The princess's slippers scraped the marbled tiles of the palace, nearly flying off with each of her hurried steps. It was as if the execution was taking place in minutes. Thalia was running out of breath, perhaps for the first time in her life. Nare followed her with difficulty to the stables. A drowsy guard greeted them with surprise, his face crumpled with sleep. Hearing the crown prince's request, he woke a coachman and several soldiers to escort them to the city jail. They had to light the lanterns in the carriage, for the tenth hour of the night had not yet struck; the moon was too low on the horizon to provide sufficient light. Some districts had night lighting, but the ones they were going to pass through to reach their destination did not have this luxury. Looking out the window of the tarqi, Thalia saw the constellations outside the walls of her room for the first time. However, it was the only element of the landscape she could make sense of.

            Unlike the day of the festival, the streets were deserted and gloomy. The late hour and the murky glow of the lanterns were not the only reasons. As they moved away from the areas surrounding the palace, the narrow alleys followed one another, the shadows grew larger, and an unhealthy aura spread. Gradually, the cobblestones gave way to bare ground and the stone facades were replaced by a jumble of wood and earth with crumbling paint. The White City no longer deserved its reputation in this place. Famished stray animals and vermin fled at their approach, while more and more frequently human figures laid sleeping or dead on the sides of the road, indifferent to their passage. The very smells changed: the air grew heavier, full of dust, sweat, alcohol, urine, and fear. Thalia felt increasingly nauseous as they approached their destination. The dreadful procession reached its climax for the girl when she saw women, posted in a regular fashion in a street with dilapidated inns. Scantily clad, some had their hands tied and were staring into space. Thalia did not need to be told that these were prostitutes, night workers, often wives of broke husbands who had chosen to put them on the street to pay their debts, even if it meant sleeping with other dirty and violent men. Although the princess knew of their existence, she was seeing them for the first time. It was the most appalling sight her innocent eyes had ever seen. How could such things still exist in the king's own city? Why, when she had been raised to the rank of High Priestess, did she not have the power to change what was happening so close to her? Were her prayers powerless against the misery of these poor people?

Flabbergasted and consumed by the fear accumulated along the way, Thalia had to muster a little that immense courage she would soon discover in order not to give in to her emotions. For the gods know that it would have been infinitely easier for her to close her eyes in front of these desolate streets, she who could take refuge in the comfort of her golden palace to forget everything. Yet her determination to carry out her mission did not waver and she continued to observe the surroundings through the blinds, unable to turn her eyes away from the world as it was.

The streets brightened somewhat as they approached the prison, located near one of the entrances to the city. The place was heavily guarded, with a garrison residing in a building adjoining the one where the criminals were held. The vehicle stopped and the coachman opened the door on the side where Thalia was sitting. She managed to get out on her own despite her unsteady legs, politely refusing the help offered by the soldiers in their suite, who did not insist. Naré remained inside the tarqi with his arms crossed, ready to intervene if necessary but wishing to stay out of the business as much as possible.

The prison guards quickly blocked his path as he approached.

"Who goes there?"

"I am Princess Thalia Allan'ar Delmahni and High Priestess of the Temple of Dana."

Far from being impressed, the guards remained wary. The tarqi did indeed bear the king's insignia, gules with three silver suns, not to mention the armed retinue wearing the tabard of the palace garrison. Dressed in a sirwal and a tunic, her suqrenhdî faded, Thalia gave off a much less mystical aura than when she officiated in the temple. Nevertheless, the quality of her clothing, her bearing and her neat speech made her story credible.

"Apologies, High Priestess," one of the guards finally gave in, kneeling on the ground, followed by the others – Thalia gestured to interrupt their prostration. "To what do we owe the honour...?"

"I request that you release the prisoner Lucas Amia Verdon."

"How, the murderer of Burdahan and his son?" choked a second soldier. "How is it possible...? Have you not already purified him in view of his execution, to soften his punishment with the gods?"

"Indeed," admitted Thalia. "But tonight the gods have spoken to me. They have summoned me to come and deliver him, for they have read in his heart a true repentance and wish to give him a chance of redemption. So set him free."

"Do you have an official release order for us?"

"No...," Thalia replied slowly, a cold sweat beading on her brow as she improvised as she went along. "But if you have paper, quill and ink here, I can write it down for you immediately and sign it with my seal."

The guards hesitated only a moment before agreeing to her request. Despite the incongruity of the situation, they did not particularly want to execute their former brother in arms. Their reluctance to remove his shackles was less than the supreme fear they felt of divine wrath, or simply of the royal family. They invited her to the office of the prison superintendent where she could borrow materials. Thalia wrote the absolution in a style that exceeded the poor quality of the tools at her disposal. She signed the letter by moistening her ring on the stamp of the inkwell and then pressing it against the parchment, thus imprinting her seal. The order was now official. She was then taken to the jailer, who was lying next to the prisoners. The latter, dazed with sleep and astonishment, jingled his keys to open the bars of the foul-smelling cell where an unrecognisable figure laid in the darkness. One of the guards woke the prisoner with a kick in the stomach and Thalia rushed to grab his hand.

Thus was released Lucas Amia Verdon.