Constance’s eyes wandered about the room, catching sight of the physician sitting at a table with the other professionals and senior servants in the castle. While the physician refilled his goblet, the bald houndmaster with his thin, sharp face was muttering something into his ear. “My lord,” she said to Veredith, “what do you know of Dr. Jonas Thorn? I do not recall him from my childhood.”

Veredith took a few much-needed moments to dab his mouth with a handkerchief. “He was hired as the physician’s assistant not long after you disappeared—though before that, I understand, he was an apothecary in the lower town. When the physician fell to the Pestilence, Dr. Thorn took his place.”

“And before he was an apothecary?”

Lord Veredith shrugged. “I can tell you no more than that—I take no interest in the affairs of the lower town, I’m afraid.” He frowned. “Why do you ask, my dear?”

“He is responsible for my father’s health,” she said, refilling Veredith’s goblet. “And yet my father does not seem…” She looked at his stringy, greasy hair, the dark circles beneath his eyes. “Well, he does not seem particularly cared for.”

“Yes. Yes indeed,” said Veredith, his face suddenly grave and defensive. “Caring for your father presents a difficult challenge. He does not like to be touched, I hear, and rarely sleeps. But Thorn represents the best medical care we can offer your father, my dear. There is no more senior medical professional in city or castle.”

A difficult challenge? He is a person, not a nuisance! Constance felt herself growing angry, so she changed the subject while cutting up the rather hard pastry on her plate. “And what of my brother? Who has educated him since both his parents sickened?”

Veredith smiled. “Fitting, my dear, that you should show such concern for your poor brother. He was very close to his mother, right up until the end. After his childhood tutor fell to the Pestilence, perhaps three years past, it was the Duchess herself who elected to help Winton practice his letters and numbers—with the Justice’s guidance of course.”

“The Justice?” If anything, her brother would have been a threat to his position.

“The Duchess and the Justice were close for a time—although I understand Winton was never exactly comfortable in his company. And since she grew ill, the boy has … well, he’s run a little wild. The Justice tried to draw him closer, but to little effect. Winton showed virtually no interest in statecraft, and besides, the Justice had greater concerns than a wayward princeling.”

Constance nodded slowly. It had been clear from his expression in the courtyard that Winton bore little love for the Lord Protector, though his dislike stopped well short of rebellion. “Then what?” she asked.