‘But –’ Orial began and then subsided. She knew it was no use arguing with Papa. She would have to employ more subtle means to maintain contact with the man who had known her mother: Cramoisy Jordelayne.

‘Now what about lunch? I’ve worked up quite an appetite this morning.’

It only took a pasty and a mug of mulled ale to bribe the porter into telling her the address of the Diva’s lodgings. But Orial would have not have had much trouble locating them; a street away, she could hear the sound of vocal exercises trilling out over the rooftops.

Cramoisy had taken lodgings on the first floor in one of the most exclusive of Sulien’s crescents. The household was run by Mistress Permay who took great pride in gossiping about her aristocratic residents at the Assemblies. Mistress Permay looked at Orial with great suspicion when she asked to be taken to Cramoisy Jordelayne.

The apartment was reached by an elegant staircase of polished wood which curved upward from a marble-pillared hallway.

‘Orial! My sweet!’ Cramoisy pressed Orial to his bosom, kissing her cheeks, as if greeting a long-lost companion. ‘You’ll take tea with me? Splendid! Tea, Mistress Permay, if you please. Cream – and sugar.’

Mistress Permay gave a sniff and retreated.

‘Does your father know you’ve come?’ Cramoisy said in a conspiratorial whisper.

Orial shook her head. She wished the Diva had not mentioned her father.

‘I can’t stay long. He’ll ask questions.’

‘I won’t breathe a word.’

Orial glanced shyly around her; taking in the gilded mirrors, the swagged brocade curtains, the elegant cushioned couches upholstered in delicate stripes of green, gold and ivory. Vases overflowed with spring flowers: pheasant’s eye narcissus, vivid jonquils, muscari of a deep and tender blue.

‘Diva –’

‘Please. Call me Cramoisy.’

‘Cramoisy. A man has been asking questions. About you. And Khassian.’

‘Ah.’ The Diva sat down, suddenly still.

‘Someone must have followed you.’

All the animation had leaked from the Diva’s face.

‘But you mustn’t be too concerned,’ Orial ventured, trying to cheer him. ‘Suliens don’t like to talk to strangers – particularly nosy strangers.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘Tall. Long hair – grey – but he didn’t seem old.’

Cramoisy shook his head distractedly.

‘It could be anyone.’

‘But what harm could they do to you here? You’re beyond Allegonde’s jurisdiction –’

The door opened and Mistress Permay reappeared, bearing a silver tray of tea. Cramoisy instantly reassumed his earlier vivacious manner.

‘Tea! And some of your delicious petits fours, Mistress Permay. How thoughtful of you. I suppose it was only to be expected,’ he said as he poured the tea. ‘Girim won’t let Khassian go. I wonder how many of the others managed to get away…’

‘Tell me,’ Orial said, ‘about the Opera House. Before the fire.’