Winton stepped in line beside his sister. The battlements spanned the full circumference of the castle. Built in a war-torn age, and designed for defense rather than beauty, they provided a walkway over fifteen feet wide, bordered by crenellations on both sides and punctuated by four guard posts, small jutting rooms at the outer corners of the three square towers containing supplies and ammunition. Constance and Winton walked between the south and west guard posts and around the great hall, wisps of cloud snatching at their heels like a pack of hungry wolf cubs. A couple of city guards bowed as they passed, dressed in the short green cloaks of their uniform. Constance’s men now.

Once they were out of earshot, Winton spoke again. “Doesn’t it all seem a little too … easy? The Justice confronted you upon your arrival but at the first sign of resistance he just disappeared. That’s not like him.” He cleared his throat. “While you were gone, he was very … aggressive in his pursuit of power. He allowed no argument from the Wise Men—all but forced them to confirm him as Protector. It’s hard to argue with someone who has three hundred swords at their command.”

Constance shot him a glance. She couldn’t appear to be naive, and yet she knew she had to seem more confident than she felt. “I’m under no illusions. The Justice is likely planning his next move like some fat spider in his web. But that doesn’t mean I’m not ahead of the game … for now.” She smiled. “If there’s one thing the City of Kings has taught me, it’s to take what you can get—and hope by the time the tables turn you’re far enough ahead that you can save yourself.” The truth, for once. “I’d try him for his crimes if I could—but you know how it is,” she continued, as if part of her was desperate to bury her slip of truth under the details. “Only the King can convict one of his own Justices. For the time being, all we can do is confine him to his apartments. Lord Irvine has stationed a double guard around his wing. I’ve ordered as many of the Justice’s men as could be found rounded up, paid off, or locked in the dungeons.”

Winton nodded. They walked in silence for a few moments, and then he asked the question she knew had been on his lips since she had arrived. “What happened to you? Where have you been, really?”

Constance glanced across—they were nearing the south tower now, and a flicker of bluish lightning cast his face into fleeting relief. “I told you. Father sent me away to stay with my mother’s family at court, the Santinis.”

“He never mentioned it. I mean, before he was … unwell. Everyone thought you had run away or … or even died.”