“Kneel before the princess heir,” Lord Averill said in a loud deep voice. “And thank the Maker she has returned to us.” Averill dropped to one knee, bowing his head, followed by the gray-haired woman who had spoken out.

Byrne’s bluejackets fell to their knees. The Demonai dipped sideways in an almost comical fashion, acknowledging the princess while keeping their eyes and weapons trained on the wizards on the stage.

Jinxes are slower than arrows, Han thought.

Speaker Jemson went down, his robes billowing around him. Elena knelt beside her chair. Dancer knelt at the edge of the pavilion, keeping his head up, his hand on his amulet, and his eyes fixed on the Bayars. But no one else.

They hung there like that for a long moment, as if balanced on the honed edge of a sword. And then it began, from downslope, a rhythmic rumble of voices that grew and spread into a deafening roar.

“Rai-sa! Rai-sa! Rai-sa!” There were even some shouts of “Al-is-ter!”

Han looked beyond the pavilions with their brilliant banners, beyond the queen’s bier and the bluebloods on the platform to see the crowds of commoners seem to ripple as they fell to their knees.

Han had expected it, but it was still good to see and hear. Cat Tyburn had done her work well.

And slowly, dramatically, like leaves falling from a tree, the others followed suit. First, the Princess Mellony, dropping to her knees beside her father. Then some other bluebloods Han didn’t recognize, including the badged-up general. And after that, the bluejackets that protected the dais. Including Mason Fallon.

Still no wizards. They huddled in an unhappy group, like vultures evicted from a warm carcass.

And then Micah Bayar swept back his cloak and dropped to his knees, bowing his head, his amulet swinging forward. Fiona glared down at him like she wanted to stomp on him.

Ho, Han thought. Micah breaks with his family? That’s interesting.

Three other wizards went down. Then the Mander brothers and a middle-aged russet-headed plump wizard who must have been their mother. And Master Gryphon.

Master Gryphon?

Han stared. His former teacher Gryphon stood between two older wizards, an elegantly dressed man and woman with long aristocratic noses and thin unhappy mouths. As Han watched, Gryphon swung his canes aside, and the older couple each took an arm and lowered him to the stage. They knelt as well, on either side of him, heads bowed, but Gryphon stared up at Han, a look of ferocious curiosity on his face.

Questions ricocheted through Han’s mind.

Why would Gryphon be here, when the spring term had already begun?

Had all the students and faculty at Oden’s Ford ditched school in favor of politics?

Han forced his eyes elsewhere. Fiona was down now too, leaving only Lord Bayar standing. The High Wizard looked about, shook his head, and smiled his crocodile smile.