the Antiquarian followed her down the steep path into the Hall of Whispering Reeds.

‘I’m afraid I must be a little out of condition. Give me a moment or two to get my breath.’

Orial held her lantern high to illuminate the border of painted reeds. Jolaine hobbled up to the wall and, head on one side, began to copy down the hieroglyphs with swift, rapid pencil strokes.