Han slid his book into his carry bag and rooted through it one more time. It contained the books of charms Elena had given him, a thick book of charms by someone named Kinley he’d got from Blevins, a sheaf of clean paper, and his writing box. At Southbridge Temple he’d never brought any books to class, because he didn’t own any. Nor paper, pencils, or ink, save those supplied by Jemson once he got there.

At Southbridge, none but Jemson cared if he showed up or not. He’d had no problem holding his own. The other students came from the streets too. They talked like he did—using the flash patter street slang they’d all grown up with.

This was different. His classmates would have been raised in families of blueblood charmcasters. They’d been exposed to spellwork since they were lytlings. They would have had training before they were even allowed to have amulets, and access to whole libraries of charmcraft.

“We’re going to be late!” Dancer broke into Han’s fog of worry. Dancer had put on his school robes and slung his carry bag over one shoulder.

“Coming.” Han pulled his red robe over his head, poking his arms through the sleeves and pulling it down so it covered his clothing. He liked having the robe on—it made him feel more like he belonged.

They descended the stairs, Han hiking up the hem of his robe to keep from getting his feet tangled in it. It would take some getting used to.

It was a fresh, clean morning, still peculiarly warm, but with less humidity than before. Sunlight slanted across the lawns, sparkling on the dew-spangled grass. Students crowded the walkways in their multicolored robes, still yawning and blinking away sleep. Han finished his biscuit as they walked.

The classroom was on the second floor of Mystwerk Hall, overlooking the Tamron River. Stone risers were arranged in a semicircle around a raised central podium. When Han and Dancer arrived, students were settling into their seats, fishing books and papers out of their carry bags. There were fifteen students in all, arranged like candies in a box, all in the same red wrappers.

Han paused in the doorway, scanning the room. He spotted Bayar and the Mander brothers in the back row, left side, bunched together like sour grapes.

Micah was sprawled in his seat, hands braced against the table in front of him, head tilted back, black eyes fixed on Han, his falcon amulet prominently displayed on the outside of his robe.

Well, Han thought, at least they were all here instead of tossing his room for the jinxpiece he’d taken from them.

If they looked, there’d be nothing to find. Han had a thief’s chariness about leaving money in his room, so he carried his purse on his person. The jinxpiece hung around his neck, and his books were in his carry bag.