Winton cleared his throat and interjected, “The man they strung up as an example … and the others they killed …”

Constance nodded. “Have him cut down, and ensure the families of the dead are provided with coin for the proper rituals.”

“My lady…”

“What is it, Captain?” she said, unable to disguise her impatience. I don’t have time for this.

“The Justice … he has more men than you realize. Informants in the city, spies. Propagandists. Other men, whom he pays but who do not wear his livery.”

“What is your point, Captain? Do you wish me to seek out all these men and kill them, alongside everything else? Do what I have commanded.”

Captain Trudan bowed. “Very good, my lady,” he said.

Once he was gone, Constance turned to Winton—he was still visibly upset by the news, and perhaps at how harshly she had spoken to his friend. “I should not have snapped at him,” she said by way of apology.

“It’s all right. I’m sure he’s used to worse from the Justice.” Winton smiled, forgiving her. “I can’t believe what the Justice’s men have done. How can anyone be so heartless?”

Constance shook her head. Her brother was annoyingly, unbelievably naive.

They drew up beside the west guard post. In silent agreement, brother and sister stepped toward the edge of the wall and looked out over the descending slopes of the mountain. The roofs of empty mansions in the upper town rose like ships from the storm cloud, glowing pinkish in the morning light. Random flickers of blue licked at the chimneys and the gutters.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” said Constance quietly.

Winton glanced across at her in disbelief. “It’s killed more than half the people who once lived here,” he replied. “It’s as good as destroyed us.”

“As if something terrible can’t be beautiful too.”

He was silent for a moment, and then he turned to her and she was taken aback by the intensity of his stare. “For Ancestors’ sake, Constance, I know you aren’t telling me the whole truth. Just … let me help you.” He reached out suddenly and wrapped his fingers around her left arm, her wrong arm. She snatched herself backward, but the shock was clear on his face: he’d felt the unexpected hardness underneath the long-sleeved dress. Instantly, doubt clouded his eyes.

“I have to go,” she blurted, hurrying toward the stairs. She nearly stumbled in her desperation to flee across the courtyard, her throat tight, a pulse pounding in her temples. She must not be discovered. Not yet.

Later, Constance waited in the north wing, watching the courtyard for Dr. Thorn. When he finally left her father to visit the Justice, she set down her quill next to the papers on her desk. She’d purposely chosen the office for its vantage point near the door to the north tower.