I’m so stupid. Rat had been waiting for this. He’d arranged for Azoth to be a hero. He’d even told him. This wasn’t going to be a coup. It was going to be a purge.

“Father, please, don’t go.” Logan Gyre held his father’s destrier, ignoring the predawn chill and holding back tears.

“No, leave it,” Duke Gyre told Wendel North, his steward, who was directing servants with chests full of the duke’s clothing. “But I want a thousand wool cloaks sent within a week. Use our funds and don’t ask for repayment. I don’t want to give the king an excuse to say no.” He clasped gauntleted hands behind his back. “I don’t know what shape the garrison’s stables are in, but I’d like to have word from Havermere of how many horses they can send before winter.”

“Already done, milord.”

On every side, servants were coming and going, loading the wagons that would travel north with provisions and supplies. A hundred Gyre knights made their own last-minute preparations, checking their saddles, horses, and weapons. Servants who would be leaving their families said hurried goodbyes.

Duke Gyre turned to Logan, and just seeing his father in his mail brought tears of pride and fear to Logan’s eyes.

“Son, you’re twelve years old.”

“I can fight. Even Master Vorden admits that I handle a sword almost as well as the soldiers.”

“Logan, it isn’t because I don’t believe in your abilities that I’m making you stay. It’s because I do. The fact is, your mother needs you here more than I need you in the mountains.”

“But I want to go with you.”

“And I don’t want to leave at all. It doesn’t have anything to do with what we want.”

“Jasin said Niner is trying to embarrass you. He said it’s an insult for a duke to be given such a small command.” He didn’t mention the other things Jasin had said. Logan didn’t consider himself quick-tempered, but in the three months since King Davin had died and Aleine Gunder had assumed the title Aleine IX—known condescendingly as Niner—Logan had been in half a dozen fights.

“And what do you think, son?”

“I don’t think you’re afraid of anyone.”

“So Jasin said I was afraid, did he? Is that where you got the bruises on your knuckles?”

Logan grinned suddenly. He was as tall as his father, and if he didn’t have Regnus Gyre’s bulk yet, their guards master Ren Vorden said it was only a matter of time. When Logan fought other boys, he didn’t lose.

“Son, make no mistake. Commanding the garrison at Screaming Winds is a slight, but it’s better than exile or death. If I stay, the king will give me one or the other eventually. Each summer, you’ll come train with my men, but I need you here, too. For half the year you’ll be my eyes and ears in Cenaria. Your mother—” he broke off and looked past Logan.

“Thinks your father is a fool,” Catrinna Gyre said, coming up behind them suddenly. She had been born to another ducal family, the Graesins, and she had their green eyes, petite features, and temper. Despite the early hour, she was dressed in a beautiful green silk dress edged with ermine, her hair brushed glossy. “Regnus, if you get on that horse, I never want to see you come back.”