Yes, he thought. I was dazzled by your rhetoric. But my tears have washed away the dazzle and I see you as you truly are. A man drunk with his own powers, inflated with his own self-importance.

I worshipped you. Girim. You were my ideal. The man I most looked up to, the man with a dream. I would have followed you into the dark.

He saw his path only too clearly now. He was the standard bearer, he had to take up the tattered remnants of Mhir’s banner and lave away the stains that besmirched it. He must carry it through the last of the light – no matter what the cost.

CHAPTER 20

Khassian’s face itched with several days’ dark growth of beard. His stomach rumbled.

God, he was starving. Why was his empty stomach the only thing he could think of?

At first he had disdained to eat the Sanctuary food. Then by the end of the second day he was so ravenous he had got down on hands and knees on the flagstones and gulped the millet porridge from the bowl like a dog.

Now he had become quite skilful at raising the bowl to his mouth, using his stiffened hands as a crude scoop. The process was inelegant – but who was to see if porridge dribbled out of one side of his mouth, if he slopped soup down his shirt?

Two meagre meals a day. Were they trying to starve him into submission?

He kicked at the door of his cell until his stubbed toes protested.

‘Get me a lawyer. You have no right to hold me here against my will. I want to see a lawyer.’

No response, as usual. He waited a while and then shouted out again.

“The Prince is my patron! I demand to send a message to the Prince!’

He had nearly shouted himself hoarse when the door was suddenly unlocked and a bearded Guerrior appeared, his broad bulk filling the doorway.

‘This is a place of silence and meditation. You are disturbing the concentration of the other Sanctuarees.’

‘I don’t care!’ Khassian snarled. ‘I demand my rights as a citizen of Bel’Esstar. I demand –’

The Guerrior struck him across the head. Khassian fell to the floor, dizzy, ears ringing from the blow.

‘H-how dare you!’

‘You will keep silence,’ said the Guerrior, slamming the door.

Khassian put one hand up to his stinging ear and brought it away, moist with blood.

The Diva had been gone five hours.

Orial went to the window of the villa and gazed out again over the street. No sign or sound of a carriage. The River Faubourg drowsed under a heavy sky.