And then she remembered the dismal funeral procession to the Undercity, the still, stiff form shrouded in white silk, the lapping of the deathdark waters, the slow, sad chanting of the mourners. She remembered casting white petals on to the waters. Papa on his knees at the edge of the reservoir, a sudden scuffle, people fighting to hold him, his voice raised, crying her name to the dark echoing vaults, as if calling could bring her back –

‘Iridial! Iridial! Iridial!’

Fragments.

Fragments that did not make sense.

I will not be treated like a little child. I’m old enough to know for myself I’m old enough to talk to whomsoever I please.

She took up the schedule and set off purposefully down the corridor towards her father’s office. Hand raised to knock, she paused, hearing voices within.

She did not mean to eavesdrop. But she heard her name.

‘I wish to apologise if I have seemed somewhat abrupt, Diva. It’s just that I have the child’s best interests at heart.’

‘Child?’ A smile coloured Cramoisy’s voice. ‘She’s eighteen, Doctor. A young woman.’

‘Orial knows nothing. And I want it to stay that way.’

‘Don’t you feel she has a right to know?’

‘She is very precious to me, Diva. And I will do everything in my power to prevent any possible… recurrence. Do you understand me?’

Recurrence? Of what?

There was a silence. Orial drew away from the door, fearing she would be caught. But then she heard Cramoisy say, ‘I’m not sure I do understand you, Doctor.’

‘As soon as the Illustre Khassian is well enough to be moved, I want you to remove him from my Sanatorium. I would be grateful if you would make the necessary arrangements.’

The stillness of the Undercity wrapped about Orial like a dark shawl. At last she could be alone with her questions. But when she entered Iridial’s shrine, she saw a sheath of ivory lilies strewn on the memorial plinth. Their rich scent perfumed the dank air, Orial could almost taste their perfume on her tongue. It was too early for lilies to be flowering in the fields; these expensive blooms were as rare as those adorning the Illustre’s room in the Sanatorium. Cramoisy. He must have returned to the Undercity to pay his own tribute to the memory of his teacher.

Orial wandered around the shrine, unable to settle. Her secret place had been discovered, her privacy disturbed. After a while she reached behind the shrine plinth and lifted out the cithara from its hiding place, carefully unwrapping it.