She sat down in a chair next to the bed and pulled her basket of needlework onto her lap. She threaded a needle, knotted the ends. “I hope you will be careful, both of you,” she said. “It’s a dangerous time for the gifted to be traveling in the Spirits.”
They murmured agreement, and an awkward silence coalesced around them.
Willo took a deep breath, released it slowly. “Hunts Alone, could you ward us against eavesdroppers, please?”
Han walked the perimeter of the room, laying privacy charms to keep them from being overheard, glad the Demonai outside couldn’t see what he was up to.
Willo rested her hands in her lap, her dark eyes following Han around the room. Dancer sat cross-legged on the hearth rug, facing her. When Han had finished, he came and sat next to Dancer.
Willo bent her head over her stitching. “Fire Dancer tells me you intend to travel to Gray Lady tomorrow, to attend your first Wizard Council meeting.”
“Yes,” Han said.
“I wanted to have this conversation before you went.” She paused and looked up at him. “Dancer has told you about his father.”
Han nodded.
“At first I was disappointed,” she said. “The more people who know a secret, the less likely it will remain hidden.” She smiled wistfully at Dancer. “I had hopes that you would not look like him. I had hopes that you were not gifted. I had hopes that you would find a vocation that would keep you in the mountains.” She paused, then added in a low, bitter voice, “I had hopes that wizards would stay in the flatlands, where they belong.”
“It wouldn’t have remained a secret forever,” Dancer said. “The resemblance is too strong. Anyone who had the least suspicion would guess on his own.”
“I realize that now. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since the queen was murdered. It was a mistake to conceal what he did, all these years. Wounds like this fester if they are not opened and drained. If I had spoken up, perhaps Marianna’s death could have been averted.”
Willo finished a row of beaded stitches and bit off the thread. Then looked up at them. “Let me tell you about the day I met Bayar on Hanalea.”
The girl known as Watersong lingered by the healer’s spring long after her friends had returned to camp, their berry buckets full. For a while she worked on her sketches, trying to capture the glint of light on the water before the sun descended behind Hanalea’s western shoulder.
Growing sleepy, she set her sketch board aside and leaned back against a tree, lulled by the music of the Dyrnnewater, basking in the sun. Occasionally, she would pop a red raspberry into her mouth, and the warm juice would explode onto her tongue.
A voice broke into her daydreams, speaking in Common.
“Who are you?”
She looked up, shading her eyes. It was a boy, somewhat older than her. He looked very tall, especially to someone on the ground, and his outline was oddly blurry. A flatlander, obviously, but there was something—alien—about him. …
She stood, dusting off her leggings. “My name is Watersong,” she said, also in Common.
“You’re a copperhead,” the boy said, looking a little dazed. “But … you’re beautiful.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Watersong said, rolling her eyes. “And don’t use that word if you want to get along with me.”
“What kind of magic is this?” the boy growled, as if he hadn’t heard. “You’re bewitching.”
Watersong was growing tired of this awkward conversation. “Who are you, and what are you doing on Hanalea?”
“I—ah—I’m a trader,” he said. “My name is Gavan.” He stepped sideways, out of the direct line of the sun, so she could see his face. He was pale, as if he didn’t spend much time outdoors, and his eyes were a glacial blue under heavy dark brows. Handsome, some would say.
Most traders Watersong knew were sunburnt and weathered by the wind. “Really?” she said skeptically. “You don’t look like one. Where is your gear?”
He flushed. “I’m new,” he said. “I’m afraid I’ve lost my way. I left my pack horses about a mile back.”
This is the most inept trader I’ve ever met, Watersong thought. Maybe there was some sort of error at his Renaming.
“I’m looking for Marisa Pines market,” the boy Gavan said. “Am I close?”
Watersong nodded. “Very close.” She turned to point. “It’s just down this—”
“I understand they buy metalwork there,” he interrupted, gripping her arm.
“They mostly sell,” Watersong said, pulling free and taking a step back. She was suddenly aware of being alone in the woods with a boy. It had never bothered her before. “Demonai work, especially. Though they will buy if the price is right.”
“Would you … would you look at something and tell me if you think it would sell?” The boy seemed edgy; nervous, even.
Well. He’d said he was new. Relaxing a bit, Watersong nodded.
The trader pulled out a small pouch and emptied it onto Watersong’s palm. Out fell a massive gold ring, engraved with two falcons, back to back, their claws extended. She felt the tingle of magic in metal.
“It’s flashcraft?” Watersong asked.
The boy nodded. “Very old. Copp—clan made.”
“You’ll probably get a good price for it, then,” Watersong said, and tried to hand it back. “I can show you the way to—”
“Try it on,” the trader urged. “I’m wondering if it’s too heavy for a woman.”
“All right,” Watersong said, sliding it onto her forefinger. “But you’ll really need to speak with … with—” Her voice trailed off as her mind clouded, and her body refused to obey her commands.
“Now, then,” the trader said, gripping her arms and forcing her to the ground. “Let’s see what’s underneath all this deerskin.” His voice had changed, running into her ears like melted ice. Even his form changed, sharpened, so that now she could see the arrogant planes of his face, the cruel cast to his mouth.
Jinxflinger, she wanted to say, but couldn’t.
Skips Stones stirred on her low bed. Willo stroked her forehead, soothing her, and she drifted back into sleep.
It had grown dark inside the lodge, as if a shadow of evil had fallen over them, though Han knew it was only evening coming on. Dancer kindled the lamps next to the sleeping bench, and they settled back for the finish of the story.
“He tried to kill me, after,” Willo said. “But the Demonai arrived, and he had to flee. When he yanked his ring from my finger, I drew my belt dagger and slashed his hand.” She demonstrated, drawing her fingers across her palm. “He dropped the ring and fled.”
“The Demonai never found him?” Han said.
Willo