“He is strong, your husband,” said Jesa.

“In some ways.” Duchess Canthia smiled. “But in some ways, he is like all men—strong without bending. And things that do not bend . . . well, sometimes they break.”

Jesa did not understand this. From everything she understood, many of the people in Nabban who were angry with the Duke thought he was too forgiving, that he was allowing his brother and the Albatross people—what were their names?—too much freedom to complain and make trouble. Ingadarine House, she remembered then: the Albatross was House Ingadaris, just as the Kingfisher was House Benidrivis. The rival families of Nabban were harder to keep track of than even the village squabbles she had grown up with and their complicated old stories about which fishing spot belonged to which family. Having money and carriages and stone houses did not seem to keep drylanders from fighting with each other just as much as marsh-folk.

After a while, as the carriage descended from the hill into the close-cramped neighborhoods of the poor, fewer people gathered to cheer the ducal carriage, although many still stood to watch them pass. Looking at the faces, Jesa could not help feeling a shiver of worry at the scowls many of them wore. But when the road swung out and followed the course of the Great Canal, she began to have an idea why so many of them looked angry. A great swath of buildings along the canal had been burned; some of them still leaked plumes of smoke into the gray sky. At the turn of a bend, she could see that a broad cloud of smoke hung over the near side of the city as well, just inside the walls. Now she remembered a messenger telling her mistress the previous night that there had been a riot in the warehouse district. But surely that had happened two or three days ago, or so the messenger had said—why were some of the buildings still burning?

It was well into the afternoon by the time they reached the city walls. The chief gatewarden came out in full regalia to speak to them when the carriage stopped in front of the huge iron and timber North Gate. He stood on the carriage steps, and had to take off his broad hat to get his head in at the window on the door.

“Why are the gates closed, Warden?” asked Canthia. “It is the middle of the day!”

“Your Grace, there is trouble in Tellis Narassi.” That was a poor neighborhood on the other side of the gates, Jesa knew, inhabited primarily by immigrants from the southern islands. She also knew that it was close to the Patorine Hill where Dallo Ingadaris kept his townhouse. She wondered if Duke Saluceris’ rival had something to do with the disturbance.

Jesa might wonder, but Duchess Canthia had no doubts. “A curse on Count Dallo,” she said. “He should have cleared this rabble from the streets himself. Is there a better way around?”

“Your Grace can have her driver continue around to the Port Gate,” the chief warder said. “If you go that way, you can come up Harbor Way to the Mahistrevine Road.”

“That will take hours more,” the duchess said. “I have a hungry child in my carriage.” She looked over at Jesa as if contemplating the strength of her own forces.

“Please, Mistress,” Jesa said quietly. “Let us do what this good man says. Let us go around.”

“No one will harm the Duke’s child,” Canthia declared. “And no one will harm the Duchess. This is Nabban, not some backwater. There is a sacred law of safe passage inside the city.”

Jesa knew nothing about such a law, but she did know that people were not supposed to set roofs on fire either, and yet a cloud of black smoke hung just a short distance away over the city wall. Once people broke one rule, they did not usually wait long before breaking another. “No, Mistress, I beg you! Think of your child!”

“It is my child I am thinking of,” said the duchess. “I will not let my husband’s brother and his bullies forbid the duke’s family the use of our own streets!” She turned to the gatewarden. “Open them up, Captain. We will drive through.”

The warden’s reluctance showed in his face, but he waved to the guards in the gatehouse and they turned the great windlass. The gates slowly swung open, and the driver urged the horses through, with the warden still standing on the carriage step.

“Merchants Road is blocked just up ahead, Your Grace,” the warden said. “You cannot go that way. If you insist, you must go by Sailmakers Road, but even so I cannot let you go with no more than a driver and two guards. I will give you eight of my riders to clear your way.”

“Do you not need them to protect the gate?” asked the duchess.

He gave her a look of helplessness. “Please, Your Grace. It is a bad day for you to be abroad in the city. Let me help as I can.”

“Very well. We will go up Sailmakers Road.” She looked down at her baby, still cradled in Jesa’s arms. “I thank you for your thoughtfulness, Warden.”

“It is my duty, Your Grace. I wish I could do more. But I wish even more that you would reconsider.” He darted a look at Jesa, so worried that he was willing to seek an ally even in a Wrannawoman nursemaid. “I wish in truth you would turn your carriage around and return to your house in the hills.”

“That cannot be, Warden.” Duchess Canthia’s tone made the end of the conversation quite clear.

Eight petty-knights with lances formed up in front of the carriage before they started forward again. Following the gate-warden’s suggestion, the driver turned the wide carriage into Sailmakers Road, which ran along the Great Canal in the shadow of the walls. But after they had left that broad thoroughfare they found themselves in a series of narrow back streets where their progress slowed to a walking man’s pace. Once they had to stop and change the hitching of the horses to get around a tight corner, setting the tired beasts in three rows so that they could make their way through the tight space between the looming buildings. None of those who watched in curiosity as this lengthy trick was performed seemed anything other than interested to see Duchess Canthia at such close range, but Jesa did not like the way they crowded up to peer in the windows while the carriage was stopped. She put her back to the nearest window, trying to protect baby Serasina from staring eyes.

They finally reached the wider Harbor Road, which mounted toward the Mahistrevine Hill and the Sancellan from the west. With the sun now at their backs but still high in the sky, Jesa felt her heart beating more easily. Then the vast carriage rattled to a stop again.

“We cannot go further this way, Your Grace,” called the driver.

“Whyever not?” the duchess asked.

One of the petty-knights brought his horse close to the carriage. “There is an ostler’s wagon overturned at the far side of St. Lavennin’s Square, Your Grace. The square is full, and they are breaking open the casks.” He was looking at something neither the duchess or Jesa could see. “Oh, Merciful Elysia,” he said quietly.

“What? What is it?”

“Someone has lit the cart on fire, Your Grace.” He stood in his stirrups and shouted to the driver. “Hurry, man! You must turn this carriage around! We will be trapped here.”

The mounted knights moved in beside the carriage as the driver began to pull the horses around, but already the crowd in the square was pushing in close, most of the people simply curious, a few conspicuously drunk. Jesa moved in toward the middle of her seat as the faces of those who managed to wriggle forward between the mounted guards leered in from both sides.

“I cannot turn it around without unhitching the horses!” the driver called. “But I do not.—”

Duchess Canthia waited for a long moment. Outside, the crush of people was actually making the carriage shake. It was all Jesa could do not to scream in fear, but she did not want to upset baby Serasina, who had just awakened and was goggling her eyes, trying to decide whether to cry or not.