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Zingiber’s tail lashed. I remember many tasty birds. Don’t remember eating any names.

No amount of bribery, flattery, or threat moved the cat from this point.

Zingiber was adamant that he knew nothing of Mal’s name, though he allowed that he had felt drawn to Skymallow.

Good place to call home, I knew , he told them sedately.

Gisele thought of how often the cat curled up in Mal’s lap.

Had that been the name trying to return to its owner all along?

Mal stood, stretching, considering the cat with a wry expression. “I suppose the question then becomes how to get my name out of Zingiber, if it’s still in there?”

“What will removing it do to Zingiber, if he can only talk because he has some of your power?” Gisele asked.

“I don’t know.” Mal frowned. “The wood from the tree retained some aspects from its time as my name-holder—the gold flecks. And that tree held my name for a far shorter time than Zingiber, who has been so long in Faerie besides. I wouldn’t expect him to revert to an ordinary housecat again.

” There was a hint of sorrow in his eyes that she knew wasn’t for the cat, which made her bristle.

Already told you that I am never ordinary, Zingiber told them placidly, turning his neck to begin washing his spine. Don’t need your Malediction’s name for that.

“Will you let us try to get it out of you, if we can figure out how to do so safely?” Gisele asked. She remembered the comb bursting into flame all too well.

How much fish is in it for me?

“I will continue to feed and house you for the rest of your natural life, ungrateful feline,” Mal said, but he was frowning at the pond.

“After the ritual we used on your comb failed, I tried to work out if there were any other factors I ought to have considered. One parameter that I had overlooked was location. That was, after all, an essential part of the bargain I made.”

It took Gisele a moment to work out what he meant. “You think we need to go back to the palace for it to work.”

“What about the hunting spell?” Gisele asked as they went to fetch Zingiber his promised fish. “What about Skymallow?” If she focused on logistics, she wouldn’t have to think about what it would mean to return to Isshia.

Mal’s response cut off as they opened the door to the kitchen and found it a hive of activity. Various pots were simmering on the stove, guarded by a happily round-bellied salamander. Cooking smells hung in the air, and the table was covered in piles of food in various stages of preparation.

“Welcome to dinner-to-be, but don’t go thinking this is going to be a regular activity,” Apfela said severely before either of them could say a word. “You need to hire a proper cook. It’s not fair on her up at the inn with more folks here. Rosenna knows someone.”

A diminutive figure furiously shelling peas on the kitchen table gave a firm nod.

Mal took in the brownie’s presence. “I take it Skymallow extended an invitation?”

Rosenna looked up, lamp-like eyes narrowed. “I swore the house-oaths.”

Mal showed his palms in surrender. “Welcome.”

“Did your shiny new crystal ball show you what you were looking for?” Apfela asked. “Well, of course I was going to look,” she added with some asperity.

Only a single flick of Mal’s ear gave away his irritation. “We know where it is, but we need to return to Mortal to get it back. And…that will leave Skymallow vulnerable. That hunting spell will return, sooner rather than later.”

“You’d better leave sooner rather than later, then,” Apfela advised placidly. “Let it find the house without you.”

“For someone who berated me for leaving Skymallow so recently, you are remarkably keen to see me gone again. And even if I’m not here, that hunter will find the house full of my magic.”

“The hunter won’t find your magic—don’t you know anything about insignia?”

Gisele had to quickly disguise a laugh as a cough. Mal wasn’t fooled, shooting her an indignant look.

“Yes, Apfela Greenhame, I’m familiar with insignia,” he said patiently.

“Are you suggesting your presence will be sufficient to disguise the accrued layers of several decades worth of greater magic?” There was a slight emphasis on your that made it clear he didn’t consider Apfela his equal in magic.

Apfela stirred one of the pots with supreme nonchalance. “You and the princess are the house’s primary anchors. What’s the normal protocol in a great siden when all the primary anchors must be absent at the same time?”

Mal’s eyes widened. “No,” he said flatly.

“I took the oaths, nameless Malediction. Are you suggesting I won’t uphold them?”

Gisele went to wash her hands. “Are you suggesting that we can delegate to you in our absence, Apfela, and that will somehow disguise Mal’s magic? I’m not sure I follow the logic.”

“You going to explain it, cat-boy?”

Mal’s mouth thinned. “If Apfela is acting as steward, her insignia will match that of the house—which will match mine well enough to fool the hunter, she’s assuming. What if it doesn’t ?”

“Then you’d better hurry to retrieve your name before your friend comes looking.”