“This conversation is over,” Raisa said, bulling right through whatever Bayar intended to say. “I have made my decision, and Alister is my choice. It was my hope that the council would accept it with grace. Failing that, they had better learn to live with it.”

Lord Averill studied Han, eyes narrowed as if wondering what his sell-sword was up to.

Lord Bayar kept his eyes fixed on Raisa, and there was something in his gaze that gave Han the chills. He hadn’t survived on the streets as long as he had by overlooking murder in his enemies’ eyes.

The High Wizard inclined his head. “Very well, Your Highness. If Alister is your choice, we will certainly arrange to welcome him to the Council House on Gray Lady next week.” He still did not look at Han, as if acknowledging his presence would give him too much credit.

“I look forward to it,” Han said, displaying his streetlord smile. He tried to ignore the voice in his head—the one that said, Kill him now, Alister. Kill him now before he tries again.

“If that is everything, then we stand adjourned,” Raisa said abruptly. “Alister, Captain Byrne, Lord Demonai, Speaker Jemson, stay behind.”

She’s intentionally rubbing salt into the wounds she already made, Han thought.

The rest filed out, stiff-backed and silent.

Byrne poked his head out the door and spoke to someone just beyond, no doubt one of his bluejackets. Then he closed the door and returned to the table.

After a moment of awkward silence, Averill said, “You’ve made some enemies here today, daughter.”

“Do you think they were ever my friends, Father?” Raisa said bitterly, standing and pacing back and forth.

“They’ve never been your friends,” Averill said, “but now they have reason to think you will be difficult to manage.”

“Good,” Raisa said. “I won’t be managed, and I won’t be condescended to. ‘These are dangerous times, my dear,’” she mocked. “As if I don’t know that. They need to know that times have changed.”

“There have already been two attempts on your life,” Speaker Jemson said.

“Four, actually,” Raisa said, toying with the hilt of the dagger she always carried.

“Four, then,” Jemson amended. “I must admit I am worried, Your Highness.”

“So am I,” Raisa said. “But if we force their hands, they may make a mistake and we’ll have the proof we need. Otherwise, I can’t think of any way we’ll find out what really happened to my mother.”

“Or we’ll make a mistake, and you’ll be dead,” Byrne said. “They only need to get lucky once. We need to be perfect every time.”

My thinking exactly, Han said to himself.

As if she’d heard him, Raisa swung around and glared at Han. “What about you?” she demanded. “You’ve scarcely said a word. What do you think about all this?”