Tavia knew a lie when she heard one—after all, she’d worked for the infamous Wesley Thornton Walcott, who was probably the best liar out there—and that skittish little Rishiyat busker hadn’t been lying when Tavia held a mirror doll to the skies and scraped her knife against its carved face. He hadn’t been lying when that same cut appeared across his own cheek and when his eyes widened as Tavia moved the knife to the doll’s neck.

And he certainly hadn’t been lying when she punched him in the face.

This was the spot.

Tavia wiped at her forehead.

The winds of Rishiya were too warm for her taste. She missed the biting edge of Creijen winter. Rishiya was a garden of buildings, with flowers falling from rooftops and vines curling around windows. The streets were filled with crisp leaves and smooth tree roots that coiled across the city and around the narrow rivers that hosted modest floating railways, the banks of which were amassed in purple holly and wildflowers.

And the ivy towns—where she had stolen her share of wallets while tightening her plan earlier that day—were bright and beautiful in a way that made Tavia feel just how rough her edges were.

But she wasn’t in Creije anymore and she could never go back.

The Kingpin had seen to that.

Tavia checked her timepiece as the busker approached.

He was tall and stocky, with a wide jaw and dark eyes. His face matched the description, and the way he walked toward her, untouchable, and so similarly to the way Tavia knew she had walked the streets of Creije, told her this was her guy.

Nolan Kane.

Tavia smiled as he got closer.

Exactly two hours after sundown, just like her source had promised. Rishiya’s best busker was prompt—he liked routine.

What a moron.

Keep them guessing. Don’t do what’s expected. Never let yourself get predictable.

Wesley had taught her the most important lesson a busker could know: how to be invisible.

“If you’re not looking for me, then you should be,” Nolan said, all bright teeth and smarmy eyebrows. “I’m about to give you a wild night.”

Definitely not invisible.

“So what’s your poison?”

“My poison,” Tavia repeated, as though she was pondering it. “I’m a little particular. What have you got?”

“Anything,” Nolan said. “Everything.”

“That’s a big promise to make.”

Nolan took off his backpack and held it up like a trophy.

“There’s not a single piece of magic in all of Rishiya that I ain’t got tucked away. Any charm or trick you want, for the right price.”

“So much magic in such a little bag,” Tavia said. “You sure seem confident.”

“Ever heard of a relativity charm?” Nolan asked. He tapped his backpack twice. “This baby can hold three times what it should.”

Moron. Moron. Moron.

“You have any time magic in there?”