“So does war,” said Brennan. “So does revolution. So do the mage Houses and the princes with their unjust laws. Which deaths do you choose?”

“Justice can only ultimately be gained through law,” said Kehinde. “But to get the law, it seems we must have the war.”

“It seems wrong to me that people say terrible acts have to be tolerated because it serves our goals. If we can only win by allowing a man like James Drake to murder people indiscriminately and in such an awful way, then how are we different from the princely and mage Houses who rule by standing on the backs of those who serve them?”

Brennan offered me a courtly flourish. “Maestra, never believe the radical cause is without its own dilemmas and contradictions. We need Camjiata, and I believe he needs us.”

“What happens when he doesn’t need you any longer?” I demanded. “And what happens when Drake decides he no longer needs Camjiata? What do you think, Chartji?” I added, for all this time she had been listening with cocked head, picking at a bowl filled with nuts and sun-dried fruit but not popping more than one or two into her mouth.

She lifted her muzzle toward the courtyard of the feathered people. Because trolls went about their business during the day, the open expanse scattered with high tables and inclined perches lay mostly vacant. Only a few groups gossiped and negotiated in the corners, well away from each other.

The courtyard thereby provided an ample stage for the entrance of a man.

He wore a striking garment in the local style, quite different from his usual dash jackets. I was stunned by how extremely flattering it looked on what was, after all, an already well-formed figure. The unbuttoned front of the jacket was cut to the length of a waistcoat, displaying light-colored lawn trousers as well as a black waistcoat, while the back of the garment swept in two long tails to his knees. The black brocade of the fabric had a weave so tight that the cloth shone in the sunlight. To this muted ensemble he had added a neckerchief of the most shocking orange-and-gold fabric, simply tied, to give a splash of color.

He looked very very angry as he slapped gloves against a palm and scanned the courtyards. He had not yet seen us at our table in the shadow of the portico.

A curse rose from the kitchens as the stoves went out. Brennan slipped a hand under his coat as for a knife. Rory began to rise.

Chartji said, “Please sit down, Roderic. If fur flies, my brethren may grow heated.”

Bee said, “I shall take care of this.”

When he saw her emerge into the light, he strode to her as an arrow flies to its target.

“Andevai! I am overwhelmed with joy at seeing you safe and well after our long separation!”