In one corner stood the musicians, a pretty young girl on the recorder, and a man—probably her father—on the basilka. Gillen recalled seeing them in the village before, playing for coppers on street corners.

As Gillen entered, the tune died away and the musicians stood, pale-faced and wide-eyed, like trapped animals before the kill. The father drew his trembling daughter in under his arm, smoothed her blond head, and spoke a few quiet words to her.

Ignoring Gillen’s entrance, the boys around the fire clapped lazily. “Not great, but better than nothing,” one of them said with a smirk. “Just like the accommodations.”

“I’m Gillen,” Gillen said loudly, by now convinced there could be no profit in this meeting.

The tallest of the three came gracefully to his feet, shaking back a mane of black hair. When he fixed on Gillen’s scarred face, he flinched, his blueblood face twisting in disgust.

Gillen clenched his teeth. “Corporal Sloat said you wanted to see me,” he said.

“Yes, Lieutenant Gillen. I am Micah Bayar, and these are my cousins, Arkeda and Miphis Mander.” He gestured toward the other two, who were red-haired—one slender, one of stocky build. “We are traveling to the academy at Oden’s Ford, but since we were coming this way, I was asked to carry a message to you from Fellsmarch.” He cut his eyes toward the empty duty room. “Perhaps we can talk in there.”

His heart accelerating, Gillen fixed on the stoles draped over the boy’s shoulders, embroidered with stooping falcons. The signia of the Bayar family.

Yes. Now he saw the resemblance—something about the shape of the boy’s eyes and the exaggerated bone structure of the face. Young Bayar’s black hair was streaked with wizard red.

The other two wore stoles also, though with a different signia. Fellscats. They were all three wizardlings, then, and one the High Wizard’s son.

Gillen cleared his throat, nerves warring with excitement. “Certainly, certainly, your lordship. I hope you found the food and drink to your liking.”

“It was... filling, Lieutenant,” Young Bayar replied. “But now it sits poorly, I’m afraid.” He tapped his midsection with two fingers, and the other two boys snorted.

Change the subject, Gillen thought. “You favor your father, you know. I could tell right away you was his son.”

Young Bayar frowned, glanced at the musicians, then back at Gillen. He opened his mouth to speak, but Gillen rushed on, meaning to have his say. “It wasn’t my fault, you know, about the amulet. That Cuffs Alister is savage and street-smart. But your da picked the right man for the job. If anyone can find him, I can, and I’ll get the jinxpiece back, too. I just need to get back to the city is all.”