Flinn and Sarie nodded.

“But be sharp on it and keep it on the hush. We’re likely up against the same as did Velvet and the others.”

“That’s it?” Sarie looked disappointed.

“One thing more,” Han said. “See what folks are saying about some dead charmcasters got their throats cut and been left in Ragmarket. See if anybody’s put the word out they’re buying amulets.” He nodded toward Dancer. “And mind you, watch Dancer’s back. He’s gifted, and there’s some that might have reason to hush him.”

“I’ve got Dancer’s back,” Cat said, putting her hands on his shoulders.

Sarie and Flinn stared at the two of them, as if unwilling to accept the evidence of their eyes. “You’re walking out with a copperhead?” Sarie said finally.

“You got a problem with that?” Cat said, eyes narrowed.

They shook their heads.

Dancer set his work aside and rubbed his eyes. “The way I see it, the sooner we get all this settled, the sooner I can leave the city.”

Cat scowled. “Just give it time. You’ll like it once you get used to it.”

Cat and Dancer together is like a fish taking up with a bird, Han thought. Neither can live in the other’s turf.

“I have a different job for you, Cat,” Han said. “And I don’t know if you’re going to like it.”

C H A P T E R  T H I R T Y - O N E

STRANGE
BEDFELLOWS

When Raisa entered the sick ward in Healer’s Hall, her usual clutch of guards in tow, the apprentice on duty nearly passed out from fright. Then she dropped to her knees, her forehead nearly touching the floor.

Raisa gestured for her to rise. “Where can I find your patient Talia Abbott?” she said. “She would have come in three days ago.”

Trembling, the apprentice pointed to the other end of the hall. “Last bed on the left,” she squeaked. “By the window.” She fled out the door.

Leaving her guard at the door, Raisa walked the length of the ward between rows of narrow pallets as the stench of ripe slop jars smacked her in the face. Those patients that were able pushed up on their elbows, staring. A low mutter of voices washed to the other end of the room, and back again.

Some of the patients stretched their arms toward Raisa as she passed by. “Queen Raisa!” they cried. “It’s the Lady herself. The Briar Rose! Touch us! Heal us!”

“I’m no healer,” Raisa said, gripping hands on either side. “But I wish all of you a swift recovery.”

She found Talia lying on a cot at the far end, propped against the wall, her neck swathed in snowy bandages. A chalk and tablet lay atop the covers at her side.