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“You can stay while I speak to him. And that’s all I’ll be doing.”

She nodded again, and stayed put, to see it through.

Ava agreed with Luc. This woman was courageous.

“His name is Redmayne.” Yvette put her hands behind her back, as if standing to attention, and Ava wondered what her role had been before Fernwell fell.

Luc gave her a nod of appreciation, and then stood in front of Redmayne. “You tried to pick a fight with my people.”

Redmayn lifted blurry eyes to meet Luc’s. He rocked a little, from side to side. “I don’t feel well.”

Ava suddenly realised he was still holding the scrap of fabric, and she might not have worked as sophisticated a spell as she could have, given the time she’d had to do it in.

She moved back beside the Kassian and tugged the fabric from his fingers.

When she lifted her head, Luc’s gaze sharpened, and she saw he was fighting a grin.

He had just realised how she’d neutralised the confrontation, and he found it funny.

“Take a deep breath and I’m sure you’ll feel better.”

Redmayne narrowed his eyes. “I do suddenly feel better. You’re not a sorcerer are you?”

“If Iwasa sorcerer, would I be using my power to make you feel better?” Luc asked him.

He thought about it for an amusingly long time. “I reckon not.”

Luc stared at him for a beat. “Don’t let me catch you picking fights with my soldiers again, Redmayne.”

Redmayne was just canny enough to realize he had been given an out, and he took it, backing away and then turning to shuffle off down the street.

“Are we in trouble?” Finola’s question was soft, for Luc’s ears only.

The final dregs of the crowd had moved on, and there weren’t many people standing close by, but still, Ava could see she didn’t want to chance being overheard.

Yvette watched Redmayne stumble away and then with a quick, final look at Luc, tucked back into the stream of pedestrians going about their business, careful not to bring any more attention to herself.

“You’re not in trouble.” Luc stepped closer to the wall, out of the main thoroughfare. “Confrontations are inevitable. Just report each incident. If there’s a pattern emerging—”

“There is.” Catja interrupted him, voice as soft as Finola’s. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been called a spell caster in the last three days. Someone is making a concerted effort to spread rumours that we’re sorcerers, kidnappers and monsters.”

“Not unexpected.” Dirk lifted broad shoulders. “Who likes being defeated in battle?”

“True, but these have a more . . . organized smell to them.” Catja tugged at her braid. “This is strategic.”

Luc’s face remained neutral, but Ava thought she noticed the skin around his eyes tighten.

“I’ll speak to General Ru tonight,” he said. “We need to be the ones controlling the narrative here.” He dismissed the three soldiers with a nod and waited until they were no longer visible before he turned back to Ava, gave her a long, hard look, and then began to walk toward the palace.

Ava fell into step with him.

“Will I look like I’m talking to myself?” he asked.

She actually didn’t know. “Maybe. Or they’ll see me, but as an indistinct figure. I’m not sure. We’ll have to ask General Ru, or Oscar and Deni.” The only three people other than Luc who knew her secret. “How do I look to you?”

He glanced over at her, but only for a moment, and then faced forward again, as if he were a man on his own. “Beautiful, as always.”

She gave a snort of laughter, and was suddenly sorry she couldn’t hold his hand. It would make people wonder about the mental fitness of the Commander, though, and that wouldn’t do.