Han held his breath, waiting for Dancer to tell Willo that Han had taken the amulet, but he didn’t.

Willo sighed, looking troubled. “I’ll speak to the queen. This has to stop. She needs to enforce the Nǽming and keep wizards out of the mountains. If she doesn’t, the Demonai warriors will.”

This was astonishing, Willo talking about what the queen needed to do. She made it sound as if speaking to the queen was an everyday thing. She was the matriarch, but still. Han tried to imagine what it would be like, meeting the queen.

Your Exalted Majesty. I’m Han Plantslinger. Mud-digger. Former streetlord of the Raggers.

Willo and Dancer had moved on to another topic. Willo leaned forward, putting her hand over Dancer’s. “How are you feeling?”

Dancer pulled his hand free and canted his body away. “I’m well,” he said stiffly.

She eyed him for a long moment. “Have you been taking the flying rowan?” she persisted. “I have more if you—”

“I’ve been taking it,” Dancer interrupted. “I have plenty.”

“Is it working?” she asked, reaching for him again. As a healer, she used touch for diagnosis and for healing itself.

Dancer stood, evading her hand. “I’m well,” he repeated, with flat finality. “I’m going to go find Hunts Alone.” He turned toward the doorway where Han was lurking.

“Tell him to eat with us,” Willo called after Dancer.

Han was forced to beat a hasty retreat, ducking back into the sleeping chamber, so that was all he heard. But for the rest of that day, all through the evening meal, and sitting by the fire afterward, the conversation weighed on his mind.

He studied Dancer on the sly. Could he be sick? Han hadn’t noticed anything before, and he noticed nothing now, save that Dancer seemed less animated, more somber than usual. But that could be left over from the afternoon’s confrontation and the argument with his mother.

Han knew rowan, also called mountain ash. He gathered the wood and the berries, both of which were used in clan remedies. The wood was said to be good for making amulets and talismans to ward away evil. Flying rowan was especially valuable at clan markets. It grew high in the trees, and Han had learned better than to try to pass off regular rowan as the treetop kind. To the clan, anyway.

Willow had asked, “Is it working?” Had someone hexed Dancer? Were he and Willo worried that someone would? Was that why Dancer had a grudge against wizards?

Han wanted to ask, but then they would know he’d been eavesdropping. So he kept his questions to himself.

C H A P T E R  F O U R

A DANCE
OF SUITORS