"My name is Weranda!” she screamed. “Don't ever be flippant with me again, rapist!"

"So I'm a rapist, am I? I seem to remember our physical relationship was your idea, my darling."

Drex screwed up her face in an expression of wild, unreasoning hatred, drawing back her small, clenched fist to strike again.

Yes, get angry, Drex! Grimm thought, willing her to hit him. Forget whatever Lizaveta told you and fight!

Lizaveta took Drex's right wrist in her scrawny hand. “You'll never hurt him that way, Sister. This creature is a Mage Questor! I'm sure he's been through a lot worse than being pummelled by a girl; even a witch such as you."

Drexelica dipped into a deep curtsey as soon as the Prioress released her. “Forgive me, Reverend Mother,” she said, almost touching her forehead to the floor. “I lost control of my emotions, and I beg forgiveness."

Grimm's head lolled onto his heaving chest, and he knew true desolation. Drex had not even put up a token fight against Lizaveta's influence. He burned with shame that his former lover had been able to mould his behaviour with such ease.

"I will overlook your transgression on this occasion.” Lizaveta's voice sounded like footsteps crunching through a carpet of desiccated corpses. “Just remember, Sister Weranda: women's emotions are like a free, trickling stream; those of men are like a dammed lake, waiting to be released. Women use their emotions; men are controlled by them.

"You were correct to chastise your subject for insolence, Sister, but incorrect in your choice of method. Your link with the subject is the emotion he feels for you; you maintain that link only through the iron control of your own will. Always remember that."

"I will, Reverend Mother,” Drex replied, sinking deeper into her curtsey.

"You may leave us for the time being, Sister,” Lizaveta said. “The others of the Score may require your assistance in dealing with Afelnor's friends. I understand the spell is quite potent. I will call you if I need you again."