‘I am an officer of the Commanderie.’ Acir found he had unconsciously thrust back his shoulders as if on parade. ‘I do what I am commanded to do by my superiors.’

‘And your superior gets your to do his dirty work for him. Doesn’t it stick in your throat?’ Malice still flickered in the brown eyes. Fox-fire. ‘They didn’t equip you for this in the desert, did they? The subtleties of political negotiation?’

‘No,’ Acir said. He would not allow himself to be provoked.

‘Pray tell me, Captain Korentan,’ Khassian shook the lace back to cover his hands; maybe he could not bear to look at them long himself, ‘what are the Grand Maistre’s conditions?’

‘An affirmation of faith. To be made before the people of Bel’Esstar.’

‘You mean a public confession of guilt? A public denunciation of my friends and fellow artists? Because that’s what it would mean. You’re asking me to stand up and announce that I’ve been living a lie, that all my works are meaningless. Worse than meaningless – degenerate.’

Acir stared steadily back at him.

‘But your example would inspire others to return to the faith.’

‘If I had wanted to convert infidels, I would have become one of the Commanderie long ago.’ Khassian leaned forward, his eyes cold now, brown pebbles glittering beneath a clear ice-melt stream. ‘Go back to your Grand Maistre nel Ghislain. Tell him I will never bow my knee to him.’

CHAPTER 5

The Museum of Sulien Antiquities, known locally as the Cabinet of Curiosities, was housed in a dilapidated building hidden away behind the imposing domed façade of the Guildhall.

As a child Orial was fascinated by the Cabinet of Curiosities. Her affection for the eccentric collection of antique objects – and its equally eccentric curator, Dame Jolaine Tradescar, the City Antiquarian – had not diminished over the years. With her ancient, moth-eaten periwig and her hobbling gait, she had seemed a hundred years old when Orial first met her. Yet they had discovered an immediate affinity, fuelled by a mutual interest in the city’s past. Who else would have troubled to answer a child’s questions about dragonflies or taken the time and trouble to research the origins of a shard of pottery she had unearthed in the Undercity? In recognition of their special understanding, Dame Jolaine had agreed, at Jerame Magelonne’s request, to become Orial’s soul-guardian, to foster her spiritual development, and – in the case of his death before her twenty-first year – to care for her and her affairs.

Orial knew now that if she was to find an answer to her question, she was going to have to confide in someone. And Jolaine Tradescar, her soul-guardian, seemed the only one she dared trust in all Sulien.