The woman turned toward the crowd. “Am I the only one who remembers what it was like under her father? This is something he might have done.”

A few of the others murmured in assent.

Phalue started running mental calculations. She’d unbuckled her sword before sitting down; she could get to it if she just leaned over. How much time would that take? The two guards at her back were younger recruits; she’d sent her best to hunt down the constructs.

Ranami’s hand was warm on her arm. She would protect her wife with her life if it came to it.

The woman drew her knife and leapt forward.

Phalue rose to meet her. She ducked the blow and charged, wrapping her arms around the woman and carrying her to the floor.

A sharp sting across her shoulder told her she’d not ducked the knife completely. Around her, the world devolved into shouts, screams and stampeding boots. The woman beneath her squirmed, trying to bring the knife to bear. Phalue seized her wrist, slamming it on the ground once, twice, until the woman’s fingers opened. She pried the blade from her and struggled to her feet.

Her guards had engaged with two other petitioners carrying knives.

“Don’t kill them!” she called out. But they couldn’t hear her over the din. It was over within moments, both the other petitioners slain by the guards. The woman she’d pried the knife from had fled; the entrance hall had emptied out.

Ranami hurried to her side, examining the wound in Phalue’s shoulder. “Just a shallow cut,” she said.

“Dione’s balls!” Phalue swore. She dropped the knife and it clattered onto the tiles of the entrance hall. The cut was shallow but it still stung. What stung more, though, were the words the woman had spoken. She’d been trying to rouse the commoners against Phalue. “What a mess. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“I doubt they were real petitioners,” Ranami said, echoing Phalue’s earlier thought.

“They could have been. And now they’re dead.” Phalue could smell the food being prepared in the kitchens. A few petitioners had lingered in the courtyard but most had fled. She’d have to make some sort of statement about this, reassure everyone that they would be safe within the palace walls. “Take the bodies to the storage room,” she told the guards. “If no one claims them by nightfall, burn them with juniper.”

Someone scurried in from outside, still dripping from the rain. Another petitioner? But they shrugged off the hood of their oilskin cloak and Phalue recognized the messenger from the city. “A missive,” the woman said as she strode toward Phalue. “Marked urgent, received just this morning.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a letter, the corner damp from her fingertips.