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“You see the trap?” Marchant asked. “You told them about it?”

“I see everything, old man,” Melodie said. “Everything.” She looked directly at him, and then away, her sense of exposure excruciating.

“You see something on me, don’t you?” Marchant’s voice was soft but urgent. “What is it?”

She didn’t see anything on him, but she didn’t think he was testing her or lying. She didn’t know what he was talking about.

“You must surely know.” She judged that the most prudent response, and then she ignored him, watching as Gallain reached the tree line and waited for the others, and then how, one by one, they disappeared into the shadows.

“Give me your bag before you step out,” Marchant said, eyes gleaming in the last, fading light of the day. “I want to see how much of the magic is you, and how much you’re carrying with you.”

She studied him—how close he was to her, whether she could pull the handkerchief out quickly enough and loosen the knot to get the sparkles out before he noticed.

Now was the best time to do it, while the barrier was standing open, while he didn’t even have hold of the rope yet. But the wind was blowing straight in her face and would surely snatch the sparkles away, and he was keeping a wary distance.

“Your bag.” He had been leaning on the magic stick, but now he lifted it up.

She had seen Ric’s bruises. She would find it harder to escape or overcome him if she was badly hurt, so with a sigh of regret, she bent, lifting her bag over her head, and let it drop to the ground at her feet.

She didn’t know how this would go.

She had never thought she was magical. Seeing the magic of spell work wasn’t the same as being magic.

But Marchant gasped, looking between her and the bag.

“I don’t know which shines brighter.” He bent forward and snatched the bag up, dancing back as if suspecting she was still dangerous to him.

“My paints.” He lifted the wooden box out in wonder. “Where did you get this?”

“How do you think we knew were to come find you, old man?” she scoffed. “The trader who stole your goat and your paint box from you read through your letters as well.”

Marchant stared at her in total shock. “I didn’t . . .” His voice trailed away.

He didn’t know he’d been robbed.

Perhaps he thought Theo in his goat form had taken the bag that contained the paint box and escaped. She could see how he would come to that conclusion with both of them missing.

“He saw the children, too, of course. That’s why we knew we were on the right trail. And one of us went back to let the rest of the army know where you are.” She smiled, and felt her heart soar when he took a step back at the sight of it. “The commander of the Rising Wave is very unhappy. Very, very unhappy.”

“You’ve never met the commander of the Rising Wave,” Marchant scoffed.

“What am I, old man? What role do you think someone like me would have in the court of Kassia and Cervantes? The commander and his queen sent their best magic users out with their best military units. Looking for the first children to be taken since the Commander destroyed the Chosen camps.” She thought that sounded plausible. She wouldn’t mind that future, actually.

He looked at her, and she stared straight back.

“You work for the court.” He said the words carefully.

“I work for the court,” she agreed. “And for the military, when they need me.”

“And they know about me by now?” He pursed his lips.

“Your name, where you live. What you’ve been up to. Everything.” She enunciated each word.

“I very much doubt everything,” he said, utterly serious.

“Maybe not,” she agreed. “But once they get here, and start looking around, it won’t take long.”

“They’ll lose people,” he said. “I have protections.”