‘A mite perplexed, Captain. We didn’t come back to be prison warders. Not to our own countrymen. What’s been going on?’

Acir felt a brief flutter of hope in his heart. At least the members of his Enhirran detachment were still uncorrupted.

Perhaps he was not entirely alone after all.

The closed fiacre drew up at the gate to the Sanctuary as the Guerriors on guard waved the coachman to a stop.

‘What’s happening?’ whispered Cramoisy to Orial.

‘Out. All Sanctuary visitors get out here.’

Orial and Cramoisy climbed down; as they were showing their passes, more Guerriors clambered into the fiacre, prodding the leather seats and checking the roof for concealed weapons.

‘Mind where you’re poking those pikes!’ called the coachman, aggrieved. ‘That’s expensive leather. If anything’s ripped, I’ll take the bill direct to your Grand Maistre.’

“This isn’t going to be so easy,’ Cramoisy said in Orial’s ear. Beneath the crimson perruque his brow was glistening with sweat.

‘Think of them as a difficult audience.’ Orial murmured back. ‘Play them for all you’re worth. You know you can do it. You’re the Diva.’

Cramoisy nodded.

‘Conduct the visitors to the gatehouse!’ called the Guerrior who had taken their passes.

Orial darted little glances around the courtyard, hoping in vain she might catch sight of Captain Korentan. And when they were ushered into a bare, barred room and the door was instantly locked, she found herself staring apprehensively at Cramoisy, wondering if she had been deceived.

He went to the door and rattled the handle.

‘There! I told you! A Commanderie trap. Pfui! What an unpleasant stink there is to this place. Next to the latrines, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘Hush.’ Orial raised one finger, listening. ‘Someone’s coming. Sit down. Keep your face in shadow.’

As she heard the key grind in the lock, Orial hurried over to Cramoisy’s side. He clasped hold of her hands.

The door opened. A man, shambling and ragged, was pushed inside.

‘You have a quarter of an hour.’

The door shut and the key turned again.

The man blinked in the light. He seemed unsteady on his feet. Orial went towards him.

‘Orial Magelonne?’ he said uncertainly. ‘Orial?’

‘Yes,’ she said, tears starting to her eyes. ‘Yes, it’s me.’ He looked so gaunt, so frail; the meagre light obviously hurt his eyes. ‘And look who is also here to see you.’

‘I don’t think much of your new tailor,’ Cramoisy said, venturing forwards. ‘If I were you, miu caru, I’d take your custom elsewhere.’

‘Oh, Cram,’ said Khassian, extending one arm to hug him.

‘God, you could do with a bath!’ said Cramoisy in tones of high disgust.

But his voice wavered and Orial saw tears glistening in his eyes too. They stood rocking gently together, the three of them, locked in a triangular embrace.

‘What day is it?’ Khassian asked after a while. ‘What time?’