‘Sulien is a spa, madame. Many foreign visitors pass through our city. The role of the Sulien Constabulary is to keep the peace. So far there has been no untoward occurrence.’ He rose, hoping she would take his cue. Her presence was disturbing him. ‘Let me assure you, madame, that you are in no danger. Write down the address of your lodgings… and I will request the constable who patrols that quarter to be especially vigilant.’

CHAPTER 15

Khassian watched the morning mists slowly drift from the roofs of Sulien to reveal a glorious day.

Yet the windows in the first-floor apartment in Mistress Permay’s house were shut to seal out the noise of the street, the clatter of barouche wheels on the Crescent cobbles, the rowdy whistling of the coachmen.

Orial sat at the escritoire, her pale face rapt, utterly absorbed in the task of transcription. Occasionally one hand would move upwards to tuck back a straying lock of hair. Yet all the while not one word was spoken, not one sound disturbed the stillness of the salon.

Khassian moved across to look over her shoulder.

‘What is this?’

This was not his opera. He did not recognise what she had been notating at all. It was utterly unfamiliar.

She shook her golden head.

He looked up from the score and met her eyes, dazzling in their iridescent glitter.

‘I – don’t understand.’

Her vagueness irritated him. He had been struggling to articulate the moment of Elesstar’s death – and she was not paying attention.

‘What in the name of hell is this?’

It was as if some other music had intruded upon her consciousness and she, unaware, had continued to notate it, nurturing the parasite within his own work.

‘I don’t know.’ She stared at the five bars, frowning. ‘I thought it was you.’

‘This is nothing like my style!’ He was angry now, insulted that she could have confused this aberration with his own distinctive musical voice.

‘I wrote down what I heard.’ She stood her ground. Bravely, for he could see the tears in her eyes.

‘Strike it out. We’ll have to start again.’

She nodded dumbly and lifted her pen to score through the alien fragment. Then he saw her – almost as if guided by a will other than her own – take the page and surreptitiously slip it beneath the others.

*

The River Avenne flowed serenely through the Parade Gardens. The mellow light of late-afternoon gilded the west-facing terraces on the surrounding hills but the riverwater was dark with secrets, untouched by the sun.

Orial stood at the railings, staring down into the water.

What am I doing here?

She could not remember walking this way, could not even remember leaving the Crescent house.