When time’s currents slowed, Esme was back in the garden, under the crimson thrallbark tree. A tall, slim man stood in the tree’s shadow. He wore a long robe with fur cuffs. He turned his square face, set with blue eyes, toward Esme.
‘Thomas?’ she blurted out. ‘Thomas Agapios?’
The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is someone there?’ he barked.
‘Just me, Solister, Your Grace,’ called a voice from inside the house. ‘Your faithful servant.’
The latticed door to the garden creaked open. A man in Tyrian military attire emerged. He was dragging a prisoner, bound in chains. The captive, bowed over with grief, looked more husk than human.
‘I present to you … Alexander Mann.’
Mann glanced forlornly up at his surroundings, before the Tyrian soldier yanked on his chains, heaved him up the last few feet, a
