The Sulien Chronicle reported extraordinary events in distant Bel’Esstar following the assassination of Girim nel Ghislain, culminating in the freeing of all dissidents and rebels incarcerated in the prison known as the Sanctuary. Apparently the Enhirran detachment of the Commanderie had rebelled against their Commander and sided with the rebels. Then, in an unprecedented gesture, Prince Ilsevir had decreed that the Commanderie of the Rosecoeur should renounce its weapons; henceforth its members were to choose between military service in the Prince’s army or a life of prayer. Priests were no longer permitted to bear arms in the service of Mhir. But there was scant mention of Amaru Khassian and the Chronicle soon returned to its usual listings of Sulien’s eminent visitors and scandalous gossip.

Soon afterwards the first of the Allegondan pilgrims began to arrive; confrères from the disbanded Enhirran detachment came to pay their last respects at the grave of their captain. Several, led by one young Guerrior called Tobyn, requested of the Temple Court that they might create a garden shrine in the cemetery where pilgrims might rest. The Temple Court was pleased to grant them permission… and Orial sometimes left her duties at the Temple to help them clear away the tangled weeds and plant sweet-scented herbs and plants in the borders.

Sulien in late-summer always reminded Orial of a full-blown peony: drooping and blowsily past its best. A stir of breeze at dusk was always welcome after the sleepy humidity of the long day’s heat.

On one such evening, she was standing at her open window, listlessly fanning herself, wishing for a breeze.

A phaeton drew up outside the Sanatorium; Orial leaned out of the window dangerously far to try to see who the new arrivals were.

‘What do you mean, who are we?’ The arch tones rose vibrantly on the warm air. ‘Don’t you recognise the toast of Bel’Esstar, my good man? Announce Cramoisy Jordelayne to Demselle Magelonne and be quick about it.’

‘Cramoisy!’ shrieked Orial. Forgetting all decorum, she came running downstairs and threw herself into the Diva’s arms.

‘Orial!’ The Diva smothered her in a perfume-drenched embrace and then held her at arm’s length to look at her. ‘More radiant then ever.’

‘And you – you –’ Orial struggled for words to describe the Diva’s new costume. ‘You look gorgeous.’

‘I am rather proud of this outfit.’ Cramoisy turned around to display the full effect. ‘See the cut of the jacket – lapels and cuffs trimmed in black and magenta to match the striped breeches.’

‘But your voice –’ Orial said.

‘Not quite restored yet. The doctors have told me to pamper it. So I thought a little Sulien steam treatment might do the trick. But there I go, babbling on – when there’s someone here who is eager to see you too.’

The Diva drew back with an elaborate gesture to reveal – Amaru Khassian standing in the doorway, watching them with a slight, wry grin.