When the Guerrior still stood there, hesitating, Acir climbed up on on the platform and began to set about the grim task. Reluctantly, the four Guerriors clambered up to help him.

When all three bodies were laid out beneath the gallows, Acir called the Guerriors together.

‘If anyone questions what you have done today, tell them that you were ordered to do it by Captain Korentan.’

As he turned to go back to his horse, he thought he glimpsed shadowy figures, women watching, waiting in a passageway, supporting each other, clinging to each other for comfort.

CHAPTER 21

‘Wake up.’

The darkened Meditation cell was suddenly blindingly bright with lantern-light. Dazzled, Khassian thrust up one arm to shield his eyes.

‘Wh-what do you want?’ He tried to conceal the tremor in his voice as grey-clad Guerriors threw a hood over his face and bundled him towards the open cell door. ‘Where are you taking me?’

‘No questions. Just do as you are told.’

The voice of the commanding officer was unfamiliar. Khassian began to panic. They were going to execute him.

‘But why now? I demand to know wh—’

‘No questions,’ repeated the officer curtly.

A closed carriage was waiting in the courtyard below; Khassian was pushed inside and the carriage started off. Blind, half-stifled by the thick muffling hood, he began to conjure terrifying fantasies.

Surely if they were going to execute him, they would have hung him yesterday with Saturnin, Ignace and Teriel, as an example to the other Sanctuarees?

Or was this an act of assassination to be carried out in secret, his body thrown ignominiously in a pit, never to be found? Was his fate to become just another of the many dissidents who had simply disappeared?

The carriage slowed to a halt and the Guerriors pulled him out into the fresh air. Into another building, forced to stumble up a winding flight of stairs, along another endless corridor.

A door clicked quietly shut. The hood was untied and removed from his head.

Khassian opened his eyes to see a servitor clad in the grey and white livery of the Prince’s household bowing before him.

‘Your bath is ready, Illustre. Let me help you off with your clothes.’

Khassian took an unsteady step backwards.

‘Is this some kind of a joke?’

‘Not in the least, Illustre. I am instructed by His Altesse the Prince, to assist you with your toilette.’

Khassian gazed around him. The restrained elegance of the chamber, the walls painted cloud-grey, embellished with delicate plaster mouldings in cream and gilt, the pale polished wood of the floor… all was in the refined style favoured by Ilsevir.

‘Then I’m dreaming.’

Behind a blue and white painted screen, a porcelain hip bath stood, a gentle steam arising from its herb-strewn waters. A hot bath!