I flit my eyes to Ash, but he’s watching Jag, his expression laced with worry. Suddenly this public display makes sense. This was never about us; he could have killed me and my dad in his dungeon and no one would have been the wiser. Jag is using us to start a war with the Bears. And if he succeeds, Jag will go uncontested, free to abuse his power and dominate the rest of the Strategia. This is what Ash meant when he said he wanted to know what Jag was up to, that he thought Jag had an ulterior motive.

Without warning I hear my dad laugh, and I’m so surprised that I flinch. “Bravo,” my dad says to Jag in a big booming voice. “Wonderful performance. You should take a bow.”

Jag frowns at the sound of his voice and gives my dad a warning look before returning his attention to the crowd. “I will make no exceptions for my son and granddaughter; they will receive the same treatment I would afford any traitor who abandoned Strategia, compromised our secrecy, and attacked their own Family: execution.”

Jag snaps his fingers and one of the guards opens the door, letting through a man dressed entirely in black and holding a double-sided axe. His tunic has a wide hood that comes down over his face in a blackout mask. Sweat drips down my temple and I try to get my dad’s attention.

But my dad isn’t looking at me; he’s still looking at Jag. “Do you honestly imagine anyone believes that you’re starting a war with the Bears because of me?” he says in a clear voice. “Certainly not. For years you’ve been looking for a reason to make the Bears bow to your depraved rule; I am merely an excuse.”

People in the audience shift, looking from Jag to my dad and back again.

Jag’s expression remains unfazed, but he looks at the crowd as if gauging their reaction to my dad’s words. “It is impossible to argue with the facts,” he replies, and straightens his tunic, an easy, unconcerned gesture.

“If you were relaying facts, you wouldn’t be hosting a private execution. Careful now,” my dad says. “Or people might think you’re doing this for personal reasons.”

In any other situation, I would be cheering on my dad for getting under Jag’s skin, but not with an executioner in the room.

Then I see it: Jag’s eye twitches. “You might find it judicious to spend the last minutes of your life more wisely, like saying your goodbyes. But no matter, it’s easy enough to gag you. Guards,” he says, and once again scans the room, like he’s looking for some unseen threat.

One of my dad’s guards shoves a cloth in his mouth, stopping him before he can reply.

“Now bring him up here,” Jag says, his voice perfectly controlled.