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I don’t say anything. I just pour another glassful and pass it to her.

Daja takes it and drinks another mouthful. She grimaces, but also nods.

“I think I’m acquiring the taste.”

“Have all you want. Just leave me some.”

She swallows her wine in one gulp and pours more Aqua Regia in her glass.

I say, “Really, you should go easy your first time.”

“You’re not Father Traven and I’m not one of your choirboys.”

She drinks more. I pour some in my glass.

“Suit yourself,” I say.

The Magistrate has been watching this whole thing with the quiet amusement of Mike Brady watching his squabbling TV kids. Only this Mike’s kids are killers and Dad’s got a messiah complex.

He reaches out and squeezes each of us by the wrist.

“I wanted to thank you both so much for how you risked yourself for my benefit and the benefit of the entire havoc. I knew you were both brave, but not how wonderfully foolhardy.”

Daja reaches out for him.

“I’m always here. You know that,” she says.

“I do,” says the Magistrate.

He turns to me.

“And you, Mr. Pitts. I’ll admit it now to your face: I have had grave doubts about you, despite what Mimir says. I see that my suspicions were wrong.”

I raise my glass to him.

“Don’t feel bad. It was grave doubts all around.”

He folds his arms and leans on the table.

Smiling, he says, “You have had your doubts about me.”

“Remember the other night in the desert when we played your secrets game?”

“Of course.”

“Let’s play it again.”

“If you wish. Who should go first?”

I look at Daja. She doesn’t like my tone or the direction of the conversation.

“What secrets is he talking about?” she says.

“I believe we are about to find out,” the Magistrate says.

I take a shot of Aqua Regia and point the glass at him.

“I’ll go first. Letting yourself get dragged off like that and trussed up like Thanksgiving dinner. I’m not sure I buy it.”