‘You will tell me, of course, that you committed no crime? That you are innocent of all charges?’

‘My crime,’ Khassian said, feeling a stir of anger, ‘was to compose a work which dared to question the practices of the Commanderie. For this they labelled me a heretic. Have I burned down one of their shrines? Have I publicly defiled the holy texts? Have I tried to assassinate the Grand Maistre? Do you know what is really going on in Bel’Esstar, Doctor?’

Dr Magelonne shook his head. His eyes were still guarded, suspicious.

‘Those who dare to speak out against the Commanderie are rounded up and taken away to be “converted”. As a penance these converts are made to work from dawn to dusk on the building of a Fortress of Faith, the Stronghold. Girim nel Ghislain insists Mhir told him “in a vision” that this Stronghold would keep Bel’Esstar safe from the invading Enhirrans.’

Dr Magelonne’s face showed no change of expression. ‘And are the Enhirrans likely to invade?’

‘Ever since the Commanderie took it upon themselves to “liberate” the birthplace of the Poet-prophet Mhir from the Enhirrans, Girim has been predicting a holy war.’

One eyebrow rose slightly. ‘This is all… quite extraordinary.’

‘You don’t believe me?’

‘The journals have mentioned something of this Girim nel Ghislain and his growing influence in Allegonde. But war with Enhirrë…’ Dr Magelonne shook his head.

‘He is a dangerous man. He has completely bewitched Prince Ilsevir.’

‘Ah, the Prince. Isn’t he your patron, Illustre?’

Prince Ilsevir. Khassian tried to hide the brief shadow of pain that flickered across his face. Ilsevir who had betrayed him. Ilsevir who had bestowed upon him the title of ‘Illustre’ and raised him to a position of privilege at court. Ilsevir who had been so much more than patron…

‘Was my patron,’ he said stiffly. ‘Until his conversion. He insisted that I too should make a public affirmation of my belief. That I should publicly acknowledge that my opera was dissolute and recant my heresy. I could not do it.’

There was a silence in the room, a long, awkward silence. Dr Magelonne seemed to be considering what Khassian had said, shuttling a roll of bandage to and fro between his fingers. Eventually he cleared his throat and said, ‘Whilst I can sympathise with your predicament, Illustre, frankly I am still uneasy about your continuing to stay here. If these soldiers of the Commanderie –’

‘Guerriors, they call themselves.’

‘If these Guerriors are as fanatical as you make them out to be –

‘You want me to leave,’ Khassian said quietly.

‘I have my staff, my patients and my daughter to consider. It would be more appropriate for you to take lodgings in the city where I can visit you. I know of some very reasonably priced establishments… and I can put you in touch with a government official if you wish to make application for citizenship of Tourmalise.’

‘And… my hands?’