‘In Act Four, Alkar the hero is languishing in a prison cell. Samira, the heroine – my part, you understand – decides to sacrifice herself for him.’ Cramoisy wandered the room, already lost in memories of past triumphs. ‘So she goes to bid Alkar a last farewell – and to aid his escape, exchanges clothes with him. But when the tyrant Valdaron discovers he has been duped by his rival, he kills Samira in revenge, even though he loves her.’

Orial, lost in the intricacies of the retold plot, lifted her feet out of the water and began to dry them; there were angry blisters on her heels and toes.

‘Well?’ Cramoisy finished, eyes shining. ‘What do you think?’

‘About what?’

‘My plan to smuggle Amar out of the Sanctuary!’

‘Wait.’ Orial took the shell-shaped powder box and dusted her feet. ‘You’re proposing that you change clothes with the Illustre Khassian? But that means that you’ll be imprisoned in his place. And when the Commanderie discovers the deception –’

‘You and Amar will be across the border and safe in Sulien.’

‘At the cost of your freedom – maybe even your life!’

‘What else is there left for me now that I have lost my voice? What future is there for a diva who can’t sing?’

‘There must be another way.’ A faint melody had begun to whisper in Orial’s brain.

‘Other than starting the revolution and leading a mob to storm the Sanctuary, I’m sure I can’t think what it might be,’ Cramoisy said, with a wounded sniff. ‘If they turn unpleasant, I shall remind them of my intentions to convert. Publicly. I haven’t any of Amar’s scruples. It’s my last chance to take centre-stage. Performing’s in my blood, carissa, without an audience, I wither and die.’

Orial replaced the lid on the box of perfumed powder. The persistent melody was beginning to annoy her.

‘Whatever we decide, we’ll need to hire a carriage. It’s a very long walk to the Sanctuary.’

‘A carriage to take us all the way back to Sulien? I’ve spent all my money on the lodgings.’

Orial lifted the hem of her dress and began to unpick the stitching.

‘Whatever are you doing, child?’

Slowly Orial eased out the string of precious pearls.

‘Ahhh.’ Cramoisy took them from her and held them to the light, then against his cheek. ‘I adore pearls. So flattering to the complexion…’

‘Will they fetch a good price? Enough to hire a private carriage?’

‘Were these your mother’s?’ Cramoisy was gazing pensively at the pearls, threading them through his fingers.

‘Yes.’

‘I can’t do this. Your dead mother’s jewellery. Your dowry.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Orial took the Diva’s hand in hers, closing it around the pearls. ‘She would have understood.’

‘I’ll not sell them. I’ll see what the pawnbroker will offer me.’

Orial began to sing the melody under her breath.