Han shook his head. “I’ll announce myself, thank you.” He paused in front of the door, putting his thoughts in order. Abelard would be the one to persuade. Abelard and Gryphon and deVilliers. Micah wouldn’t like anything he said. What Micah didn’t like, Mander wouldn’t, either.

It’s best to have a crowd between me and Micah, Han thought. To prevent either one of us from acting in haste. As he gripped the latch, he could hear voices through the door. One particular voice.

“Her Majesty hoped to return with me to Gray Lady, but we decided not to take that risk,” Micah Bayar was saying. “We will marry as soon as the siege is broken. Needless to say, that information must not leave this room.”

Somebody else spoke, something Han couldn’t make out.

“We don’t need to wait for my father,” Micah said. “Let’s discuss strategy—ways we can break the siege on the capital.”

Street face, Han thought, taking a deep breath. Disabling the magical locks on the door, he pushed it open. As he entered, heads turned all along the table.

The High Wizard chair at the head of the table was empty. Micah stood at that end, silenced in midsentence. Behind him, pinned to a board, was a large map of the Fells.

Micah looked haggard, as if he hadn’t slept, the pale skin drawn tightly over his bones. His eyes fixed on Han, then on the bag slung over Han’s shoulder. He shook his head slightly, as if he could deny Han’s presence. As he reached for his amulet, something glittered on the little finger of his left hand. Raisa’s wolf ring.

Tension and magic crackled between them. Han sucked down air, his heart pounding, preparing for battle. But he raised both hands and said, “I didn’t come here to kill you, Micah, even though you deserve it. And you don’t want to kill me, either, until you hear what I have to say.”

Mina Abelard had frozen in midgesture, as if words were crowding up in her mouth. She looked from Micah to Han with an expression of sharp interest.

“My, my, Alister,” she said dryly. “You are…resilient. Though you look like you’ve been the guest of honor at a major brawl.”

Adam Gryphon sat next to Mordra deVilliers. He’d been sprawled back in his wheeled chair, massaging his forehead as if he had a raging headache. When Han entered, he’d quickly come upright, regarding Han with an expression of mild astonishment. Mordra looked delighted. She fingered her blue-black spiky hair, her tongue flickering out to touch the ring in her lip.

As usual, Lord Mander came late to the party. He groped for his amulet, extending a shaking hand toward Han. “You…you…you are not Gavan!” he exclaimed, his face the color of a ripe tomato.

Han shook his head. “No. I am not.”