A patrol of Guerriors was approaching along the boulevard, marching towards the Sanctuary. They saluted Acir as they passed; Orial shrank into his shadow as he returned their salute.

Their faces were dour, their eyes blank. The brisk tread of their marching feet resounded along the empty street with the harsh ring of steel-capped boots on stone.

They marched to the spectral beat of a different drum; they followed a warrior prophet conjured by Girim nel Ghislain from his fevered fantasies of fire and battle.

Acir glanced at Orial as they continued on their way to the Dniera Faubourg. Her quiet courage glowed with the same steadfast flame as the light of a lotos candle floating on the black reservoirs of the necropolis. Her calm was the water-shadowed calm of the Temple of the Source…

The Commanderie would interpret such a thought as heresy, the confused ramblings of an unbeliever. But in that moment of insight, Acir saw that the way forward was through the enlightenment of the Temple of the Source.

If only there was a way to bring the two faiths together…

Fiammis turned her back on Captain Korentan and followed the Guerrior across the Sanctuary courtyard. She snapped open her fan and began to use it furiously, trusting the swift movements would hide her face until she could compose herself.

She had felt a shiver of flame burn through her when she caught sight of him in the courtyard. And he had looked on her so sternly, so coldly; evidently he had not forgiven her for her interference in the Khassian affair.

Was she always to be torn between duty and desire?

Orial’s first request on returning to the Villa of Yellow Vines was a bowl of hot water sprinkled with refreshing salts. She sat with her sore feet in the fizzing water whilst Cramoisy fussed around her, plying her with lemon tea and almond biscuits.

‘Did you see him? Is he well? What happened? You were gone so long I was almost beside myself with worry. I was about to send for the watch –’

‘No, I didn’t see him. But I saw an acquaintance of ours.’

‘In that dreadful prison?’

‘Captain Korentan. And I think we can trust him. Yes, I know.’ Orial saw the Diva’s mouth open to protest. ‘He promised me he would try to secure a meeting for you. But meetings are not normally allowed. The Sanctuary is very securely guarded.’

‘Wait!’ Cramoisy rose. He had adopted a dramatic pose with one hand on his breast, his eyes raised to the heavens. ‘Samira – Or Virtue Assailed.’

‘Samira?’ Orial echoed, wondering what role Cramoisy had slipped into now.