Han shook his head. Seeing no reason to buy his way into an argument, he hadn’t said anything about Dancer when Crow had coached him on how to sneak into Gray Lady.

Perhaps Crow had tied the barrier to his enemies. After all, he’d shown Han how to keep the Bayars out of his rooms at Oden’s Ford.

“Do you want to try it the other way?” Han asked, hesitant to ask Dancer to risk immolation again. “Palm the raven yourself and step through?”

Dancer shook his head. “I’ll wait here. That way I can conserve my flash and take the lead on the way back.”

“But—we’ll both need to come through here later on. Willo, too,” Han said, recalling the plans they’d laid at Marisa Pines.

“I know you’re used to keeping secrets, but you need to be direct with Crow. Tell him what we’re planning and see if there’s a way around it.” Shakily, Dancer rose to his feet and crossed the cave to Han. “Here,” he said. “A donation.” He closed his hands around Han’s amulet and poured power into it. “You may need this.”

After a few minutes, Han stepped away, gently pulling his amulet free. “Don’t shortchange yourself,” he said. “You’ll need enough power to get back out.” He paused, thinking. “Give me until dawn. If I’m not back by then, go out the way we came in. Do you remember the charms we used to get in?”

Dancer grinned. “Don’t be such a nanny,” he said, sliding down the wall into a sitting position and wrapping his arms around his knees. He patted his jacket. “I have my notes. You’re the one going toe-to-toe with the council. It’s safer here.”

Once again, Han approached the tunnel, cautiously this time. He placed his hand over the raven, felt a sting of magic. Then stepped away and through the doorway.

Nothing happened.

Shoulders slumping in relief, Han looked back at Dancer through a fine mist of magic. Dancer waved him on. Han was on his own.

C H A P T E R  E I G H T

BLOOD AND
POLITICS

Raisa walked along the edge of the parade field, trying to focus on the soldiers who’d been turned out for her.

It wasn’t easy. It was the kind of summer day that inspires poets and musicians, and transforms friends into lovers. Bees hummed over the meadow, wallowing in flowers and then bumbling drunk into each other when they tried to rise.

The winds that had roared out of the Spirits a few months before had quieted to a breeze, which carried the memory of mountain jasmine and laurel. Hanalea breathes, the clan poets would say, and everyone knew there was no point in trying to work.