The Commissaire raised his hand to silence him.

‘Amaru Khassian, you are charged with a serious crime: the moral seduction of the young woman, Orial Magelonne.’

‘Moral seduction! What manner of crime is that?’ Khassian stared at the Commissaire incredulously. ‘And who brings this charge against me?’

‘Let the plaintiff come forward,’ said the Commissaire in disinterested tones.

Jerame Magelonne stepped out of the shadows. He moved like a sleepwalker, his eyes staring staright ahead at the Sulien coat of arms.

‘Magelonne?’ Khassian whispered. Magelonne still stared fixedly at the coat of arms.

‘Jerame Magelonne, do you bring this charge on your daughter Orial’s behalf against Amaru Khassian?’

‘I do,’ Magelonne said in a low voice. ‘I took this man in when he came to Sulien, a fugitive from Allegondan justice, I healed his wounds. And how has he repaid me? By ruining my daughter’s life.’ Magelonne’s eyes, glazed with tiredness, focussed on Khassian. ‘By driving her to the point of distraction.’

‘No!’ cried Khassian. ‘It’s not true! I never wished her harm, I –’

‘The accused will remain silent until spoken to,’ said the Commissaire coldly. ‘Dr Magelonne, you say this man is a fugitive from Allegondan justice. Is there any other here with evidence to support those claims?’

‘Yes,’ said a voice. A woman’s voice.

Khassian gazed wildly around, seeking out the speaker. She had been standing behind Jerame Magelonne and now she came forward. She was dressed for travel in dark riding garments.

‘Your name?’

‘Fiammis, Contesse of Tal’Mont and Reial. I speak as the official representative of the government of His August Highness Prince Ilsevir of Allegonde.’

Fiammis. Now Khassian understood. Acir Korentan had returned to Bel’Esstar – but in his place this clever agent had contrived Khassian’s arrest. He should have heeded Korentan’s warning. And now, now it was too late.

‘This man, Khassian, is wanted by the courts in Bel’Esstar. I have a warrant for his extradition.’ She drew a paper from the breast of her jacket and laid it on the table before the Commissaire.

‘I do not recognise the courts of Bel’Esstar!’ said Khassian, starting forward. The constables caught hold of him by the arms and pulled him back. ‘I am a musician, persecuted for my beliefs. I have committed no crime – neither here, nor in Bel’Esstar. I request asylum in Tourmalise.’

The Commissaire had been reading Fiammis’s warrant; now he handed it to the clerk who began to copy it into his ledger.

‘It’s too late to request asylum,’ he said. ‘The extradition papers are in order. The matter is out of my hands.’

‘Wait!’ Khassian cried as the constables placed their hands on his shoulders. ‘Dr Magelonne! Don’t let them do this to me! I can help Orial. I want to help her! Please – make them listen.’