‘Don’t think this information will persuade me to let you back into the Under Temple!’ The Priestess wagged the folded letter at Jolaine. ‘The springs are still dry. No burials can take place in the Undercity. Besides there are many amongst the Temple fellowship who will dismiss these ancient rituals you describe as primitive. We live in more enlightened times…’

‘But you, Elysie? What do you think?’

The Priestess hesitated.

‘The traditions are all lost, long forgotten. Even if we understand the role of the Lotos Priestess better, how can we find and train anyone to perform that role?’

‘Perhaps the Lotos Priestess was not trained, she was born to shamanhood,’ Jolaine said excitedly.

‘I do not know.’ The Priestess shook her veiled head. ‘All I know is that it would be advisable for you to stay away from the Under Temple until this present crisis is over.’

‘I can slip in by night. No one will see me,’ pleaded Jolaine.

‘No.’

‘Damn.’ Jolaine went slowly, desultorily, down the steps, kicking at a dried crust of bread the pigeons had ignored. ‘Damn.’

‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’ Girim nel Ghislain rounded on Acir Korentan, pale eyes narrowed with anger. ‘Countermanding my orders, my orders?’

Acir stood stiffly to attention before the Grand Maistre, gazing straight ahead, unblinking.

‘Well? What have you got to say in your defence?’

Acir cleared his throat. What he had to say was dangerous – and could condemn him as a rebel sympathiser. But Girim had ordered him to speak, so speak he must.

‘I believed the name of the Commanderie stood for honour and for justice. What I saw made me ashamed to wear the badge of the Rose. Three men hanged without fair trial.’

‘Without fair trial?’ Girim’s voice had gone quiet.

‘You sent me to the stone quarries. A day’s journey. In the time I was away, those three men were tried and executed.’

Girim stared at him. Acir squared his shoulders, steadying himself for the tirade to come.

‘And so you took it upon yourself to cut them down?’

‘I took the action I thought fit at the time.’

‘I see.’ Quiet, considering words, belying the clear, cold anger Acir could see flickering like distant lightning in the Grand Maistre’s face. ‘And did you think your rank would help you escape punishment for this insubordination?’

‘No.’ Acir looked Girim full in the face, refusing to be cowed. ‘But I would like it set on record that I acted in good faith to restore the good name of the Commanderie. A name that has become associated in this city – this holy city – with injustice, with cruelty, with –’

‘Enough!’ Girim’s voice cut across his.

‘Demote me. Court-martial me. But listen to what I’m saying, Maistre. If the signs, the dreams, are true and the time of His coming is drawing near… what will He find? A city divided. A city in fear –’

‘Dreams?’ interrupted Girim.