“I assure you, if I have any news about the theft, I will report to the palace immediately,” Emris continued.

“It’s not a simple theft, huntsman,” Chatham snapped. “That apprentice took my most precious invention. I need it back.”

“Can’t you just make another?” Emris said softly, goadingly. Chatham appeared to grow even angrier at that.

“It’s not a toy. I can’t whip one up in a morning’s work. It took me years to perfect!”

But the exchange occupied only half of Lena’s attention—the rest was fixed on Chatham’s horse. The animal’s torso was covered by a black fine-spun cloth, embroidered in the same silver as the man’s cloak, and the face was hooded … She narrowed her eyes, peering into the shadow beneath. The beast was not flesh and blood, she realized with a shudder—at least not all of it. Was that glass? And under the cloth, was that metal? A slight yellowish glow burned in the depths of the creature’s head.

“I see you’ve noticed my particular specialty,” Lord Chatham said, breaking off his argument with Emris to address Lena and sounding abruptly pleased with himself. With an expression as if he were doing her a great and noble favor, he reached into his cloak and drew out a small silver card, handing it to her as the wind whistled around the carriage. The shining card was half the span of Lena’s palm and covered in curly black writing. It read:

Lord Theodorus Chatham

Independent Certified Magician

The King’s Mechanic by Royal Charter

Creator of Quality Magical Inventions & Curiosities

for All Persons of Substance and Nobility

INVITES YOU

to Experience His Emporium of Magical and Mechanical Delights

“I’m on the hunt for a new apprentice, you know,” Chatham added, “and I could use a Rogue … someone a bit more … malleable than my last one.” He smiled.

“Stop it, Chatham,” Emris said sharply. “Lena isn’t a pawn in one of your games.”

“Let’s allow her to decide, shall we?”

Lena turned the card over. On the back was a slogan—Magic for Everybody—and an address in the royal district. She held the card carefully, letting the light catch the silver paper. She thought of the butterfly, remembered that night, the night she’d seen it fluttering out of the gloom. She had to stop herself from reaching for it as she looked again at the horse, the glow inside its head, the metal mechanisms clicking and whirring behind the glass. The butterfly had been similar, despite the difference in size—she could still conjure the tick-tick-tick noise she’d heard as it approached her. Could Lord Chatham have been its creator?

“Are there any other magicians like you?” Lena blurted as Chatham started to turn his horse.