They had given her good food and clean linen. They had given her matching cribs in which Harod and Ardee snored, blissfully unaware of the danger they were in. They had supplied her with all the soaps and scents, powders and paints, wigs and dresses the most exacting socialite might need for a grand public appearance. They had even sent for her old maids Freid and Metello to help her prepare. It reminded Savine a little of happier times, before she was a Lady Governor, before she betrayed the king, before the Great Change came. Except that Lisbit was dead and Zuri was in prison.

She winced at that thought. They tortured people suspected of hoarding flour. What might they do to someone accused of being a flesh-eating sorcerer in the service of the Prophet? Haroon and Rabik, too, who had followed her so faithfully. Had their loyalty landed them in fathoms of chain? It was insane. It was laughable. But in the current climate, the insane and laughable could quickly turn fatal.

Savine closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath. She had charges of her own to answer. Some almost as insane and laughable as those against Zuri and her brothers. Others all too horribly true. She had to fight for herself first. If they found her guilty, she could help no one.

“This one?” asked Metello, in her thick Styrian accent.

She had a dress over one arm, a great swag of bright blue Suljuk silk with Osprian lace at the cuffs and embroidered flowers all around the hem. It had been made for an appearance at the theatre, she thought, but never worn. That colour had always seemed to be trying too hard.

Savine waved it away. “By the Fates, no.”

Judge hoped to swindle her with good treatment. To put her off guard with familiar luxuries. To coax her into appearing at the trial as her old self. The personification of the ruthless, exploitative, privileged elite that the Great Change had set out to destroy.

She had even furnished Savine with jewels. Some excellent earrings and a very fine ruby necklace, no doubt taken as bribes from some ex-lord’s wife in return for a pardon that never came. Judge did not really do pardons, not even for rubies as fine as these. Savine put a finger under them and held them to the light, admiring their bloody sparkle. Then she slid the stand firmly away.

Judge might very well be sending her to the Tower of Chains, but she was a damn fool if she thought Savine would be helping. “Let’s keep it very simple, ladies. Very clean and very humble. No jewels and no wig.” Metello gave an upset cluck, frowning at Savine’s own fuzz of clipped brown hair. “No silk and no—”

There was a crash outside and Savine spun towards the door, took a lurching step for the children, one hand pressed to her churning stomach, the other reaching for the cribs.