Halfway across the bridge, the young woman stopped pretending she wasn’t hurt.
Her knee bent. She caught the rail, drew a sharp breath, and looked furious with the knee.
“Stay there,” Felix called.
“I had worked that out.”
He set the notice on a stone post and went to her. The boards dipped beneath him. Below the gap between them, clouds parted around a slate roof much farther down than he would have preferred.
“Arm around my shoulder,” he said.
“I can walk.”
“Excellent. You can do most of it, then.”
She considered his clothes, his slippers, and the owl circling over his head. Whatever reassuring quality she wanted appeared to be missing. She put her uninjured arm across his shoulders anyway.
Her sword knocked against his leg as they crossed. Felix watched the boards instead of the men waiting on the landing. He could feel their attention between his shoulder blades.
“Do they have crossbows?” he asked quietly.
“Not drawn.”
“I’d like that to continue.”
“So would they. The bridge has witnesses.”
Mara stood beside the cottage gate with a white delivery cloth tied to a stick. She waved it toward the landing.
“Unsafe crossing! Inspector coming!”
One of the men raised a hand. They remained where they were.
Felix helped the woman onto the porch bench. She immediately moved so she could see both the path and the back door.
Barnaby landed above her.
“You are bleeding on an instructional property.”
“Then instruct me where to stop.”
“The kitchen has washable tiles.”
She glanced at Felix. “Is he always like this?”
“Only when he’s awake.”
“I do not sleep,” Barnaby said.
“You see the problem.”
Mara brought clean cloth from her document case. “For wrapping seals,” she said. “But it hasn’t got ambitions. It’ll wrap an arm.”
The cut lay along the woman’s upper arm, shallow at one end and deeper near the elbow. Felix fetched water while Mara helped her remove the torn sleeve. He had no training beyond the first aid course his old employer had insisted on holding during everybody’s lunch break.
That seemed enough to recognize dirt as unwelcome.
“Any healer nearby?” he asked.
“Academy infirmary,” Mara said.
The woman shook her head.
“They’ll register me.”
“Your arm is doing that already,” Felix said.
“Clean it first. Then we can discuss who gets told.”
She stayed still while Mara washed the wound. Only her fingers moved, pressing hard against the porch bench.
“Lyra Ashford,” she said.
Felix introduced himself. Mara gave her name without looking up.
Barnaby bowed so deeply that one brass claw scraped the beam.
“Barnaby. Custodian and instructional assistant to Grandmaster Vivienne Frost.”
“Is the grandmaster here?” Lyra asked.
“Away,” Felix said.
The hope left her face before she could hide it.
He disliked that. He also disliked the three men across his bridge. He would have enjoyed knowing which problem could be solved with tea.
He went inside and cut the remaining bread into pieces small enough to suggest hospitality rather than shortage.
When he returned, Mara had tied the dressing. Lyra sat upright, very pale beneath her annoyance.
“Eat,” Felix said.
“What does it do?”
“It’s bread.”
“Some medicinal preparations resemble ordinary food.”
“This one’s particularly convincing.”
She took a piece. After the first bite, she took another.
Felix sat at the other end of the bench. “Those men have your tree on their coats.”
“My uncle’s wardens.”
“Have you stolen a tree?”
“Records.”
It came out flat and immediate. She looked at the satchel across her chest, then away.
“Records of tribute shipments,” she added. “They belong to the estate. The people named in them don’t.”
Mara’s hands paused over the basin.
Felix waited. Lyra did not open the satchel.
“Do they want the records or you?” he asked.
“Both. They will say I require treatment and family supervision.”
“Do you?”
“I require treatment.”
He appreciated the distinction.
Barnaby turned his head toward the landing. “Ashford authority does not extend to unlicensed searches of academy residences.”
“I know,” Lyra said. “That is one reason I came here.”
“One?” Felix asked.
She looked at the auction notice lying under his empty cup.
“Your charter has lapsed.”
“You’re very well informed for someone who arrived bleeding.”
“I read it while you fetched water.”
He moved his cup over the unpleasant figure.
“I can help,” she said.
Felix leaned back. He recognized that tone. It usually arrived just before help became a project.
“How?”
“I studied residential ward law. My family owns twelve teaching estates. A temporary charter needs a qualified instructor, a suitable property, and a sponsor willing to appear before the academy.”
“We’ve got a property. The owl says it’s educational.”
“The instructor can demonstrate useful formation work. The sponsor doesn’t have to be the academy chancellor. A recognized household can petition.”
“Such as yours?”
“Such as mine, provided my uncle hasn’t persuaded the registrar that I am incapable of writing my name.”
She spoke lightly. Her good hand had tightened around the bread.
Felix looked at her bandage.
“What do you want?”
“Temporary shelter. Access to whatever instruction Grandmaster Frost left behind. A chance to present my evidence somewhere my uncle cannot choose the witnesses.”
“Vivienne left books. Most of them disagree with the others.”
“Useful training often does.”
“Mine mostly disagrees with my knees.”
Lyra almost smiled. Then she looked toward the workshop.
“I can repair household wards. I can keep accounts for a charter petition. I will do a fair share of ordinary work while I stay. I won’t become your servant.”
“Good,” Felix said. “I can’t afford a servant.”
“Some men don’t consider that an obstacle.”
He looked at her properly then. She was watching him with the steady attention of someone checking a door before trusting its lock.
“You can say no,” he said. “Including after saying yes to something else.”
She nodded once.
Barnaby lifted a wing. “An agreement should define the permitted instruction.”
