As if I need shielding from unpleasantness, like some delicate flower. “I am sure I shall manage, Captain,” she said a little sharply. “Lead the way.”

The smell of damp and rotting flesh assaulted Constance’s nose even more strongly as they walked down the corridor. A few other prisoners raised their heads at the light—the black-clad men of the Justice’s personal guard, their faces twisted in hatred as they caught sight of the visitor. Captain Trudan held his lantern high, examining the upturned faces, until they found the cell at the very end—the darkest and filthiest—which contained the physician. Dr. Thorn was indistinguishable at first. His shirt, like the others’, was torn and bloodstained, and a ragged woolen blanket was wrapped tightly around his shoulders against the cold. But unlike the rest, he had buried his head in his arms and did not raise it for the visitors.

“You can leave me now, Captain. I’ll follow you out once the spell is finished.” Constance didn’t care to be watched while she practiced magic: it was something she had always preferred to do in solitude. Do not reveal your craft if you can avoid it, the masked priestesses had taught. It is your greatest weapon—hold it close, and keep your strength a secret. It is an advantage to be underestimated.

The captain hung his lantern on the hook next to the cell. “Are you sure, my—”

“Captain, please. What do you expect to happen? All these wicked men are behind strong iron bars. Now, let me do my work.”

“My lady,” the captain demurred, bowing, “I’ll wait in the guard room upstairs.” And he left her in the gloom of the flickering lamp.

Dr. Thorn was still leaning against the wall, silent, and Constance had no wish to acknowledge his existence. She laid her hands on the metal of the gate. Magic flowed through her blood and out through her fingertips in threads of shining purple—a process so natural to her now that she hardly noticed the motions. She whispered the words, wove a spell partly learned and partly of her own invention, knotted and complex, to guard the metal against a magical attack. Once she had threaded it into the bars, she removed her hands and the purple light glowed white before extinguishing.

“Very good,” said Dr. Thorn, looking up at her. “I couldn’t have done it more gracefully myself.”

Constance shot him a dark glance. “I don’t want your approval, traitor.”

“I hate the Justice too, you know,” he said as she turned to leave.

She hesitated. Rage sparked in her belly as she spun to face the physician. “You hate the Justice? So why torment and kill my father at his command?”

“I will tell you if you permit me.”

The calmness of his voice wore down her anger. Constance had to admit she was curious. She stepped closer to the bars.