Khassian instinctively drew closer to Orial and both placed themselves in front of the Rose. Ilsevir hesitated. And as they stared at each other the sound of galloping hooves disturbed the bee-droned stillness of the cemetery.

A messenger, caked in dust, came running into the cemetery and fell to his knees before the Prince.

‘You must return, Altesse!’ he gasped. ‘Girim nel Ghislain is dead. The Sanctuary has fallen to the Sanctuarees. The city is in uproar. They’re calling for your abdication.’

‘Dead?’ Ilsevir staggered. The spade dropped to the ground. ‘Girim is dead?’ He put out a hand shakily towards Khassian.

‘Amar – help me.’ He had gone very pale. ‘What shall I do?’

Khassian faltered and then took Ilsevir’s outstretched hand in his own, maimed hands, supporting him.

‘What shall I do without him?’

‘Sit down, Altesse,’ Khassian said quietly.

‘My own city,’ Ilsevir whispered. ‘Turned against me.’

‘Not against you, Altesse.’ Khassian knelt beside him. ‘But against censorship. Against repression.’

Ilsevir turned to him, mouth twisted, working with anguish. ‘I – I believe I may have made a terrible mistake –’

Khassian gazed at him.

‘Is it too late, Amar?

‘No!’ Khassian said, impassioned. ‘Free the Sanctuarees, Altesse. Send word ahead to the Sanctuary now – before the slaughter gets out of hand.’

‘Come back with me, Amar. They’ll listen to you. Come back – and help me restore order.’

Back to Bel’Esstar – and to the Prince’s favour. Khassian could sense Orial watching him intently, waiting to hear his response.

‘But I’m still a wanted man. I barely escaped Allegonde with my life.’

‘I’ve wronged you.’ Ilsevir gently touched his hands. Khassian could sense the Prince make a supreme effort of will to overcome his squeamishness and to force himself to look at, to touch, the burned skin. ‘Forgive me, Amar. I treated you cruelly. Maybe I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But for the city’s sake, and for the sake of your fellow musicians, come back.’

Khassian glanced up and met Orial’s gaze; the rainbow eyes glittered overbright, sun through rain. She nodded her head.

‘Bel’Esstar is your home,’ she whispered. ‘You must go back.’

Beneath her words, Khassian heard Acir’s dying voice whispering to him on that night of storm and thunder.

‘You have a great gift… use it to set the city free.’

He turned back to Ilsevir. ‘I will come with you.’

CHAPTER 30

The life of the Temple Court gradually drew Orial in and although she still lived with her father in the Sanatorium, she spent more and more of her time with the Priestess, learning the secrets of the rituals of the Under Temple. But in rare moments of idleness, she found her eyes straying to the heat-haze that veiled the distant mountains from sight and wondering if Khassian had forgotten her.