“The people are rioting. The guards are trying to hold them at the portcullis, between the two gatehouses. The Justice is up on the battlements, directing everything. I slipped away in the confusion—they’d locked me in my rooms, but the guards were needed elsewhere and no one was left to watch me. The Ancestors are emerging from other entrances to the crypts too.” He shook his head. “It’s chaos.”

“We can work this to our advantage,” said Constance, her mind racing as she fastened her cloak.

Winton nodded. “All the guards have abandoned their posts to help on the battlements, and I found the cell keys on the ground outside. Here,” he said, taking one of Xander’s arms over his shoulder—Dr. Thorn took the other, still speechless, his face white with shock. Winton pressed a ring of keys into Constance’s hand. “Let’s free the other prisoners and get out of here.”

Constance nodded gratefully and straightened her back. A plan had already taken shape in her head. “Winton, take Dr. Thorn, the Swordmaster, and what remains of his men to my rooms in the south tower—it’s the farthest from the fighting. Dr. Thorn, there you will attend to Lord Irvine.”

“So you have a use for me after all,” the physician said, shooting Constance a sharp glance that left her in no doubt he’d heard her quiet advice to Winton minutes earlier.

“And what will you do?” Winton asked.

She turned to face her brother. “Do you remember the cryptling with a birthmark on her face? The one who … at your mother’s Descent …?”

Winton nodded, frowning at the memory.

“She’s on her way here, and she has the heart of the storm spell. If she gives it to me, I can destroy the spell for good. She should be trying to find me too, so I’m guessing she’ll be headed for the castle. I’m going to try to intercept her before the Justice gets in the way.”

“All right. You know where I am if you need me.”

Constance felt a sudden rush of affection for her half-brother. She reached out for him, squeezed his shoulder. “Thank you, Winton.”

He smiled, his eyes shining. “Let’s do this.”

TWENTY-ONE

The Chase

The street was quiet. The moon was a dim gray, mercifully, and the stars were shadowed by thin scarves of cloud. It was too dark for searching—no riders circled the sky now. Lena and Emris, hooded and cloaked in the robes of Mythris, led a pair of black horses uphill toward the outskirts of the city. A pair of horses with godspeed charms, Emris had said, was the fastest way to fly to Duke’s Forest—but they had to get to the very farthest reaches of the city to avoid attracting attention, and to conserve the horses’ energy and the spell’s effectiveness.