Constance absorbed the details as she tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear: the hushed adult voices, the plaintive children, the wail of a baby, the nightgowns poking out from under women’s thick coats and shawls, the dark circles around men’s eyes. The thin wrists and hollow cheeks—the brass shield-eyes hanging at every collarbone. The smell of ale overlying the subtle scent of fear.

Captain Trudan and another guard were tied up in chairs at the far end of the room. The captain was either out cold or dead, blood congealing in a wound on his head, his body sagging under the ropes. The other guard was gagged, his eyes wide and angry under his peaked helmet.

Gradually, the men at the bar noticed the new arrivals, their low, urgent voices sinking into silence.

“What’s this?” demanded a burly man in his midforties with hands like slabs of beef.

Constance met his eyes. “I’ve come from the castle,” she said, keeping her voice calm. “Will someone tell me what’s happened here?”

“Some fine lady from the castle’s come to tell us to go home, just like the captain here,” the large man interpreted, clenching his fists. “P’raps she wants to join him, eh?”

An older man, gray-haired but straight-backed, laid a hand on his shoulder and stepped in front. “My name’s Redwold. I was a scribe here once,” he said. “I apologize for my blacksmith friend, but we’re all on edge tonight. If you ask me what’s going on, I say the Ancestors are angry—angry at us for sitting on our arses while Duke’s Forest is destroyed around us. Here’s what happened, and let’s see if you can explain it any better.” He took a few paces forward and looked Constance in the eyes. “We woke to the sound of knocking on our floors—some of the doors to the crypts lifted, as if pushed from below. As if the Ancestors were trying to get out … to tell us something, or warn us, or worse.”

As the image flashed through her mind, Constance felt her skin crawl, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end.

“And when we tried to run, your captain tried to stop us, told us to be calm.” He shook his head. “Be calm! The Ancestors are rising, and they tell us to be calm! So we came here to decide what’s to be done. To decide how to take back control.” He shot a glance at the two injured guards in the corner, then returned his gaze to Constance. “So who are you, and why are you here?”

“I am Constance Rathbone, Lady Protector and Duchess-in-waiting.”

The room erupted into murmurs. “She’s a mage,” said a woman with a small baby clutched to her breast. “We cannot trust her.”

“I heard she killed her father,” another voice called.