She couldn’t allow him to avoid her tonight. She needed to speak with him before the next meeting of the Wizard Council.

As she glumly counted out crowns and coppers, she heard a soft footstep in the corridor, a muted greeting from the bluejackets on guard outside, the click of the latch next door.

Both Magret and Cat looked at the door that connected Raisa’s and Han’s rooms, then at Raisa. Magret scowled, and Cat smirked like a fox with a mouthful of feathers.

Tired of smirking, scowling servants, Raisa said, “You both can go on to bed. Lord Alister seems to be back, and I won’t need anything else tonight.”

“I can stay, Your Majesty,” Magret and Cat said, almost in unison, but likely for different reasons.

“No,” Raisa said. “I’ll be fine. Cat, I know Hayden Fire Dancer is back in town. Maybe you’d like to go find him?”

“If you’re sure, Your Majesty,” Cat said, unable to hide her eagerness. “He’s likely already in bed, anyway. That one rises and sets with the sun.”

“And you’re asleep on your feet, Magret,” Raisa continued. “There are four guards in the hallway. I’m tired of having people underfoot,” she added, when Magret opened her mouth to object.

When she was sure Magret and Cat were gone, she pounded on the connecting door. “Han!”

Han dragged it open immediately, as if he’d been standing just on the other side with his ear to the door. “What’s the matter?” he demanded, stepping past her into the room, his hand on his amulet.

Raisa blinked at him, taken by surprise. His appearance was something of a shock, after weeks of seeing him in court garb. He was barefoot, his shirt undone, so she must have caught him in the midst of disrobing.

His clothes were fine enough, but they were torn and soiled—ruined, really, as though he’d used them to sweep up the street. He wore a velvet cap pulled down over his brilliant hair, fingerless gloves on his hands. Three pendants rested on his bare chest—the serpent amulet, the Lone Hunter amulet, and a clan talisman, the figure of a dancing piper carved in rowan.

He stank strongly of drink, and the cuffs of his sleeves were stained dark with a substance that almost looked like—

“Where’s Cat?” he said, scanning the room as if looking for intruders. “What’s happened?” He looked and sounded totally sober.

“Nothing’s happened,” she said. “I just needed to…Where have you been?”

“I’ve been down in Ragmarket,” he said, almost defensively. He yanked off the cap and stuffed it into his pocket.

“But, you look—”

“Shabby,” he said, a preemptive confession. “Dirty. I know. I didn’t plan on anyone seeing me. I didn’t expect you’d still be up.”