He nodded. “As good a place to start as any. His condition began just over two years ago. The Pestilence had done its worst by then, more than half the population dead, a terrible toll each year in the summer months, regular as a harvest. The shallow crypts in the lower town were full to bursting. And traders refused to enter—instead, special convoys left produce on the outskirts of the forest, collecting gold in return.” His voice was quiet, full of horror. “Things were bad. And the Pestilence showed no regard for wealth or status: my younger brother, my sister, my father … to name only a few. Everyone lost someone. It was a terrible, dark time.” The lamplight flickered across his eyes, shining green. “But the Duke’s strength in the face of great personal suffering helped us all see him as a true role model, a leader. He wasn’t idle. He stockpiled food and supplies. He tried to stem the spread of the Pestilence. And he even sent envoys, messages to the City of Kings … but no one came. Perhaps the messengers were swallowed up in the storm cloud. Or perhaps no one cared. And then … something changed.”

He paused, a distant look in his eyes above the swaddling of his scarves.

“What changed?” Constance urged quietly.

“It was gradual, but I see it now in hindsight, clear as day. Slowly but surely, the Duke developed an obsession: he wanted someone to blame for the tragedy inflicted on his home and his people. Rather than finding a solution to the storm cloud, he focused on rooting out and punishing those responsible. He began to complain of headaches too: it was then that the Duchess sent for Dr. Thorn, who began to attend to him regularly. But none of the doctor’s medicines appeared to help—in fact, your father only grew worse. As the headaches worsened, so did his obsession. He spent hours locked away with the Justice, and soon both concluded that the culprit must be a mage, a coven of mages, an infestation of mages—and that they were still in the city, weaving the storm spell stronger and stronger by the day. Soon the Duke sent a message to the King: he was shutting the gates. No one was to enter or to leave. And so he did. He told the King it was to quarantine Duke’s Forest and prevent the spread of the Pestilence, but his true purpose was, and always has been, to trap the supposed culprits inside the city and kill them.”

These were hard words to hear. “Do you think … the Justice poisoned his mind? Or did my father truly believe …?”