She pulled herself up onto the rim of the well and sat in silence for a time, heels kicking back and forth. “Mother tells me I shouldn’t use my light to help people – even her. She says I should keep it secret.”

Was she answering his question, or was this a different conversation entirely? Viktor couldn’t tell – he’d never been good at reading children. He’d suspected Sidara of being gifted for several months, but hadn’t known how to broach the topic with father or daughter.

“She wants you safe.”

“But I helped Lady Sevaka. It was the right thing to do . . .” Her tone wavered. “Wasn’t it?”

Sevaka. What had become of her? Another fly caught in her mother’s web. “Sometimes it’s not enough to be right, little one.”

One eye narrowed to a scowl. “That’s not fair.”

“No. It’s not.”

Sidara thought for a long moment, lips pursed and eyes downcast. “You use your magic to help others, don’t you, uncle?”

So she had seen. Viktor had hoped the gloom of the foundry had kept his secret, but he supposed it no longer mattered. “Not as often as I should.”

“Why?”

Why indeed? “It’s complicated.”

“Grown-ups always say that when they don’t want to answer the question.”

He smiled. “Yes we do.”

She grinned back. “So what should I do?”

“What do you want?”

Another pause. “To help people. Mother and Father are for ever talking about duty. What if this is mine?”

She sounded so earnest. So much nobler than he had at her age. So much less twisted up with anger and loss. He squeezed her shoulder. “Then I think your mother will understand, little one, if not easily. And when this is done, we’ll see what can be done about lessons.”

Blue eyes widened in excitement. “Truly?”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“Never, uncle.”

Viktor was glad she thought so. Yes, a far nobler child than he’d been. A good omen for the Republic, if it could be preserved for her to inherit.

Time to do something about that.

“It seems failure is the tonic of the hour, so readily do you all sup of it.”

Ebigail Kiradin stood before the church altar, her lips twisted in distaste at Horden’s grovelling bow. Apara hung her head, knowing the criticism was directed at her as much as the guard captain. Worse, she couldn’t truly recall how she’d failed. Lady Reveque’s scream . . . a burst of light, and then . . . nothing. She couldn’t even remember what had become of the raven-cloak, only that it was gone. Uneasiness of the consequences to come should have outweighed her sense of failure, but Lady Kiradin was close to hand, and her elder cousins were not.

“I . . . I can go back,” stuttered Horden, his eyes still fixed on the nave’s gold-chased tiles. “If you’ll lend me a portion of the 7th . . .”