“You’re here, you’re safe! They will want to know.” She called for Raven and Morah. There came the sound of stumbling, the thin complaint of wooden doors. A nimbus of lamplight floated down the stairs before I saw any feet. Morah’s first—bare, like Annin’s—then Raven’s slippers.

Morah stared when she saw me. “Three days only? Your face … where did you pay?” She looked ready to open my coat, to rummage over my body until she found the damage she was sure they must have left.

Raven approached me, her slippered tread heavy.

I thought of you, I wanted to tell her, when I was in prison. I thought of how afraid you must be.

But I would never betray you. I would never tell anyone what we do. How you find people who want help, and I forge their freedom.

You can always trust me.

She lifted the oil lamp to my face. “Not a mark,” she said.

“No. I—”

“That coat.” She gestured with the lamp at Sid’s jacket, which I had not removed despite the heat. “You stole a Middling coat? You broke the sumptuary law? You fool.”

“I didn’t, I—”

She swung the oil lamp. It smashed against my cheek. I felt a lick of hot pain. I heard cries. I clapped a hand to my blazing cheek.

“How dare you,” Raven said. “After all these years, after all the care I put into you.”

I shrank back from her, glass cracking under my sandals. “The coat has nothing to do with it. Please, listen to me.” I babbled the story of what had happened.

“You caught the bird?” Annin’s voice was filled with wonder.

Raven turned to look at her and Morah. “Go to your rooms.”

“But Nirrim,” Annin said. “You have burned her!”

“Now,” Raven said.

Annin protested, wide-eyed, but Morah took her by the hand and tugged her up the stairs.

“Oh, my girl,” Raven said once we were alone. Her shoulders sagged. Her gentle face was lined with misery. “I am so sorry.” She reached to touch my burned cheek. I flinched, I couldn’t help it, and when I saw her eyes shine with sudden tears I felt guilty. I stooped to gather the shards of the lamp. She stopped my shaking hands. “Leave it,” she said, and sounded so heartbroken that I began to cry, I said I was the one who was sorry, could she forgive me.

“Yes, of course,” she said. “Come, sit. I will help you, and you will tell me everything.” She fetched salve and a clean rag and a bowl of cool water. “Ah, no glass in the skin. That’s good.” She stroked the dripping cloth over my hot cheek. Water dribbled into my hair. “There. With any luck, you won’t even scar.” She smoothed the tingling salve over the burn. I gasped with relief. “You said nothing about the documents?”