‘Humiliation would be more apt. Isn’t that closer to the truth, Captain? Girim nel Ghislain would like nothing better than to see me prostrate myself at his feet in the holy name of the Poet-Prophet Mhir.’

‘You misinterpret the doctrines of the Commanderie. Is it so hard to accept the teachings of Mhir? Are you so proud that you cannot accept a higher authority than your own?’

‘I’m not talking of pride. I’m talking of spiritual honesty. Would it not be more contemptible if I dissembled? If I cynically professed a faith in which I did not believe – just to save my skin?’

Acir Korentan did not reply. But Khassian could see from the shadow that had darkened the piercing blue of those eyes that he was winning. Triumphant in that knowledge, he began to press his advantage.

‘And miracles. Where does the Commanderie stand with regard to miracles?’

Acir Korentan was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his tone was pensive, as if he was still pondering Khassian’s question.

‘There has been no recorded miracle since the blood of the Rose restored the Beloved Elesstar to life. But a belief in miracles is an essential part of the doctrine.’

‘And you would agree that only a miracle would restore my hands?’

Khassian saw to his bitter satisfaction Acir Korentan’s expression betray first confusion – then anger; he had caught him off-guard.

‘I tell you, Captain Korentan, that I would only consider public conversion to your faith if a miracle cure was guaranteed.’

The Captain shook his head slowly, sadly.

‘Then there is no hope for you.’

‘The Prince was miraculously cured of his wasting illness! Is that any different?’

‘When the Prince knelt before the Grand Maistre in the shrine and asked forgiveness of his past sins, he was truly repentant. And from his belief came the remission of suffering, the gradual healing that restored his health.’

‘So it wasn’t a miracle!’ Khassian said, bitterly triumphant.

‘Why do you make mock of our faith?’ Acir Korentan asked.

‘Why did your Commanderie attack me and my opera?’

‘You spoke earlier of cynicism. The Commanderie judged your opera an act of extreme cynicism, the work of a sick and amoral soul, deliberately designed to mislead and corrupt.’

‘Oh, and you saw my opera, I suppose?’ Khassian said, his voice crackling with sarcasm. ‘You read the score? You heard the music?’

‘You abused the one thing I hold most sacred. You twisted the holy texts to – entertain. I cannot condone that.’

‘So that’s what you believe?’ Khassian moved closer. That my intentions were to corrupt?’

‘Illustre? Is everything all right?’ Mistress Permay rattled the door handle. Both men tensed, glancing towards the door. A second later, the mob-capped head of the mistress of the house appeared.

‘I heard voices. Shouting. Old Lady Bartel in the apartments above has complained. I run a respectable establishment and I will not have my other guests upset.’