My stomach growled. Loudly. When the sun came up, my stomach had certain expectations. Like being fed. Those expectations hadn’t been met, and my stomach was making its displeasure known. Maira’s bakery was on the way home, and I saw no reason why we shouldn’t stop for sugar knots. I knew Tarsilia wouldn’t mind in the least if we brought some home, and it would go a long way toward improving how Garadin and I felt. Nothing like hot, deep-fried knots of sugar-dusted dough to start the morning right. Maira’s it was.

Maira Takis had started out her career as a Conclave mage, but had traded it all in for the more peaceful existence of a baker. Everyone who lived on our street was grateful for her choice. The smell of Maira’s sugar knots in the early dawn hours made waking up worthwhile. Maira’s bakery was also popular with the city watch. Fortunately, there were no watchers in Maira’s at the moment. I’d have a hard time explaining the goblin blood.

Piaras went in while Garadin and I waited outside. I smiled and waved at Maira through the window. She smiled and waved back, then her smile froze. I looked down at myself and pulled my cloak tighter. I definitely needed to change clothes. I looked back in the shop. Piaras was laughing at something Maira’s assistant had said. To see him now, you’d never suspect that a few hours before, he was conjuring perfectly imaged werehounds with just the power of his voice.

“Have you or Tarsilia spoken to his parents yet?” I asked Garadin. Piaras’s parents lived in Rina, but they had sent him to Mermeia to apprentice with his grandmother and to study spellsinging.

Garadin shook his head.

“Tarsilia said he’s starting to get restless,” I said. “I’ve seen it, too. You need a plan before that happens.”

“I know.” A tiny smile creased his lips. “I’m recommending that he study with Ronan Cayle on Mid.”

I was shocked and impressed and didn’t hide either. It was common knowledge that Maestro Ronan Cayle considered himself a legend who only taught future legends. It was also common knowledge that he turned out the finest spellsingers the Isle of Mid and the Conclave had to offer.

“Piaras is that good?”

Garadin’s smile broadened, and there was pride in it. “He’s that good.”

“Maestro Cayle hasn’t taken a new student in three years.”

“Five,” Garadin corrected.

“You’ve asked him?”

“I sent a messenger two weeks ago. I know Ronan from my Conclave days. My recommendation should at least get the boy an audition before classes start next term. Though I’m not worried. Once Ronan hears Piaras, he’ll accept him. But I wanted to wait until I’d heard back before I wrote to his parents—or got the boy’s hopes up.”

An audition was more than most got. Garadin once told me that Ronan Cayle thought nothing of keeping hopeful students cooling their heels at the base of his tower for a year or more. Since most of those students had ambitions to match their egos, they tolerated the wait. I couldn’t see Piaras in that kind of company. I knew talent like his didn’t belong behind the counter at an apothecary shop, and I certainly couldn’t see him working for a noble family singing lullabies to spoiled children, or for a pock-faced lord, singing love songs beneath some noble lady’s window in his stead. Yeesh. It wasn’t like I’d never see Piaras again. The Isle of Mid wasn’t far, and my family had plenty of ships—some of which could still venture into Mid’s harbor without inviting cannon fire.

Piaras came out of the shop carrying a bag in one hand and a half-eaten sugar knot in the other. My stomach growled in response to the sweet, buttery smell. Piaras heard and grinned crookedly.

“Me, too.” He popped another knot into his mouth. “Sorry I didn’t wait,” he said around a mouthful. He opened the bag. “As long as we leave a couple for Grandma, I don’t see why we shouldn’t have some.”

Garadin and I fell to without further encouragement.

Mintha Row, where Tarsilia’s apothecary shop was located, was off the beaten path enough that for the most part, the only people who see me are those I trusted to see me. But this morning I wasn’t going to take any chances. Like Garadin, I valued my privacy. Also like Garadin, I tended to attract undesirable elements who didn’t care that I’d rather not have anyone lying in wait for me when I got home.

We slipped off Casin Street, quickly crossed a footbridge across a sluggish back canal and ducked into the alley that ran behind Mintha Row. When I’m not feeling particularly sociable, I’ve found this is the best way to get home. At least it lessens the opportunity for ambush. The alley was narrow and Tarsilia kept it completely clear. If you had to fight your way home, the fewer obstacles in your way, the better. What few windows looked out over the alley lacked the proper angle to get a crossbow bolt or thrown knife into a target. Perfect for a girl just wanting to get home after a long night out.

Or for your mage landlady to wait for you.

Tarsilia Rivalin stood just inside the open back door to her shop, my black and white cat Boris cradled comfortably in her arms. Boris liked Tarsilia more than he did me, but then he saw Tarsilia more, and to my knowledge, she’d never almost set him on fire. The elven mage and my cat looked at me with similar expressions in their leaf green eyes. I don’t think anything I do shocks either one of them. But then it would take a lot to shock them both. Tarsilia was like a lot of people I knew in the Sorcerers District—people who had a past, and just preferred it stayed there.

Piaras gave his grandmother a light kiss on the cheek and darted past her into the shop before she could stop him. I knew I wouldn’t escape questioning so easily, but then neither would he. Tarsilia would corner him later.

Tarsilia was older than Garadin. How much older, I didn’t know, and I’d never seen the need to ask. I did know that I’d be happy if I aged half as well. Slender, fine boned, with barely any wrinkles visible in a still-flawless complexion, Tarsilia must have been drop-dead gorgeous in her younger days. She still turned heads of all ages. Must be a Rivalin family trait.

She took note of my blood-stained clothing. “Busy night?”

“You could say that. Piaras said you had visitors.”

“I didn’t have visitors,” she said. “You did. No one got in, but it wasn’t for lack of trying.”

What my visitors had wanted wasn’t in my rooms, but that didn’t keep me from not wanting them there. On the rare occasion an intruder has been more persistent than my wards were powerful, nothing and no one has ever gotten past Tarsilia. She may be small, she may be old, but I wouldn’t cross her.

“Are Alix and Parry still here?” Garadin asked.

“They just left,” Tarsilia told him, turning to go inside. Her silvery hair swung in a practical braid down the length of her back. “Alix has to open her shop in a few hours, and since she’s been on shaman watch all night, she wanted to get some rest.”

Garadin and I followed her. I closed the door, latched it, and passed a hand over the lock to reactivate Tarsilia’s wards. Someone who trusts you enough to have you know their wards trusts you a lot. My movement wasn’t lost on her.

“Feeling a little skittish?” She took a not so delicate sniff. “I guess goblin blood does that to a person.”

“And goblin shamans on your doorstep.”

“Open your cloak. Let’s see how bad it is.”

I did as told.

“Any of that yours?” she asked.

“No.”

Tarsilia dumped Boris on a nearby chair and pulled a burlap sack from under her worktable. She tossed it to me. “When you go upstairs to clean up, put any clothes you can’t salvage in that. My last shipment of newtwort came in it. The stink from that will cover up anything. Tom’s coming by this afternoon to pick up some things I need for him to burn. He’ll dispose of it.”