She opened her mouth as if to say something in reply – and then snapped it shut.

Had she seen Orial?

Acir leaned his forehead against the clammy stone of the gatehouse wall.

And even if she had, would she have given any indication to him?

He had the sentry unlock the door for him and hurried to find Orial.

She was sitting on the waystone, gazing towards the city. In the sultry glare she looked frail and tired… and yet as he came nearer, he thought he saw a pale haze of light about her. He put one hand to his eyes, thinking himself dazzled by the dry, dusty light – and at that moment, she heard him approach and rose.

‘You need not trouble, Captain, I –’

‘The heath is not safe, even by day. There are vagrants, cutpurses who lie in wait in the hollows. Besides… here we can talk without fear of being overheard.’

The narrow path led away through the gorse; soon they would be out of sight of the road. She seemed weary and yet she did not once complain; he found himself impressed by her quiet composure.

‘I wrote letters, Captain, requesting an interview with the Grand Maistre to beg for clemency for Khassian. Yet not one was answered. You are the only one in Bel’Esstar to show me any courtesy.’

How he never noticed before the luminosity of her eyes, light ripples on water?

‘You understand, Captain Korentan. You have heard his music. You know the power of that music… to move, to enoble the spirit.’

There was an affecting grace and dignity about her – yet there was also an air of other worldliness that made him fear for her safety. She had assured him she was recovered from her illness but…

‘You are taking a grave risk, demselle. I will do all I can to aid you, but if my part in this endeavour is discovered –’

‘Your risk is the greater, Captain. Believe me, I am sensible of what you are hazarding on Khassian’s account.’

The path wound downwards towards the city gate. Orial stumbled on the loose, dry stones and Acir put out his hand to steady her. She looked up into his face and for a moment the scrubby heathland melted away and he was back in the Temple of the Source, gazing into the water-misted eyes of the tutelary spirit the Allegondans had called Elesstar…

‘Are you all right, Captain?’

The vision faded as quickly as it had come; he put one hand to his brow and found it wet with sweat.

‘I – I was remembering the Temple in Sulien. Did we ever meet there?’ he heard himself asking.

‘I don’t think so.’ She smiled at him, a small, grave smile. ‘But I hope we may. In happier times. When all these troubles are resolved.’