“You … he … cannot be serious.” Dorrin was sure her face had paled. It would not do to say that the prince was crazy, but he must have lost all reason to think elevating an exiled Verrakai mercenary to the dukedom would work. She had not been there—she had refused to think of it as home for over two decades now—since her last, successful flight.

“I assure you, Captain, that the prince is serious. Pray read the rest. No other member of the family is free from the taint of treason; you alone are known to be a loyal friend to Kieri Phelan. The prince charged me to tell you that he is convinced breaking up the duchy would create more problems. It needs a strong duke—duchess—and you have both command and combat experience.”

She did, that was true. She read the rest, the formal phrases explaining why her uncles and aunts, her siblings, her cousins, were under order of attainder. Haron Vasli, the Duke who was, and his brother Kalin, are dead, following a merciless attack on my person, resulting in the deaths of the Marshal-Judicar and the Knight-Commander of the Bells. Dorrin shivered. Other Verrakai have ignored a summons to court. We have reports that Haron’s next brother fled south, to Konhalt. That she could well believe. Konhalt, a minor family, had been allied to Verrakai since the Girdish wars, though with one branch that had moved north and away. We need decisive, quick action to take control of Verrakai and prevent open rebellion. Indeed they did need that. You are authorized to use whatever force you must. Did that mean—could it mean—using magery against magery? But even if he allowed it, hers was too weak.

Dorrin read on; the prince explained why he had decided against breaking up the Verrakai holdings and handing them over to others. Doing that before he was finally crowned would cause more chaos, possibly even civil war. He could not afford to wait until his Midsummer coronation. He must act quickly. If she accepted, he would send further instructions to meet her on return to Tsaia.

Her imagination flared, showing her the great steading as it had been, the old stone of the original keep still standing, the more modern mansion and outbuildings around it. She saw herself arriving there with loyal troops behind her, striding up those steps worn by the feet of centuries, into the great hall … her imagination stopped short before peopling that hall with any of the relatives and servants likely to be there. Not her uncle the late duke, or her uncle his brother or her father, dead a decade by rumor. Her mother? Perhaps. Her aunt? Cousins? She shivered. She could not go back there, not after all these years, not to face their malice, their magery.

And yet. If not Dorrin Duke Verrakai, who could possibly take over? Did the people Verrakai ruled deserve to be scattered, handed over to strangers who might not understand what they had endured? If Konhalt also fell, as the prince’s letter suggested, who else—?