Now Willo levered to her feet, making it a three-way stand-up argument. “Bayar has been haunting me for years. Don’t you think I deserve to go face-to-face with him? This isn’t about politics. And it can’t be about what’s between you and Bayar. Consider this: If Bayar kills you, it enhances his reputation. If he kills me, it damages him.”

“That’s too high a price to pay,” Dancer whispered, touching her shoulder. “For us, anyway.”

“Look,” Han said. “I think I know a way to get in and out of the Council House on Gray Lady. Tomorrow, I’ll take Dancer with me as far as the entrance, so he knows the way. If that goes well, we’ll all go there together to confront Bayar.”

After a bit more back and forth, they came up with a rudimentary plan, contingent on what Han learned at the council meeting.

That night, Han tossed and turned on his narrow sleeping bench, consumed by worry. I can’t believe we’re arguing about who gets to risk his skin facing off with Bayar, he thought. Of one thing, he had no doubt—if Dancer or Willo went to Gray Lady and ended up dead, he’d never forgive himself.

He had to find a way to minimize the danger.

C H A P T E R  S E V E N

A CRACK IN
THE MOUNTAIN

Han and Dancer left Marisa Pines before dawn the next morning. Willo saw them off, embracing them as if giving a benediction. She stood watching until they rode out of sight.

Han and Dancer would circle wide around the city of Fellsmarch, and come at Gray Lady on the south flank, to Crow’s secret entrance to the tunnels within the mountain.

Han had transcribed the sketches Crow had made in Aediion to the map he’d taken from Bayar Library. It was like trying to sing a half-remembered song. He hoped it was close enough, that the tunnels had not been discovered, and the landscape of the mountain hadn’t changed. A lot could happen in a thousand years.

On another page, Han had scribbled the opening charms for the doors and corridors inside the mountain. He made two copies—one for himself and one for Dancer.

He had aimed to be on the mountain by midday so he’d have time to search for the tunnels and make his way through in time for the meeting at four in the afternoon. In his panniers, he carried his council clothes—his fine blue coat, the wizard stoles Willo had made for him, and his best black wool trousers.

Gray Lady had loomed ahead of them all morning, her moody peak shrouded in cloud and mystery.