“In that case, I’ll head back to my room.” Osan stood up. He moved far slower than before, and the image of the bolt protruding from his shoulder flashed through my mind, the blood soaking his back. “Good night to both of you.” He wavered, and then added. “Elfreda … I owe you one.”

“For what?”

He trudged out of the kitchen. “For staying by my side last night.”

So that was it, the source of his new awkwardness. I wanted to tell him not to be stupid, anyone would have done the same, but he was already in the corridor. Asan picked up the lamp from the table.

“Let’s talk in the central conservatory,” she said. “No chance of being overheard, and it’s a little more comfortable.”

The mansion, I discovered as I followed her through a sumptuous sitting room filled with upholstered chairs covered in pale dust sheets, was grander than my guest bedroom had suggested. The furniture gleamed in the shifting lamplight, polished hardwood and gold finishes, embroidered velvet and silver piping. Opulent, certainly, but the whole place possessed a curious air of sterility—as if no one had ever really lived here. Which I suppose was true, if the Reverend who owned it resided outside Ceyrun.

The conservatory was ensconced between two wings of the house, shielded by double-storey walls on two sides and adjoining the main foyer to the south. Through dusty glass roof panels, the thin moon shone like the edge of a knife. Bright-leafed creepers ran up elegant trellises on the walls; pomegranates and grapes, flowering sweet peas. A line of low couches ran beside stone-topped cabinets. It was warmer in here; sunlight had soaked into the marble floor tiles during the day, and now the heat gently radiated up from the ground.

Asan walked over to a cabinet and crouched before it. I trailed after her. She rummaged around and pulled out a dark bottle from the lower shelf.

“Probably shouldn’t mix alcohol and medication, but after the week you’ve had…” She proffered a metal tumbler. “Hold this.”

I took it from her uncertainly. She returned to searching the cabinet.

“I figured we probably won’t have many opportunities to talk,” she said. “Celane’s increased the number of people tailing me. Real fucking pain in the ass. It’s almost impossible to slip away during the day now.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“What can you do?” She found a corkscrew and jammed it into the top of the bottle. “You seem much better. That’s good.”

“May I ask a question?”

She pulled out the cork. “Sure.”

“Why aren’t you martyring me?”

She snorted.

I kept my voice measured and calm. “Rhyanon said that you don’t intend to harm me, and I believe her. I’m just not sure that your decision makes much sense.”

Asan motioned for my tumbler. I held it out, and she filled it.

“Sit,” she said.

I lowered myself onto one of the couches. The Commander remained standing. She had not poured a drink for herself.