The dean was seated behind a massive desk, leafing through a stack of papers. On the wall behind her hung a banner emblazoned with an open book, flame gouting from its pages. Thick We’enhaven rugs covered the polished wood floors, muffling sound to a whisper.

She allowed Han to stand there a while before she looked up.

Her eyes widened when she saw his face. “Demon’s blood, Alister, what happened to you?”

“I fell down the stairs,” Han said. “Didn’t Master Blevins tell you?”

“Really.” She leaned forward, her sleeves puddling on the surface of the desk. “Care to tell me about it?”

“Stairs are tricky at Hampton,” Han said, sitting in the available chair without waiting for an invitation. “All it takes is one little misstep.”

Abelard gazed at him a while longer. “You’re not one to complain, are you, Alister? And you know how to keep a secret. That’s good.” She put her papers away, taking her time. Then said, “I’ve looked into your background, as I promised. And it seems what you told me is true—as far as it went. You do come from Ragmarket. You’re a criminal, in fact—a thief and a murderer. The queen of the Fells has put a price on your head for trying to kill the High Wizard.”

Han just looked back at her steady. I can’t be the first murderer to attend Mystwerk Hall, he thought. Murderers probably get extra credit.

She leaned in again, lowering her voice. “Did you really try to kill Gavan Bayar?”

“He had it coming,” Han said, knowing that the dean had already made up her mind about him anyway.

Abelard sat back, resting the heels of her hands on her desk. “I can tell you’re not stupid, so I’m wondering why you’d take that kind of risk.”

“It was him or me,” Han said. “Next time I’ll aim better.”

Unexpectedly, the dean laughed. “You have no remorse at all. I like that.”

I’m not the one should be sorry, Han thought.

The dean just sat and looked at him for another long moment.

“Well, then,” he said, scooting to the front of his seat. “You got the goods on me fair. Is that all? That healing has wearied me out, and I’d like to go lie down a while.”

Abelard raised both hands as if to push him down in his seat. “Not so fast,” she said. “I have something to discuss with you—an opportunity.”

“Opportunity?” Han settled back in his chair. “What do you mean?”

“The political situation in the Fells is becoming untenable,” Abelard said. “The truce between the Gray Wolf line, the savages, and the Wizard Council is dissolving. We wizards are prisoners of restrictions from another time, based on a tragedy that probably never happened.”

“The Breaking, you mean.”