Bayar smiled. “If the council approves, I will assume responsibility for the task. I think the less the council knows, the better—that way, there will be nothing to deny.”

And no way for Han to intervene.

Bayar stroked his twin falcon amulet, looking sleek as a cat in cream. “Know this—we will teach them a lesson they will never forget.”

Anger thrilled through Han as his colleagues murmured agreement. Bayar knew Han couldn’t possibly support such a move, and that would put him on the outs with everyone else on the council. Especially Gryphon, who would welcome a plan for revenge on those who had murdered his parents.

Taking it further, the bodies in Ragmarket and Southbridge might have been left there in order to ensure this outcome. It was even possible that the Bayars had cold-bloodedly murdered their colleagues in order to cast suspicion on Han and have an excuse to destroy his base of power. The sugar on the bun was that they’d set up a vote that Han couldn’t possibly win.

But he had to try. Otherwise, there was no reason for him to be here.

“As Queen Raisa’s representative on this council, I can tell you right now that the queen won’t approve this,” Han said. “She’s known for her programs to feed and educate the residents of the neighborhoods you mean to target.”

“We are not asking for Queen Raisa’s approval,” Lord Bayar said. “This council—all except for you—represents the gifted in the queendom.” He paused to let that sink in. “Our primary charge is the protection of those we represent. If the queen’s guard cannot protect us, we will take matters into our own hands.” You’re on my turf now, his expression said.

“There is no proof that street gangs are responsible for the murders,” Han persisted. “They could have been done by—by political rivals.”

“Come, now, Alister,” Lord Mander said. “Don’t be naive. It’s hardly likely that the gifted are being targeted by other gifted.”

“Who’s being naive?” Han shot back. “Who stands to gain from this?” And who stands to lose? he added silently to himself.

Han thought of the ragpickers, the street hustlers, the vendors in the markets. He pictured the mumpers, the fancies, and the street musicians; the ’prentices that came to Southbridge Temple though they worked full days besides. The old women who sat in doorways, smoking leaf and gossiping. They wore their lives on their faces—and were far younger than they looked.

“If we are wrong, there’s little to be lost by taking aggressive action,” Mander continued, undaunted. “If the murderers are, in fact, the Demonai, it will bring it out into the open.”