Orial bowed her head respectfully.

‘No, child.’ The Priestess gently placed her hand under Orial’s chin and, raising her head, kissed her on the brow. ‘You are one of us. We must talk together, we must talk of your future. But only when you have rested…’

‘One of you?’ Orial stared questioningly up into the dark-veiled face.

‘Your place is here in the Temple.’

‘I had never thought of myself as… as a Priestess.’

‘Come with us now to the Temple Court and take some refreshment. There are many things you will need to know before you can make your decision.’

Beyond the beaming faces in the Temple Court Orial became aware that her father was looking at her. The sadness in his eyes belied his proud smile; she could always tell when he was dissembling.

Her decision would take her along a different path from the one he had designated for her. It would lead her from his side at the Sanatorium to the mysteries of the Under Temple.

‘Papa?’ she said questioningly.

He came towards her through the circle of Priestesses.

‘The Priestess is right; you should rest now,’ he said. He put his arms around her and she rested her head against his shoulder, feeling the worn cloth of his favourite jacket against her cheek. ‘The time for decisions is yet to come. Go with them, if that is what you wish.’

‘But you. Will you –’ The question died on her lips.

‘I’ll be all right.’ He finished it for her. ‘I have to get back to the Sanatorium. Now that you have revealed the new source, there’s plenty to do: treatment pools to be cleaned, pipes to be checked…’

She heard the bravado in his voice; she also heard the unspoken permission to decide for herself what she must do.

‘Thank you, Papa,’ she said in a whisper. ‘Thank you.’

He released her and walked away without a backward glance. The Priestesses closed around her.

‘Illustre!’

Khassian turned around to see Jerame Magelonne approaching through the crowd. What could the doctor possibly want to say to him?

‘Illustre,’ he said stiffly, ‘I owe you an apology. I misjudged you. I misjudged you very badly.’

Khassian, confounded, could not think what to say in reply.

‘I would ask if you would shake my hand in forgiveness… but I know the pain that would cause you. Instead, please accept my thanks, my heartfelt thanks, for what you have done to restore my daughter. You will always be welcome at the Sanatorium.’ Dr Magelonne stepped back and gave the composer a brusque little bow.

Khassian nodded his head in gratitude. He was exhausted, emotionally spent. He needed to be alone.

‘Coming for a glass of pommerie?’ Azare called to him.

‘You go ahead,’ Khassian said. ‘I’ll join you later.’

‘Moon and Sickle tavern!’

Khassian slipped in amongst the crowd and let himself be moved slowly forward, upward, out of the Undercity.