He looked up, startled, as the drapery at the entrance was twitched aside and Rebecca slipped through the opening.

She wore full clan skirts that fell nearly to her ankles, tooled and studded leather boots, and a loose linen overshirt embroidered around the neckline and tied at the waist with a handwoven purple sash. Around her neck she wore a necklace of roses and thorns in gold, and her dark hair framed her green eyes like a soft, shiny cap.

She was a feast for the eyes, even in Han’s present debilitated state.

Han looked down at himself, thinking he could use some cleaning up.

Hey, now, he thought. She’s the reason you look and feel like you’ve been run over by a muckwagon in Pinbury Alley. But looking at her, seeing her alive and looking so well—it was all worth it. He’d do it all over again.

“Han,” she said, stopping just inside the door as if unsure of her welcome. “May I come in?”

“It depends,” Han said, trying to gather his wits. “Last time I saw you, I believe you tried to cut my heart out.”

“Last time I saw you, I believe you spit porridge on me,” she shot back. Then she flinched, probably remembering that she was the ultimate cause of the porridge spitting.

She tried for a smile, but her face looked pinched and ashen, nervous even, and her eyes avoided his. “Do you feel up to talking for a few minutes?”

Han shrugged, looking around the room. “I got no—I have no plans, as far as I know.” It seemed like a long time ago that she was his tutor and he was a student of pretty speech, but he couldn’t break himself of the habit of correcting himself in her presence.

Rebecca looked at Dancer and Cat. “Could you give us a few minutes?”

Cat didn’t want to leave, Han could tell. But Dancer took her elbow and firmly ushered her out of the room.

Rebecca plunked down on a chair next to his sleeping bench. She was very pale, and her nose was pink, her lashes clumped together as if she’d been crying.

“I am…so relieved to see you looking so well,” she said, smoothing her skirts with her hands. Her eyes flicked up to his face. “You are feeling better, I hope?” she said in a rush.

He studied on it. Even though Dancer had left off stoking his amulet, he felt restored, comfortable, happy, almost sleepy.

His luck had finally changed. Rebecca was alive. He was alive. They were together. That was all that mattered.

“I’m good,” he said, smiling up at her. “Though I guess I’m in no hurry to suck up more of that poison any time soon.”

“Nor I,” she said, shaking her head. “Did you have that—that reaction where water felt boiling hot? And where you…where you…”