‘As an ex-politician that’s something you know all about, isn’t it? But we shouldn’t fall into the trap of blaming the citizens of either empire. They’re as much victims as the rest of us.’

‘Of course they are. But we can’t do much about their salvation. What we can do is look after our own kind, diminished as our ranks may be. Small triumphs, Quinn. That’s what we have to content ourselves with now.’

Disgleirio nodded. ‘Tanalvah’s a good example. Finding her was a piece of pure luck.’

‘Ah, yes. If ever there was a case of someone more sinned against than sinning, it’s that young woman. It would be nice to think we could bring about an improvement to her tragic life.’

‘That’s the way I see it. Tan’s done nothing to harm anyone. She deserves a little happiness.’

Tanalvah spent the night thinking about death.

She thought of all the deaths she had been inadvertently responsible for, and of Kinsel’s probable death. She thought of her own, and of how she might bring it about.

But what seemed appealing during the lonely watches of a sleepless night carried less certainty at dawn. She was with child, and two other children depended on her. Kinsel could be alive. And she had an abiding conviction that Iparrater, her goddess, would be even more wrathful if Tanalvah added suicide to her sins.

The balance was in favour of taking another breath, facing another day.

This day, in particular, held a prospect worth rising for. Karr had promised her that Teg and Lirrin would be collected from the temple Tanalvah had entrusted them to. The children would be joining her here, in the Resistance hideaway. Not the most appropriate place for youngsters, perhaps, but at least they’d be together.

Easing herself from her bunk, she let out an involuntary groan as gravity delivered a reminder of her condition. She felt giddy and nauseous, as she often did first thing, and spent a moment breathing deeply until the sensation faded. Stretching, she got some feeling back into her aching limbs. Then she pulled on a formless shift and slipped her feet into a pair of leather-topped clogs somebody had given her.

The room she’d been allotted wasn’t really a room at all. It was essentially a cubicle carved from the living rock of the catacombs, twenty paces deep, twelve wide. A makeshift wall of timber frames and canvas blocked what would have been its open end, with a flap door similar to a tent’s. Tanalvah suspected it was an ancient burial chamber that had been cleared of bones, but didn’t like to dwell on the idea.

Some effort had been put into making it comfortable for her. The bed had a plump straw mattress, with several thick pelts to keep her warm. She had a chair and a couple of unfussy shelves for her few possessions. A woven mat covered part of the floor. Someone had even gone to the trouble of finding an old tapestry to hang by her bed, though it was too faded for its subject to be recognisable. Compared to other lodgings she’d seen in this place, it was luxurious.

Her cell, as she’d come to think of it, was lit by a single glamour orb. She kept it on permanently, which was outrageously lavish, and she had candles and lanterns to hand as back-ups. Without the orb the chamber would be in total darkness, and that she couldn’t abide.

A small outcrop of stone resembling a plinth stood near the door, where a wash basin and pitcher rested. The temperature was surprisingly mild below ground, yet the water was still cold enough to shock her when she splashed it on her face. Next she took up a brush and began jerking it through the tangles in her hair.

Attending to mundane tasks gave her no rest from the fixations that lodged like a chunk of ice in her guts. She saw no way of reconciling what she’d done with Kinsel’s pacifism. If he lived, how he could possibly forgive her? She marvelled at how stupid she had been to believe Devlor Bastorran’s lies about minimal harm coming to the people she betrayed. She felt suffocated by the fear of what would happen to the children in her charge, and the one unborn, if she was exposed. And she felt that exposure was inevitable, because it was all she could do not to fall on her knees, confess and beg forgiveness.

The Resistance had offered her passage to the Diamond Isle. She didn’t want to go. It was hard enough coping with the people here. Over there, Tanalvah would have to confront those who had been closest to her, who had befriended and protected her. Especially Serrah, whom she dreaded facing. But her terror of Bastorran, and the chance of falling into his hands again, made her almost as afraid of staying.

Now she understood why Serrah had once found the prospect of death so enticing.

Tanalvah steeled herself to leave her tiny stone cocoon and join the others. She knew she wouldn’t be able to look any of them in the eye. Enduring their kindnesses, their pitying gazes and their sympathetic smiles was a torment. It was a wonder to her that they couldn’t see the guilt written on her face.

She summoned her resolve, pulled back the flap and stepped into their world.

As usual, the caves were bustling, and just as predictably people began to stare as soon as they noticed her. She felt naked. The temptation to admit what she’d done, to scream it out and get it over with, was near irresistible.

Then a group approached through the parting crowd, two adults and a pair of children. Dulian Karr and Goyter, beaming at her, with Teg and Lirrin clutching their hands. The children broke away and flew to Tanalvah’s outstretched arms.

For the moment, all her troubles were washed away by tears of joy.

No more than an hour’s ride from the necropolis, in the heart of Valdarr, another reunion was taking place, albeit one with considerably less warmth.

Inside the forbidding walls of the Bhealfan headquarters of the paladin clans, beyond a labyrinth of passages and secured doors, an inner sanctum was located.

Within, Devlor Bastorran was granting an audience.

A kind observer might describe his guest as striking. Although seemingly asexual, close examination would indicate that the visitor was female. She was athletic in build, verging on bony, and had fair blonde hair cut close to the skull. Her flesh was as pallid as marble. She had thin, nigh on colourless lips and startlingly large, pitch black eyes. Conjecture on whether she was handsome or ugly was irrelevant; her appearance flouted normal conceptions of beauty. And right now those features were further contorted with anger.

‘I’m sick of waiting,’ she hissed, jabbing a finger at his chest. ‘We had a bargain, and you never said you’d be this long honouring it.’

‘We did. But let me-’

‘I should have known better than to trust the word of a paladin. You’re lying bastards, the lot of you, for all your talk of honour and agreements.’

‘That’s not-’

‘Well, chew on this, Lord High Muckamuck: we’re bound, you and me. Chained together by what I did on your behalf.’ Her eyes shone with a cold intensity. ‘There’s a price for my silence about that, Bastorran. When are you going to pay it?’

‘I thought today might be a good time.’

‘What?’

‘If you’d let me get a word in,’ he came back through gritted teeth, ‘I was going to explain. As you say, we had a deal. I’m ready to fulfil my part.’

Aphri Kordenza eyed him suspiciously. ‘You’ll do as you agreed?’

‘Your magical symbiosis with your…companion will be made permanent. Don’t look so surprised. Did you really think I wouldn’t honour our pact?’

‘How will you do it?’ the meld asked, ignoring his question.

‘In what my sorcerers tell me is the best way. With this.’ He slipped a hand into his tunic pocket and brought out a flat, wafer-thin object that had hundreds of tiny runic symbols etched into its surface. It looked like terracotta, and sat comfortably in his palm. He held it out to her.