Lord Veredith frowned. “Then he was tutored by the Swordmaster—both in his books and in the art of swordplay. But in the last year he has abandoned the twin swords in favor of a longsword and spends much of his time in the practice hall with the city guard. He doesn’t care for books, I am afraid—and with the Duchess so ill, there was no one left to insist on his lessons.”

No one? Constance stared at Lord Veredith in disbelief. She could barely believe the hypocrisy of the man. Had none of the Wise Men taken any responsibility for her brother?

He continued. “The captain of the guard … Captain Trudan, I believe … has rather taken him under his wing.” He sighed and shook his head. Constance waited, sensing more to follow. “Since your father’s illness, we Wise Men have all tried to be fathers to Winton. And Lord Irvine seemed to be making progress, for a time. But it didn’t last, alas. Trudan appears to have succeeded where we have failed.”

“Captain Trudan?” She remembered him—a big man of thirty or so when she’d left, the son of a baker, who’d fought his way into the guard by virtue of his pure strength. She sought him out. He sat at the table with the physician and the houndmaster, ignoring their conversation and chewing enthusiastically on what looked like a very tough piece of dried venison. He had a straightforward, friendly face. She frowned. “But Trudan is lowborn. What happened with Lord Irvine? Why does my brother no longer seek out his company?”

“That I do not know.” Lord Veredith sighed, then slurped his soup. “Who can understand the young? Perhaps Trudan’s lowborn status has helped in some way. It is strange … But these are strange times. There are no rules anymore.” He sounded sad. “In another age, we would’ve protested. Now…”

Now, you can’t be bothered, she thought. “Indeed, my lord. Thank you for your thoughts on this sensitive matter.” Constance smiled stiffly, and turned to her father to hide the worry she felt sure was naked on her face. The Duke was struggling through a mouthful of bread, and she couldn’t help noticing the sore red marks on his wrists, as if he had been restrained.

She shot another glance at Jonas Thorn, who unexpectedly met her gaze from the far end of his table. His eyes narrowed at her—so slightly that it was nearly imperceptible, but she noticed nonetheless.

I don’t trust him.

FIVE

Flight

Lena hesitated on the step of the carriage, pulling the gray cloak close around her body. They had stopped in the center of a crossroads. The four broad roads, golden in the sunlight, stretched into the blue distance. All around, low fields rustled with grass and the world felt calm and endless.