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he imagined his enemy down on the bricks, his black blood pooling around him. He longed to see the arrogance slide from Bayar’s face, replaced by fear and shock, and then a blank nothing. Could a political, blueblood victory ever be as satisfying as confronting Bayar toe-to-toe and blade-to-blade—amulet-to-amulet?
    Dancer’s voice broke into Han’s thoughts. “You told me before that you still have Bayar’s ring,” he said to Willo. “Could we see it?”
    Willo nodded. She rose and crossed to the hearth. She lifted a loose stone where the chimney met the wall of the lodge and thrust her hand behind, retrieving a small linen bag. Settling back onto the chair, she unknotted the cord and dumped its contents onto her palm.
    It was a heavy gold ring, engraved with two falcons, back to back, their claws extended, emeralds for eyes. Just as Willo had said. Han’s gut twisted in recognition. “I’ve seen that signia before. It matches Bayar’s amulet. It’s one of the emblems of Aerie House.”
    “I’ve asked myself why I kept it,” Willo said, weighing the ring in her hand. “I certainly had no desire for a keepsake. But in a way, I felt like it gave me power over him. Because I had proof of what he’d done if I ever decided to use it.”
    “He doesn’t seem worried about being exposed,” Han said, “since he’s wearing the matching flashpiece.”
    “These are legacy pieces,” Willo said. “He wouldn’t want to give up an amulet as powerful as that. By now he likely considers himself safe.”
    Willo returned the ring to its pouch, cradling it in her hands. “I’m thinking it would be better to seize the offensive on this, and not wait for Bayar to come after us.” She fingered her hair, looking at Han. “I’m an artist. Not a strategist. That’s why I asked you to come. Maybe, among the three of us, we can make a plan.”
    A cartload of responsibility settled onto Han’s shoulders. He didn’t want to have to answer for any more innocent lives.
    “We already know about the risks,” he said. “I think we need to think about what you hope to gain by exposing Bayar. That might help you decide whether to go forward.”
    “I will go forward,” Willo said flatly. “I have decided.”
    Dancer lifted his chin. “I’m not running away from him, and I’m not leaving the Fells. This is our home. That’s decided, too. What we need to talk about is how to do it, who should do it, and when.”
    They sat in silence, each lost in thought.
    “Well,” Willo said finally. “If we tell what happened, in a public place, to a large enough audience, Bayar won’t have a hope of keeping it quiet by killing us.”
    “It needs to be an audience of bluebloods,” Han said. “Wizards, especially. People the Bayars can’t eliminate or ignore.”
    “And we need to provide compelling proof so it can’t be denied or explained away,” Dancer said.
    “What about Fellsmarch Castle?” Willo said. “A joint audience with the queen and her council?”
    “But the only wizard on the council is Lord Bayar,” Han said. “The queen does not have a problem with intermarriage between clans and wizards. The ones who will put the heat on Bayar are his peers—other wizards. We need to speak to them directly, or Bayar can carry whatever tale he likes back to Gray Lady.” An idea took shape in Han’s mind—a perilous streetlord plan. “I say we walk onto his turf, just like Bayar did on Hanalea. We need to show face—stick a blade into the heart of his power. We need to show we aren’t afraid of him.”
    Dancer leaned forward. “What are you saying?”
    “I’ll take this story to the Wizard Council on Gray Lady,” Han said.
    “You’re right, Hunts Alone—the Wizard Council needs to hear this,” Willo said. “But I should be the one to tell it.”
    “No.” Han shook his head. “You can’t go to Gray Lady. It’s too risky.”
    Willo’s lips tightened. “You just said that you want to diminish Bayar’s