Mother and Father Ib-e-ji, watch over me.

Yenni and Diedre spent the next two tolls of the clock ducking in and out of pubs, dodging servers and the grabbing hands of men with stale breath and staler compliments. Despite Diedre’s constant reassurances Yenni found herself getting more and more frustrated and panicked, until at last she rushed out of the latest pub like a rabbit smoked from its den, heedless of her friend.

She gulped the night air as a deep bell somewhere in the heart of the city chimed the hour. Nine reverberating peals later she realized how little time she had left, but the thought of shoving her way through another noisy, sweaty crowd set her teeth on edge. Fighting back tears, she dragged herself to the alley beside the pub she’d just left, desperate for a few quiet seconds alone to think and regroup. She made her way to a pile of big wooden boxes at the back and sat down, grateful for the quiet and the shadows, soothing to her stressed and overstimulated nerves.

“Yenni Ajani!” Diedre’s worried voice echoed on the night air.

“Over here,” she called wearily. She sat with her head tipped back against the cool stone, listening to the screechy Creshen music leaking mutedly from the pub. Eventually the clip, clip of Creshen shoes echoed off the walls of the alley—two sets of footsteps.

Yenni glanced up and saw two men coming toward her, side by side, blocking the alley entrance. They stopped about ten paces from her.

“Hello, darling,” said the one on the right. He had limp hair and small cruel eyes, and Yenni recognized them as the two men who had been watching her at Les Canards.

Yenni sprang to her feet. “What do you want?”

“Now, now, no need for things to get messy, en? Give us your bag and you’ll be free to go.”

Her bag? Her bag with all her money? Icy comprehension crept down her spine: these two were thieves, and she had given them quite a show. She slid her hand to the knife at her thigh. “No.”

“Yenni! Yenni Ajani!” Diedre’s frantic voice was fainter than before, farther away. Yenni debated calling out to her again, but it was Yenni’s own silly fault she was in this mess, and she was loathe to drag Diedre into danger too.

“Suit yourself,” said the thief. He took his hand out from behind his back and made a fist in front of his chest. Metal gleamed faintly in the weak light of the lamppost across the street. He wore some kind of weapon that had wicked spikes jutting out from his knuckles. Yenni gasped as a hot, sharp pain seized her stomach.

The rune . . . Mothers and Fathers, these men mean to kill me!