She stuck out her hand and wiggled her fingers. “A fivepenny, please. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

Grumbling halfheartedly, he dug into his purse and produced another Fellsian fivepenny coin. He flipped it to her, and she stuck it in her purse.

The new fivepenny had Mellony’s image graven on it. Raisa wouldn’t dare ask for a crown, called a girlie on the street. They carried her own likeness, in profile.

“We’ll need a place to meet,” she said. “I don’t want Micah or Fiona to see me here on the Mystwerk side.”

“We can meet at your end of Bridge Street,” Han suggested. He paused. “There’s an upstairs room at The Turtle and Fish you can rent by the hour.”

And how do you know that? Raisa wanted to ask.

“Maybe not Bridge Street,” Raisa said. “The Bayars likely eat over there every night.”

Han laughed. “Not at the Turtle. It’s all Wien House. I’m risking my skin going in there.” He paused, furrowing his brow. “You should know that. Don’t you ever go out?”

“No,” Raisa admitted. “I don’t.”

“How about Tuesdays and Thursdays?” Han said.

“Tuesdays and Thursdays, for now,” Raisa agreed, wondering how she would fit that into her already taxing schedule. “In the meantime, there’s a book I want you to find in the library. It’s called Fellsian Heraldry and Tradition by Hauldron Faulk. Read as much of it as you can before Tuesday. And don’t make that face. I had to read the whole thing and recite from it when I was a lot younger than you.”

“Sounds riveting,” Han said, scribbling the name down on a scrap of paper, just the same.

A boom rattled the windows. Light poured through the glass, turning the gloomy room bright as midday.

“The fireworks,” Raisa said. “We’d better go down.” She gestured at the window, too high to reach. “Do we go back the same way?”

“Let’s go back up,” he said. “I got—I have an idea for where we can watch the show.” Han snatched up Raisa’s cloak and held it while she slid into it, an awkward attempt at gallantry. Standing behind her, he gripped her around the waist and lifted her high so she could reach the window. Pulling herself up, she slithered through. He leaped, gripped the stone sill, and swung easily through the opening.

“This way,” he said. He led her around the base of the bell tower to the far side, where the roof slanted down to a joining with one of the wings. He spread his cloak over the rough tiles. Bracing his feet against the flashing, Han leaned back onto the slanted roof so he was lying at a slight angle, looking up at the sky. He patted the spot next to him. “Here.”

Raisa lay down beside him.