“Well, Verrakai militia,” Dorrin said. “You have seen my ducal chain, and the Royal Guard of Tsaia to declare my claim. You have my orders now to let me and my escort pass without hindrance. Will you obey?” The temptation to put a glamour on him, now that she knew how, was strong, but she would not start her rule with falsehood.

He glanced from side to side at his companions, none of whom had taken up anything like a useful position. “I—I need to be sure,” he said.

“What proofs would convince you?” Dorrin said. “If the ducal chain will not?”

The man’s gaze wavered, then steadied as he nodded to Sir Valthan. “If that one’s really commanding the Royal Guard, let him explain himself—let him confirm what you say.”

Dorrin realized he might never have seen the Royal Guard or its standard in his life. Without taking her eyes off the man, she said, “Sir Valthan, if you please: Tell this man what you know.”

Valthan introduced himself first; Dorrin could see that his name alone impressed the man. Then he went on. “Your former duke tried to assassinate the prince. For that high treason his life was forfeit. The entire family is now under Order of Attainder. The prince and Council discussed dissolving Verrakai as a domain, and wiping that name from the rolls of Tsaian nobles, but chose instead the one unsullied member of the family, this lady, as the new duke, in the hope that she can redeem the Verrakai name. If she cannot, the Crown will expunge it and divide the land among those lords deemed best able to rule it, and most loyal to the Crown. Is that clear?”

“Yes.” The man looked down. His troop continued to stare, wide-eyed, as if spelled. “I—I’m afraid,” he said finally. “If … if I do let you pass, the duchess … she has the … the power …”

“So do I,” Dorrin said. “Make your choice. I am here, in front of you; she is not. She will soon be on her way to Vérella, on trial for high treason, along with the rest of the family and all who support her. Which would you? A chance at a life with me, or trial for treason and a traitor’s death?”

“What must I do?” Surrender was in every line of his body, but Dorrin did not trust that. Not with someone who had been loyal to her uncle.

“Lay down your arms,” Dorrin said. “Then you may ride with us.”

“Don’t do it!” One of the men behind the leader started to rein his horse away. “They’ll kill us, you know they will.”

“HALT!” Dorrin’s command voice, capable of carrying to a cohort in combat, stopped the man; his horse tossed its head against a tight rein. “I do not kill my people but for treason. If you disarm yourself, swear fealty, and obey, you will be safe.”

The leader did not turn, but said, “Do it, Sim. There’s too many, we’ll all die else.” He fished the crossbow over his shoulder one-handed and dropped it to the ground, unbuckled his sword belt and held it out. Those behind him did the same. Dorrin half expected the panicky Sim to bolt, but after a last frantic look around, he gave in.