The Hall of Whispering Reeds echoed to the voices of Cramoisy Jordelayne and Celestion Valentan. Khassian stood behind Azare’s shoulder, following the score.

Orial sat close by, hugging her knees to her, listening.

The sight of her face, transfigured by an intense delight, caught Khassian’s attention. She seemed utterly absorbed in his music.

And was it a trick of the lantern-light – or had the colours in her eyes deepened, intensified? She had been such an awkward, sallow chit of a girl when he had first encountered her, bespectacled and gauche. Now her gaucheness seemed nothing more than a charming shyness.

Cramoisy and Valentan reached the end of their duet – and the keyboard notes suddenly came to a stop.

‘What’s the problem?’ Khassian asked.

‘We have no one to sing the Angel,’ Cramoisy pointed out. ‘Why you had to write it for a boy treble when we have no boys –’

‘Orial can sing it,’ Khassian said.

‘Me?’ she said, startled. ‘But I can’t sing. I –’

‘You transcribed the notes. You can sing.’

Valentan handed her the manuscript; Khassian saw her hands tremble as she took the sheets.

‘Two bars from the cadence,’ Azare said.

Orial missed the cue.

‘Sorry,’ she whispered.

‘Two bars,’ Azare said, starting again.

This time she caught the cue – just – and in a thin, true voice began to sing. Khassian closed his eyes. He could hear her fear – she could barely sustain the longer notes, dying away into a whisper. But there was an ethereal quality to her singing that sent chills through his body. For a moment he believed he was listening to a voice from another world –

The soft light of the lanterns reflected the rainbow shadows in her eyes. Ripples of iridescent notes spread through the hall, a shifting spectrum of sound, as the song reached its climax… and final cadence.

‘Forgive me.’ She cast down her eyes, blushing. ‘That was awful. So many silly mistakes.’

‘No,’ he said, dazed. ‘It was – different. Maybe I’d better rethink my original concept. Maybe a girl’s voice… Maybe yours…’

The eyes softened, glimmered silver-rose.

‘Me? Sing the Angel?’ She clasped her hands together, thrilled as a little child who has been given an unexpected present. Her pleasure touched him; he was so used to seeing singers fight each other over roles they felt to be rightfully theirs.

‘Go practise with Azare,’ he said. She seized the sheets and ran back to the keyboard.

The Diva drew near; his lips tightly pursed, his eyes narrowed, purposeful.

‘You’re making a mistake, Amar.’

‘She will in no way rival you, Diva,’ Khassian said, still watching Orial as she repeated the first phrase with Azare.

‘That’s not what I’m saying.’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘I’ve taken a liking to the girl.’ Cramoisy snapped open a pocket mirror case and re-adjusted his beauty spot, a tiny crescent of black velvet. ‘I feel responsible for her.’

‘This is most unlike you, Diva.’