“Us, you mean.” When Han said nothing, Dancer said, “What are you planning to do? Your protection charms didn’t work, and we can’t stay here all day and all night.”

“I’m going to meet with Crow in Aediion. Tomorrow night. See what he’s got.”

“I think that fall must have jostled your brain loose,” Dancer said, tossing clean sheets over a fresh straw mattress.

“I don’t have a choice. I won’t roll over for Bayar. He needs a good basting, and I’m going to give it to him.”

“You’re not in Ragmarket anymore,” Dancer said. “This isn’t a gang war.”

“That’s what you think.” Han worked the fingers of his captive arm.

“Remember what happened last time you went to Aediion? At least if you fall down the stairs, there’s someone around to help.”

“No one can help if I’m dead.” Han fingered his swollen eye.

“If you go after them with magic,” Dancer countered, “you’ll get expelled.”

“It has to be me, and it has to be magic, because that’s where he thinks he has the advantage.”

“That’s where he does have the advantage.” Dancer dipped a brush in soapy water and began scrubbing down the walls.

“I mean to change that.” Han watched Dancer for a few minutes. “I’ll clean your room for a month,” he offered. “Soon as I’m out of this sling.”

Dancer wrinkled his nose. “You owe me a year after this,” he said. “And if you insist on going to Aediion, then I’m coming with you.”

Han shook his head. “He said to come alone.”

“You need someone to watch your back,” Dancer said.

“He may not even show,” Han said. “It’s been a month.”

“I hope he doesn’t,” Dancer said.

Han stayed in his room all the next day, resting and replenishing his amulet, building it up for his meeting with Crow. After that, and some of Dancer’s willow bark, Han felt well enough to walk downtown with Dancer after classes to buy some new clothes to replace those that had been ruined. That took some time. For one thing, Han wasn’t used to buying new. There were too many decisions—fabric, cut, color, style.

For another, the tailor took her time. She was a curvy Tamron girlie with kohl-lined eyes and lips the color of crushed strawberries. At first she goggled at Han’s pounded appearance, but soon she was taking measurements of every possible part of his body and gushing over what a made man he’d be when she was done with him.

Her hands lingered on his shoulders and hips and thighs somewhat longer than necessary. She compared the blue of the velvets to the blue in his eyes. As she draped fabric over his torso, she leaned in and whispered, “Come back alone for your fitting.”

She was pretty enough, and it was an offer he might have welcomed in the past. Now the girlie’s pursuit of him just made him feel weary and besieged.

You are beaten down, Alister, he thought. You need a tonic.