Ebigail’s thin fingers drummed on the table top. “I’m afraid young Viktor’s word is not all it was. Accusations of treason, corruption – even complicity in the death of my beloved son.”

She glanced away and pressed a bunched handkerchief to her lips. The lines around her eyes softened. Then she rallied, the handkerchief tucked deftly away, and the patrician air back in full force. “I shall feel a keen sense of betrayal if it transpires that Kasamor died because Viktor was jealous of his good fortune with your sister.”

Josiri bit back a flare of resurgent worry at Calenne’s fate, and wished he’d taken the opportunity on the journey north to pry information from Viktor. Take Kasamor. All Josiri knew of the man’s murder was what Ebigail had included in her perfunctory letter.

Hadon thumped the table, setting porcelain teacups jingling in saucers. “Dammit, Ebigail! That’s my son you’re talking about.”

Her lip curled. “He wouldn’t be the first traitor to drag his family into the gutter. And as for those other accusations . . .”

Malachi cleared his throat. “Speaking of which, I’d hoped we might prevail on the provosts to halt their enquiries until these other, criminal, matters are settled. If Viktor is a traitor – and I pray that he is not – then his offences against the Council must take precedence.”

“I disagree,” said Ebigail. “Witchery is an affront to Lumestra, and this council is an instrument of her will.”

What would she say, Josiri wondered, if she knew Lumestra had perished long ago, torn apart by her daughters? “I concur with Malachi’s assessment. If for no other reason than we shall all look foolish if we can’t hang Viktor for a traitor if the provosts have already burned him.”

Malachi shot him a look only fractionally less sour than Ebigail’s. Josiri paid them both no heed. If gallows humour kept him from angry outburst, then he’d gladly indulge it.

“Father?”

Hadon shared a glance with Ebigail and stared down at his clasped hands. The elder Akadra resembled nothing so much as a greying wolfhound whose master had just yanked his leash.

“I regret that I cannot agree,” he said. “I cannot open myself to accusations of using status to protect my son.”

Malachi half-rose from his chair. “Hadon . . .”

Hadon’s unhappy stare snapped. “Do not test me on this! I will not follow Viktor’s supposed corruption with the certainty of my own. Sometimes silence is the only acceptable course. You’re a father, Malachi. Pray you never find yourself in my position.”

“Lord Reveque! A moment of your time.”

A vision in scuffed leathers, Elzar hurried along the palace corridor at a pace seldom employed by a fellow of the high proctor’s rank.