The Cardinal, pruning fruit trees in the viridarium, set down his knife as the Prior approached.

“You bring news Frey?”

“Yes Sir – terrible.”

“Speak it.”

“Provost Kohl, Sir – dead.”

“Dead?” He twirled a blossom between his fingers. “How so?”

“In his chamber, Your Eminence. A haemorrhage. Quite sudden, our medicians believe.”

The Cardinal nodded. “The flesh betrays even the most faithful. And yet, Frey,” he paused, turning his gaze upon the Prior, “I sense there is more you wish to tell me.”

“Sir, we believe he was in sermone cum caelos when stricken. His terminal was active.”

“Indeed. And with which of the blessed was he conferring?”

“Nuncio Aila, Sir.”

“Aila? And where is she?”

“Held, within the antechamber.”

“Release her. She has proven her loyalty.”

“Your Eminence. And Kohl?”

“Release him also.”

“Sir?” replied Frey, surprised. “He has not long ascended – temporal calibration is far from complete.”

“But he has chosen the left-hand path, Frey. And the consequences are of his own making.”