Han raised the gavel. But before he could bring it down, he heard voices in the outer room, Hammersmith protesting that the council was in session, that no one could enter.

He heard Dancer say, “I believe Lord Alister is expecting me.”

Dancer and Willo had come. And now Han had to act—to carry through the plan despite his desire to return to town. Despite his worries that it might be too much, too soon.

Han tried not to look at the door, which he expected to open at any moment. Wait, wait, wait, he tried to message Dancer. Let Bayar speak first. Let him destroy himself first. If there is a god in heaven, wait.

Bayar’s voice rang out from the head of the table. “For centuries, our ancestors have met here, making decisions that have shaped history. And one of the decisions made was that congress between wizards and copperheads is forbidden. Is anathema to us. It presents a danger to the purity of the gifted race. This is just the kind of situation that the rules are meant to prevent—rules that have been enforced for a thousand years. We would have been better served if the mongrel had been drowned at birth.”

“Hayden Fire Dancer may be a chance child,” Han said, “but he carries the blood of one of the most prominent gifted families in the realm.”

For a split second, Bayar’s arrogant expression faltered. Then he turned away from Han, to the rest of the council.

“Here is what we will do,” Lord Bayar said. “We will declare Hanson Alister unfit to serve on this council, and send word to the queen to that effect. We will set aside the results of our recent vote, since Alister’s participation in it renders it null and void. I will continue to serve as High Wizard until Alister is replaced on the council. I can suggest any number of capable replacements to…”

Hammersmith pushed open the door. “I am so sorry, Lord Bayar, but these…people say Lord Alister is expecting them. They insisted on being admitted.”

Fire Dancer and Willo Watersong stepped past him into the council chamber.

Willo wore a divided skirt in embroidered wool, a feather-light shawl around her shoulders, fine painted and stippled boots. Her hair was caught into a long braid, threaded through with feathers and talismans. She had never looked more beautiful, more serene.

Dancer was dressed like a clan prince, his Bayar Stooping Falcon stoles draped over his shoulders, the Lone Hunter amulet displayed overtop. They walked forward together, within a few feet of the astonished Bayars.

Now that Dancer and Lord Bayar stood side by side, the resemblance between them was unmistakable.

“Lord Bayar,” Willo said, in clear, carrying Common. “Do you remember me?”

And he did. Han could tell. His street face slid away momentarily, revealing naked fear, desire, and guilt.