The two women turned. Lena recognized the man on the hall’s threshold, and he recognized her too, she realized, his eyes widening fractionally. He was the Duke’s son—the late Duchess’s son. The son who had watched in horror and grief as his dead mother had grabbed her arm. He had wept silently over the body as Lena was escorted from the funeral. She saw that his longsword was drawn but clean.

“Winton,” Constance replied after a moment’s awkward hesitation. “What are you doing here? Are you all right?”

“Dr. Thorn and Lord Irvine are in your apartments, guarded by Irvine’s remaining men and Barbarus. But I heard the portcullis give and thought I should be with you, to keep you safe.”

“Thank you, Brother,” Constance said, her voice clipped. “But the Justice is dead, and Lena and I must destroy the storm spell. I would rather you returned to Lord Irvine.”

“The Justice is dead?” Winton’s eyes shone. “Thank the Ancestors.” He stepped forward. “Let me come with you, Sister, to end this once and for all. I don’t want to leave you again—I want to help if I can. We have to stop what is happening out there.”

“I can’t allow it.” Her annoyance was obvious now. “Lena and I have to go into the crypts. What you would see down there—”

“Can it be worse than the dead rising, Constance? I’ve seen that already.” His jaw had set determinedly, and Lena could tell there would be no arguing with him.

“Winton—”

“I will not take no for an answer—I can’t risk you dying too. Not after all we’ve lost already.”

Lena looked down at the reed-strewn floor, feeling as if she were intruding.

Constance’s voice softened a little. “Fine,” she said.

He nodded. “Then let’s go.” And he picked up an oil lantern hanging on the wall, lit it with a flick of the contraption at its base, and led the way toward the trapdoors.

Constance tapped her cane on the ground—a pale purple light emanated from its pommel. “Winton,” she said.

He stopped on the top step.

“The spell’s heart is inside Lena. The ritual will allow her to control and dispel the storm, but it’s not pretty. We’ll be going deep inside the crypts—we can’t risk being disturbed. And it won’t be easy. If you’re coming, you have to promise me that whatever happens, you will not interfere. All right? You will do as I say, guard the door, and make sure nobody stops us. I don’t want to put you in any more danger than necessary.” Her tone was businesslike, completely uncompromising. Lena wondered with a chill what exactly would be so difficult and secretive about this ritual.