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He was back where he started, inside a dusty cell, but this time his cell door was locked. The queens guards had finally caught him, and instead of killing him "in self-defence", they dragged him back to the dungeon to made an example of. He was to be put through one of their "trials" - a public display intended to portray him as the evil and vile monster that the queen had described him as, a religious ceremony that was to make his death look just and pretty.

The only sound was the woman in the cell next to him, who not only moaned from her aches, but also bothered to describe them and her hopelessness in excruciating detail. She could not win this. She could barely walk anymore.

The circumstances were not so different from the last time Durgan was here. Death had inched a little closer, and he could feel its foul breath on his face, but he was still helpless, and so far he was still alive, though his goddess licked her lips in anticipation.

The part of him who wondered why his goddess had put him through all of this, finally found an obvious answer: She had wanted to strip him of his innocence. She had wanted his soul, but she couldn't get at it unless it was destined for hell.

...but Durgan didn't shed a tear. He wasn't dead yet.