He scanned the narrow space between the floor and the roiling smoke. His Wing had taken up defensive positions around the perimeter of the room—or the best positions they could manage while staying below the smoke—then drawn their blades and bows and waited. Rampuri Tan, however, was standing, moving, his feet and ankles visible. The monk was taking careful, deliberate steps toward Valyn and Kaden, the end of his strange spear sweeping the floor in front of him. The movements had none of Triste’s spasmodic terror. Valyn turned back to his Wing. Talal was waving at him silently, his face against the stone floor. When he saw Valyn looking, the leach shifted over to hand sign: No injuries. Weapons intact. Orders?

Valyn allowed himself a small smile. The initial attack had wrought plenty of chaos, but it hadn’t broken them. He still had command of his Wing and contact with Kaden. Better yet, only a few dozen heartbeats had passed since the initial assault, and they were already starting to recover. If surprise doesn’t work in four heartbeats, it’s not surprise anymore. Even better, the fact that the attackers clearly wanted someone alive—for whatever reason—severely constrained their options: no hail of arrows, no barrage of starshatters. It might be possible to talk. Worth a try, at least, though Valyn didn’t intend to count on it.

Stand by to blow charges, he signed back, indicating the section of floor that Gwenna had rigged earlier. Wait for my signal.

Talal nodded, and Gwenna crawled forward on her elbows, striking stick in her teeth.

Finally the attacker spoke.

“Valyn.” It was the Flea’s voice, gravelly and dry, pitched to carry, but with no hint of urgency or anxiety. He was on the roof, near the corner that had been torn away by the weather.

Half draw, Valyn signed to Annick. Hold fire.

She nodded and rolled into place. It was a ridiculous position to shoot from, lying on her back, head cocked to the side to breathe the clean air, bow drawn across her body, but the sniper made it look natural, easy.

“Valyn,” the Flea said again, his voice almost weary, “I just want to talk.”

Valyn held his silence. Talking was all well and good, it was what he’d hoped for, but he didn’t intend to give away his position just to have a conversation. A part of him was relieved to hear the Flea’s voice. Back on the Islands, the man had always seemed hard but fair. On the other hand, if the Wing leader was a part of the conspiracy . . . Valyn didn’t like to think about the possibility.