“The time for that question is long behind. Now there is only what you do next.”

“Calenne hasn’t spoken to me since. She thinks I’ve sabotaged her wedding.”

“So the gallant Lord Kiradin hasn’t yet arrived?” Her tone was as dismissive as her words. “I suspect he’s preparing a dashing entrance. And it wouldn’t hurt Calenne to think of someone else for a change.”

Josiri frowned away criticism aimed at himself as much as his sister. “As you said, I can’t change the past. Now there’s only what comes next.”

Anastacia folded her arms. Her lip curled in thought. “Then why do you fret so?”

“Because every time I look to the future, all I see is the fire.”

“Maybe that’s how it should be. Maybe you are the Phoenix your mother sought to be.” A rare moment of solemnity slipped across her face. She drew nearer, smoky eyes brimming. Her fingers entwined his, cool to the touch. “I have laid bare your soul, Josiri. You have it within you to be a great man, if you’ll but let yourself.”

“Or a great fool.”

“That’s for history to judge. History is enshrined by the triumphant. So bring triumph. For your people, and for yourself.”

“And if it’s not that easy?”

“Then prove yourself worthy of my affection, and of your mother’s trust.”

Bells rang out across Eskavord. The long-awaited end of curfew had arrived. The noonday meeting with Governor Yanda was nigh.

Anastacia’s solemnity gave way to amusement. “But if you’re to spend hours staring blankly at the hangman’s labours, I shall bid you good morning. Someone needs to make sure the Ascension feast is prepared. If Calenne’s angry now, how unbearable will she be if there’s not a scrap of food prepared for her new husband?”

She kissed him on the cheek and stepped away, fingers slipping from his.

“Have I ever told you how much I rely on you?” he asked.

Anastacia cracked a grin. “Never enough.”

“I’d tell you more, if you let me. I’d tell you I lo . . .”

“No.” She cut him off. “We don’t use that word, remember? One way or another, the day is coming when you will leave these stones behind, and me alongside. Let’s not make that parting harder.”

“You think I’m so shallow?”

“I think that a duke who takes a demon for his bride is one who receives a poor end to his story.”

“You’re not a demon.”

“So you keep telling me. But it’s not your belief that sets the pyre alight.”

As if to reinforce the point, her seneschal’s garb rippled. It peeled outward like a blossoming rose. The petals drifted away into scattering smoke, revealing a close-fitting azure gown beneath. It glittered in the sunshine, its beauty a stark contrast to the scowl marring her expression.