Someone tugged at Han’s sleeve, and he spun around, nearly spilling his cider.

He faced a girlie with extremely pale skin and short-cropped, spiky black hair streaked with wizard red. She wore a red robe sewn over with proficient trim. Her hands were loaded with rings, and much of her visible skin was covered in bright, metallic tattoos, like painted-on jewelry. The design seemed to ripple and move on its own.

“They’re talismans and wards,” the girlie explained, brushing her fingers over a symbol on the back of her hand. “To protect against hex magic.”

“Ah,” Han said, trying to think of the right thing to say. “Is someone trying to hex you?”

She nodded, then stood on tiptoes so she could stage whisper in his ear. “I’m Mordra deVilliers,” she said. As if that explained it.

“I’m Han Alister,” Han said. He nodded toward Dancer. “And this is Hayden Fire Dancer.”

“I know,” Mordra deVilliers said, looking from one to the other, her eyes wide and solemn. “Is it true you’re a thief and a murderer?”

Han just looked at her.

There was no trace of judgment in her face, only avid curiosity. When he didn’t answer right away, she rushed on. “They say you’re a notorious criminal, and that you tried to murder Lord Bayar.” She turned to Dancer. “And they say that you are a copperhead spy.”

Dancer glanced at Han. “Who told you that?” he asked.

Mordra tilted her head toward the Bayars’ corner.

“So.” Han rubbed the back of his neck. “What do you think?”

“Well,” she said, nodding at Dancer, “you are a copperhead.” She turned to Han. “And you sound like a street person, even if you’re not dressed like one.” She scanned his face. “And you do look rather ruthless, with those scars and all.”

How did he sound like a street person? Han wondered. He hadn’t even said that much.

“Should you be talking to us, then?” he asked. “Could be chancy.”

Mordra shrugged. “They don’t think much of me either, because I’m from the down-realms. Even though my bloodline is pure, and my father’s on the council. Dean Abelard favors me, though, because I have considerable talent.” She extended her arm, displaying the trim on her robes. “I’m the youngest proficient ever.”

“You must be rum clever,” Han said.

“If you’re smart, she’ll take notice of you too,” Mordra said. “Doesn’t matter who you are.” She glanced at Dancer, and shrugged. “Unless you’re a copperhead, of course.”

This Mordra may be smart, but she’ll say anything that comes into her head, Han thought.

“Maybe I don’t want to be noticed,” he said.

“Oh, you want to be,” Mordra said. “Dean Abelard offers special classes for Mystwerk students with potential.”

“What kind of classes?” Han asked.

Again, Mordra went up on tiptoes, grabbing onto his arm to keep her balance. “Forbidden magic,” she breathed, her warm breath tickling his ear. “Powerful spells.”

An icy voice cut into their conversation. “Shut up, Mordra.”