It was going on sunset when she approached the gate guards with a conjured pass from Master Ambrosius that granted her an evening’s leave.

The guards glanced at her pass and moved aside, and she shifted her pack, her hands trembling.

It’s over, she told herself. It’s already done.

She was going home to Brocelande. Home to Gran, and Marion, and the theater. Home to slip back into the life she’d always had, so her brother could take possession of the one she’d temporarily borrowed.

It was never yours, she told herself. You always knew that. And yet, leaving the castle felt wrong. Like walking away from something important before she’d even gotten started.

Leaving should have felt like a relief. She’d gotten through the week without anyone discovering her secret. She’d fooled the royal court into believing she was her brother, and here she was, having lived to tell the tale.

Except it wasn’t only relief she felt. It was also regret. Her chin quivered, and she sucked in a deep breath, trying not to cry, because crying wouldn’t fix anything. She couldn’t go back and write her name onto the king’s summons any more than she could go back and make her father want to teach her magic along with her brother.

She only hoped Emmett didn’t make a mess of it. That he applied himself, for once, and became the great wizard she knew he could be if he only tried.

Emry tried to think of all the things she missed back home. And when that didn’t work, she studied the city instead, marveling at how much of it there was, and how many wonders it held, from the grand townhouses along the Strand to the colorful mix of people crowding the taverns and churches and merchants’ stalls, which were closing up shop for the night. She took in the sound of distant bells chiming the hour, and the scent of a bakery selling its last loaves as she walked past. She loved being part of it, and only wished she’d had more time.

She plunged onward, through the darkening London streets. She passed alongside the river Thames and the tilting timbered houses of Cheapside. The spire of St. Paul’s beckoned sharply nearby, like the point on a compass, guiding her to the tavern next door.

The tavern, when she reached it, was hardly more than a narrow sign, and an even narrower door.

She pushed it open, surprised at how much larger the tavern seemed on the inside. Even though the place was crowded, she spotted Emmett immediately.