“He was my sister’s boy,” Magret said. “My nephew. My sister died of remitting fever. I raised him ’til he was four. Then he went with his father, who took him for a street mumper.”

A memory came back to Raisa—playing at blocks with a boy her own age when she was three or four. A boy who somehow belonged to Magret, though she’d never married.

“Then he falls in with Cuffs and his gang,” Magret went on. “Turned to slide-hand and razorleaf and shoplifting.”

“He was starving,” Han said. “His da disappeared and he was mumping on his own, doing a little slide-hand and second-story work along with. He started up with the River Rats. He came to me later, after Southies took over their turf.”

“He could’ve come to me,” Magret said. “He should have. But you charmed him. You—you—silver-tongued demon. He wouldn’t leave even when I begged him to.”

“He was a leaf user by then,” Han said. “Not many are able to leave it. It isn’t your fault you couldn’t save him.”

“You’re right, it isn’t my fault,” Magret said, drawing herself up, her voice dripping with scorn. “It’s your fault.”

“Magret,” Raisa said gently. “Han’s been out of that for more than a year.”

“My Theo was tortured and killed and burnt by wizardry,” Magret said, still glaring at Han. “You’re a jinxflinger. Don’t try and tell me you don’t know what happened to him.”

“I won’t try and tell you that,” Han said, his blue eyes focused on Magret’s face. “I do know what happened to him. He was killed by wizards looking for me. So it was my fault, though it was never my intention.” He was making no excuses, not even attempting to defend himself.

Magret stood, fists clenched at her sides, staring at him, her mouth dammed up as if to keep her words from spilling out.

“If you want to know more, I know a girlie was his streetlord at the time,” Han said. “I’ll ask her to speak with you.”

“I don’t want your help,” Magret said fiercely. “I don’t want to talk to any streetrats. I want you to leave so I can see to the Princess Raisa in peace.”

They all jumped and turned when Amon Byrne rapped on the door frame. “Your Highness,” he said apologetically. “Sorry to disturb you, but the door was open, so…”

“Come in, Amon,” Raisa said, relieved to have the tension in the room diluted. “I’m fine. Dancer’s armor saved my life. Have you found out anything?”