Flick bounced Lettie higher in his arms as he and Kyra weaved between horses, people, and wagons. Lettie was weaker today, barely moving as she snuggled into Flick’s shoulder.

“He says they’re not assassins for hire,” Kyra explained again.

“What do they do, then, bake sweet buns and feed orphans?”

She’d had the same doubts, but somehow it was annoying to hear them from Flick. Kyra scowled. “You’re not a plum citizen yourself.”

He ignored her jab. “What exactly is it that James wants from you?”

“Same things I’ve been doing—raiding and fetching. He didn’t go into specifics.” She took a deep breath. “I could use the coin.”

Flick was silent for a moment. “How far behind are you?”

“I’m paid up on my lodging now with what James gave me. But I’m still going from job to job. I don’t like that.”

He frowned and shifted Lettie’s weight to his other hip. “Mayhap I could help.”

“No, you can’t. You’ve got your own money troubles. Why are you arguing so much, anyway? You’re usually the first to hatch something against the wallhuggers.”

He didn’t argue her point, but after another pause, he spoke again. “Maybe we can figure something else out. I don’t trust him.”

They stopped in front of a cottage. “This is Miranda’s house,” Flick said, freeing one arm to knock on the door.

“How do you know her?”

“She hired me and a friend once to patch up her wall.”

A small woman with silver hair and wizened hands answered.

“Flick!” Miranda beamed and reached up to give him a hug. Kyra rolled her eyes when they weren’t looking. This was typical for Flick. Gets hired to do one odd job, and on their next meeting, the woman greets him like a long-lost son. Flick was always trying to get Kyra to meet new people, and some introductions took better than others.

“This is my friend Kyra,” Flick said, lightly pushing her forward. “And this”—he patted Lettie on the head—“is our patient.” Lettie smiled shyly and clung to his chest.

The odor of dried herbs hit Kyra as she entered. She looked for the source and spotted shelves of jars along the walls, carefully labeled in precise handwriting. Some of the jars—mint, dandelion root, willow—Kyra recognized. Others looked to be from across the Aerins, which was intriguing. Not many healers could boast such rare herbs. One empty jar read SEAWEED—NYMPH GROWN. Another, labeled GRIFFIN TAIL, had a few tattered feathers at the bottom. Kyra noticed that they didn’t look anything at all like the chicken feathers the boy in the street had been selling. Meanwhile, Miranda was listening to Lettie’s breathing, looking at her tongue, and occasionally asking Kyra questions.