She met his eyes determinedly. “I’m sorry I have had to lie to you all. I wish I hadn’t felt the need, but I knew I would not be accepted if I told you the truth.” She turned to the rest of her people, their cold, shocked faces. “I cannot help that I am a mage. I didn’t ask for it. And I never wished to be ripped from my home and sent away. But even so, I didn’t kill my father. That was you, Lord Justice. Or rather, you and Dr. Thorn, whose potions fed his madness.” She fixed her eyes on the physician. “You pushed him, didn’t you? On the Justice’s orders.”

The physician’s face was impassive. The Justice slid the sword from his belt and aimed it at Constance’s heart. As if waiting for this signal, his hound rose to its feet and crouched, ready to pounce. His black-clad men drew their blades, and Dr. Thorn slipped two fine daggers from his belt, standing in a fighting stance at the Justice’s side. He displayed no signs of the red combat magic simmering under his skin, but Constance could sense it, sure as fire.

“You are under arrest, my lady, for murder,” the Justice growled.

“You said that before, Lord Justice,” said Constance. She raised her voice. “But surely it is you who ought to be under arrest. We have to ask ourselves, who has gained the most from the storm cloud, from my father’s madness, from the Pestilence and the mage hunts?” She lifted her cane and pointed it directly at the Justice, the golden tip a mere inch from the end of his sword. “You, Lord Justice. You, who have the hypocrisy—the gall—to recruit a mage to hunt mages.”

Suddenly she turned her cane aside and shot an arrow of magic at Dr. Thorn. She’d hoped not to harm but to reveal—and she had judged it right. The instinct to defend against such an attack was irrepressible. He swiped his dagger and a flash of red dispatched the purple dart. The crowd gasped, and Thorn scowled as he realized what he had done. Someone started to scream, others to run. The fear in the air was palpable.

Magic was truly here.

Constance watched Winton’s face drain of blood.

The Justice spoke next, his words low and heavy as thunder. “To conquer what you fear, you must become it.” The monstrous white hound barked twice. Constance couldn’t stop herself from flinching at the sight of its bared yellowish teeth.

The ordinary folk of the castle were fleeing from the scene in earnest now, the Duke’s body cold and forgotten at the courtyard’s heart. People slipped into doorways like frightened mice, hoping not to be noticed—those inside already pressed white faces against the nearest windows, watching.