Chel sat up on the pallet and opened his mouth to speak. His cellmate was already staring at him from the opposite pallet, glaring from beneath thunderous dark brows, bearded jaw set hard.

Chel closed his mouth. Today would not be a talking day.

The clatter and jingle of armoured footsteps from the stairwell roused the dungeon’s denizens and the gaoler knocked over her stool in her haste to stand. She slapped at the cell bars with the brazier’s poker, her wordless command to stand and look presentable, and a moment later the procession reached the foot of the stairs. Armoured confessors tramped around the corner and out of sight, away from the cells, spears tightly angled against the low ceilings. Chel couldn’t see who marched at their centre. The gaoler sagged back to her righted stool as they disappeared, the clang of a distant iron door reverberating down the cold stone hall from the block’s far end.

Chel’s heart fluttered. He felt an electric surge of hope and fear every time the confessors appeared. Their visits were less frequent, the prince coming weekly now that most of the cells had been emptied, sometimes stopping at their cell, sometimes going only to the iron door. Every time, Chel tried to scrutinize his escort without staring, looking for signs that his sister survived, that she hid still within their ranks. That she could still free them, before their cell, too, was emptied.

He slid back from the bars, back to the pallet, lost in melancholy, as the red procession swept back past the cell in a tumult. Gold flashed amid the red, then Prince Corvel Merimonsun was there, standing to address the occupants of the last two cells. Chel risked a look at the escort, but the forms were hooded and dim, their rust-coloured robes murky in the gloom.

‘Here we are again.’ The crown prince, now king-in-waiting, sounded cordial, even cheerful. ‘This really is your last chance. I’ve waited as long as I can.’

Silence came in answer from both cells. Chel began to edge forward, but a confessor’s hood twitched in his direction and he shrank back.

‘I’m offering you a way to survive. I’m a man of my word. Tell me all you have, confirm what I already know, and you live out your days. All of you, saved from confession.’

He paused, waiting for an answer that would not come. He began to move away, footsteps echoing off the stone walls, hesitated, and turned back.

‘I could have tortured you, you know? I could have had you ripped into pieces, but I wanted to keep this civil. I wanted to set an example. Well, you’ve done me no favours there, have you? Now Brother Hurkel will tell me he was right all along.’

The prince took a long breath. The gaoler shuffled in the lull.