“If you have some kind of evidence, then I suggest you put it on the black and white,” Han said. “Or hire a knight of the post to swear to it. You must have a dozen professional liars on retainer.”

Bayar blinked at him, as if bewildered by the tangle of slang and court speech. “Rest assured, we will identify those responsible and see them punished. In the meantime, it’s inappropriate for a member of this council to maintain ties to the copperheads, given the history between us and them. It’s a conflict of interest.”

“I am here as the queen’s representative,” Han said. “Queen Raisa has to rule over everyone—clans, Valefolk, and wizards. She wants to bring people together—not tear them apart.”

“Is that so?” Micah said, his posture stiff and hostile. “We don’t really know what your agenda is. Even though you’ve managed to strong-arm the queen into appointing you to this council, that’s no guarantee that you represent her interests.”

“Look,” Han said. “You’ve been to the down-realms recently. You’ve seen what’s going on. We’ve both met Gerard Montaigne.” He locked gazes with Micah. “I don’t know about you, but he made an impression on me. We need to present a united front.”

Micah just stared at Han, expressionless. “Then the clans should lift their interdiction. We need amulets if we are to protect ourselves against potential invaders.”

That’s always your solution, Han thought. More weapons.

“I’ve been to the camps in the Spirits,” Han went on. “The clans are strong, and they are determined. Get into a war with them, and it’ll last forever. Trade will shut down completely, and you won’t be able to get out of the Vale without catching a backful of arrows. But if the Spirit clans and wizards would collaborate, there’s nobody could stop us.” Han looked around the table, and the message returned from every face was, As if that would ever happen. “Or we can go on squabbling with each other until we’re weak enough that somebody like Montaigne can pick us off. And you know what they do to wizards in the south.”

Abelard frowned at Han, as if thinking that her pretty-boy puppet had gone rogue.

Triumph glinted in Gavan Bayar’s blue eyes. “I think we’ve heard enough of this kind of talk. At best, the copperheads are jumped-up tradesmen who are skilled with their hands. At worst, they are barely civilized savages who present a grave danger to the society we have built.”