“Are men forbidden from the market these days, Miss Westin?”

“If only they could be,” the baker countered, but then pondered on such a possibility, and her face creased with a frown. “Although my business would surely suffer for it. But no, there are two men—strangers—lurking about town, asking about your father.”

“My father?” I echoed. “Why would they be asking after him?”

Lilac hesitated, and I saw the panic in her expression. Quickly, I moved around the baker and made for the market on quiet tread, hiding behind a stack of empty wire cages at the trader’s stall. Lilac rushed behind me, and we stood in the shadows and watched the two men drift aimlessly about the market.

They were not what I expected. I had envisioned dignitaries sent by the Duke of Bardyllis to collect the town’s dream tax, milling about with rings on every finger. Or perhaps delegates from the Luminous Society, visiting to ensure my father was adhering to all magical laws. Or perhaps descendants of the fallen mountain duchy, such as Imonie and the Fieldings, searching for a safe place to settle. But these two men were dressed in dark clothes, finely tailored, with silk-lined cloaks and rapiers belted at their sides. They were too young to be ranked members of the duke’s court, too inexperienced to be delegates. Nor did they appear to be seeking sanctuary. But they boasted the air of ones who thought they were important, their posture stiff and proper.

They walked past a burning streetlamp, and I finally saw it. The men cast no shadows, and I sensed the illumination within them.

They were magicians.

“How long have they been in Hereswith?” I asked.

“For an hour now,” Lilac said. “They’ve gone from shop to shop, asking where to find your father. None of us will tell them. And Mr. Jeffries—bless him—agreed to put their horses in his stable but closed the inn early, refusing to give them admittance, so they’ve been wandering, seeking hospitality and answers.”

I continued to watch the magicians. One was blond, his hair trimmed short, his face coldly handsome as he knocked on the Brambles’s door. The other magician had dark hair bound with a ribbon, and his face was trapped in a scowl, as if he had smelled something foul. They looked related, one like day, the other like night. Brothers, most likely.

And they could not be here for anything good.

They were uninvited, trespassing on my father’s territory.