He flung the door open. The same classroom greeted us, with its bare walls, half circle of chairs, and low wooden stage. But the stage was no longer empty.

A pair of men about my mother’s age waited on it, both in scarlet-and-gold uniforms. One, lean and wiry with spiky tufts of pale hair, stood with arms crossed on his chest, an impatient gleam in his eyes. A jess shone on his wrist. The other, heavy with muscle, had his hair cut so close I could see his deep-brown scalp through it. He stood more at ease, hands clasped behind his back, rocking on his feet as if he were used to waiting and didn’t mind it.

“Finally,” the thin one said. “Let’s do this.”

The other saluted Marcello. “Lieutenant. Reporting for duty.”

“Thank you, gentlemen.” Marcello gestured to the pale one first, then his muscular partner. “May I introduce Ensign Jerith Antelles and his Falconer, Balos.”

Jerith flicked his fingers in a wave. Balos bowed. “His Falconer for twenty years, husband for fifteen.”

“Mind you, marrying your Falconer is against regulations,” Jerith confided, “but I bullied him into it anyway. He’s worth the demotion, most days.”

Balos winced with embarrassment at the word demotion, but the affection between them seemed comfortable and well broken in, like a favorite pair of boots. I glanced at Zaira’s sullen face, and despaired of ever attaining a shadow of such understanding.

Marcello cleared his throat. “And I have the honor to introduce the Lady Amalia Cornaro and her Falcon, Zaira.”

Balos bowed again, deeper, on hearing my name. Jerith took in Zaira with a glance and chuckled. “You don’t have to tell me which is which. I could have won this game of Spot the Warlock from across a crowded market.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Zaira demanded.

“You have a certain look about you.” Jerith smiled innocently.

Zaira snorted. “I suppose you’re here to tell me the Mews isn’t so bad, and I’ll get used to it and come to think of it as a home, and all that other bullshit I’ve been hearing for two weeks from the idiots so addled they like wearing jesses?”

Jerith cocked his head. “Oh, you’re funny. Was I ever this annoying, Balos?”

“Worse,” Balos said.

“You should have punched me in the mouth.”

Zaira stepped forward, fists clenched. “Go ahead and try it. But I’m not cleaning up the floor when I’m done with you.”

I tensed, ready to jump out of the way if Zaira commenced the distribution of more black eyes. But Jerith laughed. “Very nice. I like this one.”

Balos eyed his partner. “I think she meant it, Jerith.”

“I know. That’s why I like her.”

Marcello grinned as though he were watching a circus. “Ensign Antelles,” he explained, “is one of our storm warlocks.”