Lysette fingered the fringe of her shawl. She didn’t know if she was reminding the woman arrayed around her where her allegiance lay, or herself. Her heart thudded in her chest but she had to keep her face straight, now more than ever.

Ahliya frowned at her, and unconsciously smoothed some of her hair that had strayed out of place. “Perhaps we can come to some understanding, provided that the answers you give can be proved.”

Six of the seven other women nodded slowly. Priscia, who always looked like she was in the middle of a private battle with death, coughed before stepping forward. Sliding up her deep purple sleeves with bony hands, she spat noisily on to the floor. “Has it come to this?” she croaked. “Where even the thought of handing out penance to a rebel, a rebel, is avoided. And for what? Because some of her lies might turn out to be true? Feh!”

This was it. Priscia was the last hurdle. If she could convince the old buzzard to accept her, her return would be assured. “I bring news of your son.”