‘And will the Diva be returning straightaway to Sulien?’ Captain Korentan asked. He looked her directly in the eyes, unblinking.

‘Yes. He has unfinished business to attend to.’ Orial held his gaze. For the second time he had understood her meaning.

‘I will see what I can do. Tell me where you are lodged – and I will send word if a meeting is to be permitted.’

‘The house is in the Dniera Faubourg. The Villa of Yellow Vines.’

‘Thank you. I have made a note of it.’

They walked back to the gatehouse without speaking. Orial stole a glance at the Captain as they walked but his expression was guarded, giving nothing away.

Had she read more into their conversation than he had intended?

As they approached the gatehouse, the gates were dragged open and an elegant phaeton pulled into the courtyard, the horses’ harnesses jingling. The coachman reined in his horses and one of the Guerriors hurried forward to open the carriage door. A woman climbed down and smoothed out the skirts of her travelling gown.

Orial felt the Captain’s brisk tread falter. The woman was gazing about her, adjusting the fit of each finger of her lace gloves. Deftly, Captain Korentan positioned himself on Orial’s other side and steered her into the shadows of the gatehouse door.

‘Who –?’ Orial whispered.

Captain Korentan hurried her to the door, out of sight of the courtyard, and unlocked it himself.

‘Go. Quickly.’

He helped her up and over the high sill and thrust her papers into her hands. Beyond, the dusty wasteland menaced in the sulphureous light of late-afternoon. It seemed a very long walk back to the Dniera Faubourg.

‘Wait for me at the waystone. I will escort you back to the city.’

‘Captain, I –’

But even as she turned back to Captain Korentan, the door shut with a firm click and she heard the key turn in the lock.

‘Captain Korentan!’

Acir turned automatically as Fiammis called his name. She stood framed in the archway to the gatehouse,

The milky pallor of her skin glimmered in the gloomy courtyard like a rare lily growing in a barren wasteland.

‘Contesse.’ He fought to keep his voice steady, emotionless; he must give nothing away.

‘They told me you were here. I hope you find your new situation agreeable?’

Agreeable. It was her report from Sulien that had had him demoted to nel Macy’s second-in-command. Had she merely come here to gloat or was there some other purpose to her visit?

‘But it’s not you I’ve come to see. I bring intelligences for the Governor. If you would be so good as to direct me, Captain…’

‘Guerrior! Escort the Contesse to Captain nel Macy. If you will excuse me?’ Acir gave Fiammis a brusque salute. ‘I have affairs of my own to attend to.’ If she could be oblique, then so could he. Two could play this game.