“It is some small comfort that her murderer will go to the gallows before a new dawn,” said Lord Tarev.

“So soon?”

“Lady Orova has confessed the killing, and the Council shares my grief. The outcome is a foregone conclusion.”

Lady Ebigail drew closer, her fingertips tracing the lectern’s wingtip. “You could withdraw your support. A public expression of forgiveness, and an admission that Aske’s own recklessness brought about her death.”

He snorted. “Whatever her faults, Aske was my daughter. My blood.”

Lady Ebigail’s sympathy vanished like Lumenfade mist. “She was a woman who twice provoked a brawl. I understand Lady Orova wasn’t even armed.”

Lord Tarev’s expression turned cold. “My daughter is dead.”

“And better that way for your family’s reputation.” She gathered her skirts and sat at the nearest pew. “Maybe now the rumours can stay buried.”

“I haven’t heard any rumours.” The flash of guilt in Lord Tarev’s eyes told Marek otherwise. “I’ve nothing to hide.”

Lady Ebigail offered a thin smile. “Oh, there are always secrets, aren’t there, Anton? Or does your grandson know the truth? That the dead hero he believes his father was cuckolded by a wolf’s-head?”

“That isn’t true!”

She shrugged. “I expect you to defend Aske, of course. But a father’s protective instincts are nothing to a mother’s. When I learned of her attempt on Kasamor’s life – not from him, of course, he was always too proud to speak of such things – I made it my business to learn more.”

Lord Tarev gripped the lectern anew. “It’s no secret she hated the southwealders. She saw Kasamor’s marriage to Calenne Trelan as betrayal of everything our family fought for.”

“She didn’t hate all of them though, did she? Such a passionate child, your Aske. But she couldn’t have married a southwealder. Not with her mother and sister barely cold in their graves at Zanya. Not with a fiancé pining away in Tarvallion. It’s strange, isn’t it, how we so often vent our frustrations on those who have the courage to act as we cannot?”

Lady Sevaka stared pointedly away. Lady Ebigail’s stare didn’t waver.

“None of this can be proven,” Lord Tarev replied stiffly.

“No, but there are suspicious minds in this fine Republic.” With a regretful sigh, Lady Ebigail rose to her feet. “As I said, such a passionate child, your Aske. And her husband. Such an honourable man to pretend the bastard was his. The Republic could have used more like him.”

Lord Tarev, already haggard, paled a shade further. A note of pleading crept into his tone. “Please, Ebigail. I’d have no choice but to disinherit Jarron. He cannot be held responsible for his mother’s misjudgements.”