He nodded slowly. “That was where I found Constance the night she ran away…” He was about to continue, but suddenly stopped, bowing his head. “No, this is a story for another time—perhaps a story I should not tell you. Your test is tomorrow morning.” He glanced up at her. “I’m not saying that you’re safe, Lena. But if we can establish you as an initiate of Faul, or any of the temples, you will have legal protection and a chance to argue your case in a court of law. The bottom line is that Chatham threatened to steal your property and then to detain you against your will. You defended yourself in the only way you knew how.”

She raised her head, feeling a glimmer of hope. “Really?”

He sighed. “Yes, really. Some might even say the fault was in the mechanicals themselves. They’re powered by Chaos, Lena. Chatham obviously has tricks to ensure they are usually harmless … at least outwardly. But you didn’t know how to do that. Of course you didn’t.” He stared at the butterfly curiously as it rested on the top of Lena’s head. “You really should get rid of that thing,” he murmured, clearly uncomfortable.

She scooped it up protectively. After all this time, there was no way she was letting it go. She slipped it safely into her pocket. “So basically, I just need to pass this test,” she said.

“Focus on that. You can’t fight every battle at once.”

Lena stroked the butterfly’s wings. “I’m sorry, Emris,” she said quietly.

“You should have listened to me,” he replied, standing up, his voice businesslike again. “I have a lot to think about. You should use what time you have left to practice for the test tomorrow.” He stalked away from her, turning at the door. In his eyes, Lena read sadness, and disappointment, and concern—but also fear. Fear for her?

“I’m sorry,” she said again, drawing herself up straighter and wiping her face. “Maybe it was stupid, but I had to do it. I had to know.”

He shook his head slightly. “You know I forgive you,” he murmured. And then he left.

SIXTEEN

Confirmation

Constance stepped into the great hall. The white and green ceremonial robes weighed upon her narrow shoulders; her pale hair fanned out across her back. The Rathbone tree emblem was emblazoned across the long train behind her, its leaves over her shoulders, roots trailing along the floor. A smattering of applause, swelled by a few half-hearted cheers, rang out through the hall as she approached the center. The Wise Men followed her inside, clothed in silk, velvet, and jewels of their own, led by Winton in the silver robes of the second in line to the ducal throne.