“And meals,” Mara said.
They all looked at her.
“Shelter agreements go bad when everyone assumes someone else bought the potatoes.”
Felix thought about the drawer containing eleven silver pieces.
“How long is temporary?”
“Until the hearing,” Lyra said. “Then we decide again.”
“No experiments on the cottage without asking.”
“That applies to you as well,” Barnaby said.
“I wasn’t negotiating with you.”
“Your absence of negotiation has become a concern.”
Lyra set down the bread. “Show me the ward you want inspected.”
The kitchen window had a copper loop beneath its sill, three connecting pins, and a chalk mark Felix had drawn to remind himself which way the current traveled.
She examined it without touching anything.
“Who made the pins?”
“Tamsin Reed. I assembled them. Carefully. Mostly.”
“The return runs too close to the damp plaster.”
“It hasn’t sparked.”
“Has it rained hard since you installed it?”
Felix considered lying, found himself tired already, and shook his head.
Lyra lifted a loose ceramic saucer from the table.
“May I?”
He nodded. She wedged the saucer beneath the return wire, lifting it clear of the wall. The warmth at the edge of his dantian steadied.
She had done it without spending a trace of qi.
“That helps,” he admitted.
“It’s a useful circuit. Small intake, sensible limit. But water doesn’t respect a successful test.”
“It rarely reads the notes.”
She pressed her palm against her lower belly. The brief movement made her breath catch.
“Your arm isn’t the worst injury,” he said.
“No.”
“Can the books help?”
“Perhaps. My dantian was damaged. I can guide a little qi, but forcing more through the tear makes it worse.”
“How much worse?”
She looked at him.
“Bad enough that I won’t demonstrate.”
“Excellent answer.”
He showed her the spare bedroom. It held a narrow bed, a stool, and a wardrobe with one door leaning against it. His folded clean clothes occupied the bed.
“I can move those,” he said.
“I hoped so.”
She set her satchel on the pillow, still holding its strap.
At Vivienne’s closed door, Barnaby stopped.
“This room is not included.”
Lyra looked from him to Felix.
“Understood.”
For the first time since she had reached the porch, some of the strain left her shoulders.
“One more condition,” she said.
Felix braced himself.
“The satchel stays with me.”
“Fine.”
“You won’t inspect the contents while I’m asleep.”
“I’m not proposing to be awake while you’re asleep.”
That earned him a real smile, brief and tired.
He put his clothes in a basket. Lyra watched him fold a shirt, fail to fit it, and fold it differently.
“You could hang them in the wardrobe.”
“The wardrobe and I are waiting for a second opinion.”
“On the door?”
“On whether it still intends to be furniture.”
She set her sword beside the bed, within reach. It was plain steel with a good edge. The scabbard had been repaired near the tip with dark thread.
“Did your uncle send those men because you left?” he asked.
“He sent them because I could prove why.”
“There’s a difference?”
“There should be.”
She rubbed a crumb from her fingers, then looked annoyed at herself for dropping it.
“Some of the shipments list people as equipment,” she said. “It makes the totals easier to explain. I need someone outside the estate to examine the originals. Copies can be dismissed.”
“And you think the academy will listen?”
“I think there are people here who would rather be embarrassed than caught helping him.”
It wasn’t an inspiring answer. It was more reassuring than a promise that everything would be fair.
From the kitchen came the sound of Mara rinsing cups.
“You don’t have to do that,” Felix called.
“I’m preventing future suffering. Yours, when the tea dries.”
Lyra drew a slow breath. “If they won’t accept the charter petition, I’ll still pay for the room. I have some money. Not enough to buy this island.”
“Apparently nobody does that by accident.”
“I haven’t checked every island.”
“Please don’t. I’m trying to reduce the number of things I own that require a hearing.”
He placed a clean towel on the stool and opened the window a little. Air moved through the room, cool and ordinary. Lyra stopped gripping the satchel strap.
“Thank you,” she said.
Felix nodded, leaving the door open for her to close herself.
Behind him, Barnaby scratched their terms on a slate. Felix hadn’t asked him to. The owl left a space beside his own name and waited to be invited.
Outside, a whistle sounded.
Mara stood beside the gate. One of the gray coated men had advanced to the first stone post on the academy end of the bridge. The other two waited behind him.
“Lady Lyra!” he called. “Your condition requires immediate attention.”
Lyra moved to the window. Her expression closed.
“Does he always sound like he’s selling you a horse?” Felix asked.
“Only when other people can hear.”
The man raised a folded document.
“I carry a lawful recovery warrant. Interference will be recorded.”
Barnaby flew to the gatepost. “Name and authority?”
“Captain Rusk. Ashford household wardens.”
“Remain at the marked post until the crossing is inspected.”
Rusk looked down at the bridge, then back up. His eyes settled on Felix.
“There is no need for difficulty. We will collect our charge and leave you in peace.”
Peace. Felix had been rather fond of that word earlier.
Behind Rusk, a fourth figure entered the landing. His dark academy coat was buttoned to his throat. A silver chain of office crossed his chest, and he carried a measuring staff instead of a sword.
Mara let out a relieved breath.
“Inspector’s here.”
The newcomer studied the cracked footing. Then he looked at Rusk, at the document in his hand, and at the blood on Lyra’s sleeve.
His relief at finding a simple bridge inspection did not survive the journey across his face.
“Arch-Inquisitor Valen,” Barnaby announced.
Valen tapped the first board with his staff.
“Nobody move,” he said. “I already dislike the paperwork.”