This time it was servants, shuffling warily out of various doorways and edging downstairs to gather in a disorganized mass at the other end of the great hall from the ladies. Verrakai’s household livery on the upper servants, and drab on the others … it had been so long, Dorrin didn’t recognize any of them.

She took a step forward. “I am your new Duke, by order of the crown prince and Council,” she said. “From now on, all orders come from me. Is that clear?”

A murmur, not of resistance but uncertainty.

“If you obey me, no harm will come to you. If you do not, I will consider you conspirators in the treason which brought the Attaint to all in the family, and you will be transported to Vérella to stand trial. What say you?”

“By what right do you treat highborn ladies so?” This from a tall man in the house livery pushing his way forward; the others edged away from him and averted their gaze.

“Who are you?” Dorrin asked, without replying to his question.

“I am His Lordship’s steward,” he said. His expression and voice expressed confidence in his own authority. “Grull Lanatsson is my name, and I am in charge of the household, under His Lordship.”

“Did you not hear?” Dorrin asked. “Haron the traitor is dead. All adult members of the family are under attainder and as they have already tried to attack their Duke—me—and members of the Royal Guard, traveling under royal warrant, they are prisoners, and treated as such. As for you, you may have been the former Duke’s steward, but you are not yet mine. Do you acknowledge me?” Dorrin sensed more movement in the corridor behind the servants, a shifting in the group of them, and another man came to the front, in footman’s livery.

Grull said nothing, scowling as he glanced around the hall, where armed soldiers were obviously on alert. The footman leaned to him and murmured something Dorrin could not hear. He shook his head; the footman stepped back. Then he said, “I would see this so-called order—”

“You have heard it read by an officer of the Royal Guard, a Knight of the Bells,” Dorrin said. “You see the Royal Guard uniforms. Acknowledge me as the rightful Duke, or not, but no more delay.” She could feel, from the far end of the hall, her relatives’ bitter hatred.

He looked around at the other servants, and by his expression did not like what he saw.

“I acknowledge you,” he said, finally.

“You can’t!” said the footman who’d been near him. “You know what he—”

“Be silent, fool!” Grull said.

“Come here,” Dorrin said. “Both you and that footman. What is his name?”

“Coben,” Grull said. He strolled forward, every movement confident. Behind him, Coben followed.

When they were a bare spear-length away, Dorrin halted them with her mage power; they both paled. Grull did not struggle, but the footman’s strained face showed that he was trying to break the spell. She walked closer to them; her personal guard came with her. “Grull, what gods do you serve?”