C H A P T E R  T W E N T Y - F I V E

THE END
OF DAYS

When Han returned to the stable after visiting the markets, Mari’s fever was high again. It seemed to burn the flesh off her—her face had grown noticeably drawn and thin just since he’d been home, and her skin had turned a sickly yellow. He’d seen it before. It was never a good sign.

So he went to see the healer in Catgut Alley and made him come, promising to pay him double his price in a day or two. The man came, all sweaty and shifty-eyed, no doubt aware of Cuffs’s bloodthirsty reputation and worried about the cost of failure. The healer fed Mari foul-smelling brews and burned an unidentified incense that released stinky yellow fumes into the room. After an hour in his presence, Han concluded he was a grifter, but Mam insisted Mari looked better afterward, and breathed easier.

The next morning, in desperation, Han left the city and walked all the way up Marisa Pines Trail, meaning to bring Willo back with him to tend Mari. When he arrived in camp, he learned she’d gone up Althea Mountain to midwife a birth. Bird was out with the Demonais, and Dancer had gone with Willo, so overall it was a wasted trip. Han slept a few hours in the Matriarch Lodge, then returned to Fellsmarch, leaving word for Willo to come as soon as possible.

Back in the city, he went straight to Southbridge Market, to Taz’s shop. Though it was late in the day, Han knew the dealer slept in the back so as not to leave his valuable inventory unguarded. Han needed money fast, and it wouldn’t be long before the Guard was onto him again and he’d have to leave town for good.

When Han peered through the shop windows, he saw the dealer standing behind his desk, furiously stuffing papers into a leather satchel. Almost like he was packing to leave.

Taz upset his cup of tea when the bell over the door announced Han’s entry into the shop. When the dealer looked up and saw Han, he cracked an uneasy smile.

“Cuffs! There you are!” The big man madly blotted at the papers on his desk with a rag. “Where have you been? I found a buyer for the carving you showed me. He’s most anxious to see it.” Taz always called them “carvings” or “art pieces.” He never acknowledged the fact that they were both magical and illegal.

“Really?” Han said. Was it his imagination, or did the dealer seem unusually nervous? “He’s met my minimum price, then?”

“Yes, yes. He’s good for it, though he wants to see the piece himself, of course. Do you have it on you?” Taz squinted at Han as if he might see it glowing through his clothes.