Winton shook his head slightly. “His personal retinue is the largest in the castle—he has three hundred men under his own command, and until you are confirmed as Protector in his stead, his ducal authority gives him command of the two hundred men of the city guard.” He paused. “Five hundred men.”

Constance set down her fork. “Yes, I can manage basic arithmetic, Winton,” she snapped. She instantly regretted it, as she noticed his expression hardening. He is an ally, she reminded herself, not just your little brother. He may not be of age, but he’s not a child anymore. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m tired from my journey, and it’s been a sad homecoming.”

Winton nodded, smiled. He always had been quick to forgive, even when they were younger. “Don’t worry. I understand.” He tore off a hunk of bread from a loaf in the center of the table.

You really don’t understand, Constance thought. But she said, “What of the other personal retinues?” She asked partly because she was genuinely interested, and partly to make him feel important.

“Lord Irvine…” Winton swallowed uncomfortably. “Lord Irvine has two hundred and fifty men, or thereabouts, due to his rank as Swordmaster—it’s fewer than the Justice but they’re better fighters.” In the past, the Swordmaster’s guard had been the elite fighting force of Duke’s Forest, a thousand strong. Two hundred and fifty was … pitiful. “As for the rest of the noblemen—their retinues number in the tens. Once it would have been more, but…” He shook his head sadly. “So very many have died. And now Mother…”

In spite of everything, Constance too felt a pang of sorrow in her chest—she hated to see her little brother so wounded. “Lord Irvine told me what happened at the Descent. I’m so sorry, Winton.”

He shook his head. Constance could tell he was holding back tears. “I just … can’t believe that she’s gone. She was ill for so long … and suddenly … but then, for a moment … I thought…” She rested her right hand on his arm. Sleep had helped her, and food was strengthening her further, but her magic and emotions remained unsettled, burbling within her like an upset stomach. She steadied her breath in the way she’d been taught as a novice. She felt her heartbeat slow. Winton, however, had clearly never been taught how to control his emotions.

“It’s all right, Winton. I’m here now,” she said softly.

“I’m sorry,” he said, pulling away from her and standing quickly, struggling to suppress his tears. “I … have to go, just … just for a minute.” And he slipped out one of the servants’ doors toward the back of the hall, attracting a few stares and murmurs.