“I have been in the City of Kings, with my mother’s family,” she said. “My father had the foresight to send me away—in secret—as the cloud first began to develop. He was trying to protect me. He did not know how terrible it would grow, but at the first sign of the storm he knew, as I was heir to the duchy, that it was imperative I survive, flourish, and learn the art of rule from the greatest in the land.” She laid a hand on her father’s arm, part of her hoping he wasn’t sane enough to call out her half-truths, her lies. “But now it’s he who needs my protection. And all of you. I’ve come back to help you. My father has been alone at the helm, with no heir yet of age to offer a Protectorate.” She smiled at Winton gently. “And especially alone since the sad decline and recent death of the Duchess.” Pain flashed briefly across her brother’s face, and Constance squeezed his shoulder. “But I am here now, and a Witenagemot is set for tomorrow at midday. As my father is ill, I intend to petition the Wise Men for permission to rule in his stead.”

A murmur filled the hall. She heard the words “The Justice will not accept this,” but could not tell who spoke. She ignored the warning.

“I am only sorry I could not return sooner. But let us raise a glass: to homecomings, to new beginnings, to our future.” And she lifted the full goblet high into the air, watching nervously as people rose hesitantly to their feet, each guest raising their glass in answer.

“Homecomings. New beginnings. Our future,” they murmured. She had never heard a toast spoken with less conviction.

Afterward, Constance sat down and piled her plate high with food, hoping the relief wasn’t too plain on her face. She was a good liar—she’d never have reached her rank at the temple if she weren’t—and yet lies still tasted sour in her mouth.

Lies are neighbors with the truth, she remembered the masked Priestess whispering. Release your secret truths one by one, carefully, and only to persuade. Treat them like gold.

Winton leaned closer, his voice low and worried as he spoke—although it was barely necessary under the rising clatter of plates and the roar of conversation. “You have my support, Sister, of course. But do you really think the Justice will lie down and take this?”

She chewed on a piece of rehydrated fish. Disgusting. The fare on the table was clearly drawn from the castle’s plentiful siege supplies—some of it preserved for decades. She forced herself to swallow: she needed the strength. “No, he won’t go without a fight,” she said. “But I don’t intend to give him a choice.”