An Ishei district. Corayne’s heartbeat doubled. Isheida was the edge of the map, the end of the Ward, farther even than the old Cor borders. Not even Hell Mel had been there, its jagged lands far from the tides of the Long Sea.

The island smelled of sweet flowers and cooking meat, undercut with a rich swell of tea. Isheida ruled the mountains and the Crown of Snow, a kingdom of peaks north of Rhashir. Her sailors were few, and they congregated here, trading news beneath the eaves of cookhouses and tea shops. There were priests too, with white robes and long, glossy hair combed straight down their backs. Each looked bathed in moonlight, even under the gray clouds. The Ishei had high, flat cheekbones and dark eyes. Their faces varied in color, ranging from porcelain to bronze and dusk, but all were black-haired, with long eyelashes and easy smiles. Corayne stared, unable to check her wonder. She didn’t speak Ishei, but she could have listened to them talk all afternoon, jotting notes in her ledger. Sorasa nearly had to seize her by the collar to drag her along.

To her delight, Charlon led them into a tea shop with a cheery hello to the keepers. He must have been a regular. The three other patrons, two Ishei and one Ibalet in wrapped silks, offered him nods from the long bar set down the middle of the shop.

For the first time since setting foot in Adira, Andry seemed at ease, lulled by the smell of brewing tea. He relaxed when they sat, planting his back against the sturdy wall. With the rain outside and the cocooning warmth of the tea shop, Corayne felt as relieved as he looked. Before she could even think to ask, there was a cup in her hand and a pot on the table, steaming gently.

Charlon plucked a flower from the vase, blue petals in the shape of a star. He crushed them in his fist and added them to his cup before drinking. “So the realm stands on the brink of destruction. It might have tipped already. And for some reason, you need me to join this . . .” He glanced down their line. This time his scrutiny felt like an insult. “Merry band of heroes?”

Sorasa snorted into her tea.

“The witch said seven,” Corayne answered. “Sorasa led us to you. I trust her judgment.”

It was Dom’s turn to snort. The Elder didn’t quite know how, and it came out like a wet snarl.

“I’m still not clear on the whole witch thing.” Charlon looked from the table to the eaves of the shop, open to the street. Valtik didn’t sit, choosing instead to stand at the curb, collecting rainwater in her empty teacup.

“Neither are we,” Dom replied.

Charlon sipped his tea again. “And you, Elder, where do you stand on this?”

“Our number is sufficient,” Dom said stiffly. “In fact, I think we could do with one less.”

“One big happy family, then.” The young man laughed. “Well, regardless of why you need me in whatever you’re planning—”

“Close the next Spindle torn open,” Corayne said sharply.

“Wherever it is,” Andry said, almost under his breath. He glanced at Corayne, eyes soft but not apologetic. She felt torn between annoyance and agreement. There was still so much they did not know, so much higher to climb.

But we can’t be daunted by the size of it, or we’re done for.

“I’m in Adira for a reason.” Charlon laid his hands on the table, one finger jabbing at the wood in his fervor. He seemed plain outside his crypt, unremarkable. It was almost too easy to forget his shop full of seals and ink, his fingers stained blue. “No laws means no crowns. No bounties. I might get my throat slit tonight, but no one’s going to drag me out of these walls and back into crown territory to face judgment or execution. Adira is her own, and the streets will turn on anyone who turns on her. I’m safe here. I can shut my eyes without worrying that that Temur wolf is going to snap me up.”

Andry tipped his head. “Temur wolf?”

“I can handle Sigil,” Sorasa cut in before Charlon could explain.

Sigil?

Charlon blustered, flapping his lips. “As much as I’d like to see that, I’m not willing to risk my head for it. She’ll have me in chains before sundown, on my way to the gallows for whichever kingdom set the highest price.”

“That’s a long list,” Sorasa said, unamused. She sat oddly in her seat, turned to the room. An assassin always, waiting for an attack or planning her own. It set Corayne’s teeth on edge.

“It’s good to take pride in your work,” Charlon said with a shrug. “And I’d like to keep working, which I won’t be able to do without a head. I will not set foot outside these walls.”

“You really think Sigil of the Temurijon is camped out in the marsh waiting for the likes of you? You have a very high opinion of yourself, Charlie.” The assassin laughed coldly, a sharp sound. “She’s the finest bounty hunter in the realm. Last I heard she’s rounding up bandits for the Crown Prince of Kasa, terrorizing the Forest of Rainbows. A world away.”

Some tension was released from Charlon’s shoulders.

He’s right, Corayne thought with the shadow of triumph. Sorasa is very good at lying.

“I know someone who is waiting for you, though,” she added, lowering her voice. Her eyes wavered, moving from Charlon’s face to his hands. They clenched on the table, knuckles standing out white.

“Don’t, Sarn,” he growled. Again he reminded Corayne of a bull. This time, one who saw a red flag waving in front of his face. “Don’t talk about him.”

Sorasa was undeterred.

“If the Ward burns, so does he.”

A cord wound behind Charlon’s eyes. His bared his teeth. “Don’t talk to me about Garion,” he growled, suddenly as dangerous as any other criminal in Adira.

Sorasa was undeterred, a predator on the hunt, smelling a kill. “I saw him, you know. In Byllskos.”

Charlon went white, his already pale cheeks turning to alabaster. “Is he well?” he murmured, leaning into the assassin without regard. Corayne saw the desperation in him plain as the rain pouring down outside. Whoever Garion was, he was very important to the forger.

“As well as usual,” Sorasa said with a dismissing wave. “Preening, overly proud. Pissed with me for stealing his contract.”

The cord broke, unfurling, and he nodded. His lethal edge disappeared, receding like a curtain drawn away. “Good,” he said in a small voice, running a finger over his lips. “I don’t suppose you can . . . entice him to join your endeavor too?”