But Irvine was shaking his head, as if she’d misunderstood. “The shock really came at the Duchess’s Descent,” he said. “It was … traumatizing.”

Constance turned to face him. “What do you mean?”

“It’s the talk of the castle. There was a girl there. A cryptling. She was administering the sacred ointment for the last time, but when she touched the Duchess’s lips…” He shook his head as if he couldn’t quite believe the words, even as he spoke them. “The body … It moved.”

“It moved?” Constance’s heart was racing, chills running down her spine. “But surely there are natural reasons … The cryptling could have knocked it…” Her voice trailed off.

Irvine was shaking his head again. “The action was far too determined. Trust me, I saw it.”

“What happened?”

“The Duchess’s hand flew up, quick as a cat, and grabbed the girl’s wrist. As if to stop her. It held tight for a full second before it fell, lifeless.” He paused, as if thinking through the words he spoke next. “There was no doubt in my mind: it was magic. The girl was tried and convicted yesterday, and of course the Witenagemot sentenced her to die. The Justice set his hounds on her, as he does with all his convicts.” Irvine swallowed. “Whatever she did, nobody deserves such a death.”

Constance tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. “How horrible for Winton. For a moment he must have thought his mother was alive after all.”

“He rushed to his mother’s side, convinced there had been a mistake. A moment of hope makes grief even more difficult to bear.” Irvine smiled sadly.

They were silent for a few moments, feeling the horror of everything that had happened. And then Constance spoke again. “Before we came in here, I heard the servants talking about a girl, saying she escaped.”

Irvine nodded. “They say the cryptling evaded the hounds somehow. The Justice thinks she’s still in the city. He’s imposed a curfew and is tearing the lower town apart, looking for her.”

But she’s not in the city at all. Constance felt a small thrill at the knowledge that she’d helped the cryptling mage escape from under the Justice’s nose. She gazed out the window at the swirling cloud licking against the glass, now flashing blue intermittently. She remembered vividly when her own magic had started to manifest, causing objects to float or fly around the room. Yes, that must have been it. The cryptling girl had just been extraordinarily unlucky to have been standing in front of an audience of hundreds, attending to an important body.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, a knock on the door.

“Enter,” Constance called.