“I worked in the crypts,” she said. “I was an assistant mortician, preparing and caring for the Ancestors. But…” And she felt her voice disappear in her throat. She coughed. “But then I was convicted of magecraft, and the Justice set his hounds on me, and I ran. My … my master tried to protect me. He told me how to find a way out.” She didn’t feel able to tell him the full story—how he had died, how it had all been her fault. Not yet.

“Why were you convicted?” Emris asked. “What form did your magic take?”

Lena hesitated. “I … was attending to the Duchess’s body. It was a great honor—I was selected to assist in the Descent, the ceremony in which we place the body of the Ancestor into the final resting place. Everyone was watching. Everyone was there.” She remembered the Duchess’s son, Winton. Tears had run down his cheeks as he’d watched Lena perform the last rites. “The first part went well. But then, at the end of the ceremony, I had to touch the Duchess and … and when I did, she moved.”

“She moved?” He sounded genuinely interested, but hardly shocked.

“I mean … her arm … I don’t know what happened,” she added lamely. “I guess … it was magic?” It sounded wrong to her, but she forced herself to consider the possibility. “Is that … normal?”

“Oh yes. Before the Binding, buildup of uncontrolled magic can result in objects moving, breaking, catching fire, or even exploding.”

“Exploding?”

Emris laughed. “Count yourself lucky. I’ve come across some truly gruesome scenes in my time.”

Lena nodded, unable to join him in smiling. She hadn’t quite told Emris the full story, had she? Because it hadn’t been a random movement. No, the Duchess’s bony hand had shot up and grasped Lena’s wrist, tight and cold. Lena had shrieked and pulled back from the tomb. But everyone had seen it. Even Vigo, who had looked at her blankly with uncomprehending eyes as murmurs of outrage had risen among the mourners. The Justice had wasted no time in chaining her hands and sending her straight to the dungeons to await her trial. And the Duchess’s son had looked at her as she left, tears lingering on his face, mingled grief and horror in his eyes.

She had never felt so small, worthless and alien to herself.

But she didn’t tell Emris any of that. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. How could she be sure about him anyway? She’d known him for a matter of hours. She was relying on him to tell her everything about this world. But she wasn’t ready to tell him everything about herself.