“That’s a deal breaker,” Han said, putting up his hands. “Thanks just the same.”

Abelard shook her head. “Hear me out. Politics among wizards is complicated. We have some common goals—to defeat the clans and protect ourselves from the fanatics in the south. Thus we need a well-trained gifted army. But we are not of one mind when it comes to other issues, such as who should be High Wizard, who runs the council, and who controls the queen.”

“Like I said, I’m not really interested in politics,” Han said.

“You should know that the High Wizard and I are not allies. We are rivals, in fact. The Bayars have wielded too much power for too long. I intend to bring them down.”

Han’s head came up, and he stared at her. A turf war within the wizard aristocracy?

The dean smiled thinly. “Don’t look so astonished. You’ll report directly to me. I am not without influence. If our arrangement works out, I can offer you some protection when we return to the Fells. You would like to go back home, wouldn’t you?”

“Why would you teach special classes to Micah and Fiona if you’re at odds with their father?” Han asked.

“The simple answer is that the High Wizard insisted. They are likely here to keep an eye on me.” The dean’s mouth twisted. “The more complicated answer is that we need large numbers of well-trained wizards to meet the external threats from the clans and from Arden. So I might do something contrary to my own interests in the short run for the greater good.”

“For the greater good of wizards, you mean,” Han said.

“Of which you are one, I believe,” Abelard said dryly. “In the long run, I need someone without an agenda of his own who can dispose of gifted adversaries if need be.”

Han pushed up from his chair, feeling a little sick. “No thanks.”

Abelard leaned her head back and looked down her nose at him. “Did you think you were being given a choice?” she said softly.

Han was already turning toward the door, but he swung back around to face her. “There’s always a choice.”

“You can cooperate with me, learn everything you can, and act on my orders. Or be expelled from Mystwerk House and sent back to the Fells for hanging.”

“Expelled?” Han blurted, his mouth going dry as ashes. “For what?”

“Had we known we were harboring a wanted criminal, we would not have admitted you in the first place.”

Well. It was a choice—between two nasty options.

“Why are you so interested in me?” Han asked. “Why would you drag someone kicking and screaming into your crew?”

“Because it’s unlikely you work for Gavan Bayar,” Abelard said. “Or ever will. He will never forgive you for trying to kill him. Ever. You’d better hope that I win.”