Rezkin inclined his head and said, “Very well. If you have no more need to leave your room tonight, then I will place a trap on your door. Anyone who attempts to open it will be rendered unconscious. Does this suit you?”

Frisha’s eyes widened. “Do you really think that’s necessary?”

“I do, unless you would prefer to sleep in my room where I can better protect you,” he stated with surety.

Frisha’s cheeks reddened, again. She knew he was not propositioning her—at least, she thought not. He was simply stating a fact, but her mind had other ideas. “Uh … no … um, I do not think that would be wise.”

Rezkin cocked his head at her reaction. He thought it would be the wisest move. A single room would be much more defensible. Plus, he would not have to concern himself about what was happening two doors away while he slept. Frisha said that she and Tam were both his friends, so he needed to protect them both. He could not do that as effectively if either of them were separated from him.

This society seemed to value the rules of propriety over safety, though, and he could not change that. The thought made him pause. Was propriety another set of Rules? Were they Rules he was supposed to abide by now that he was in the outworld? His masters had taught him about propriety but always discussed it as though it was a role to play when appropriate rather than something by which to live.

“Very well,” he said. “Do not open your door until morning unless you absolutely must. If you do, then stand behind it as it opens.”

“O-Okay, then. Thank you. Um … goodnight, Rezkin,” she said with a small smile.

After setting the trap on Frisha’s door, Rezkin stalked back to his room. He listened carefully with his ear pressed to the door then drew Bladesunder from its sheath and slipped it between the door and frame. With one quick flick, the bar blocking his entry flipped into the air. He shoved the door open quickly and caught the beam before it could strike the ground.

Tam jerked up from his bed wide-eyed with shock, mouth agape. He looked at Rezkin, then at the bar in Rezkin’s hand, then at the open door, and then back to Rezkin. “I had no idea …” was all he could say. “Frisha?”

“I spoke to her and set a trap on her door. Do not try to open her door until I have disabled the trap in the morning,” Rezkin said as he closed his own door and put the beam back in place. He drew one of his daggers and jammed it into the wood just above the bar. He turned to see Tam looking at him questioningly. “If someone slips the bar up, the dagger will fall and clatter on the floor, warning us that someone is entering.”