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Queen Robyn had not returned to her palace, but the Head Mage had set new wards around her rooms. Shifting in was no longer an option. To attack, he would need to sneak inside.
    Maxine held his hands with a frown as she looked at the fresh wounds. “Can I not heal these just a touch?”
    “No, they need to look real.”
    “They do because they are .” She touched his cheek. “Please do not let them mar this as well.”
    “I must.”
    She pinched her lips together. “If you are discovered, you could be in grave jeopardy without the use of your hands.”
    “I can use them.” The plan was for Maxine to visit him every night in the servant’s quarters and heal him before his body scarred.
    “You ready, boy?” Evony asked as she laid a red fire pattern. He nodded and closed his eyes. She raised a hand his face. The pain seared across his cheek, down his jaw, over the rest of his face. He could not stop the scream that parted his teeth.
    “That is not attractive,” Maxine sighed and mended around the edges to give the illusion that it happened days before. Nolen shook with the pain. “Can you do something with the hair? It is iconic.”
    “I can cut it.” Evony replied.
    “Go on,” Nolen growled and felt Evony’s hands pull his tie free and slice his curls with abandon. She added a singed place near his forehead for good measure.
    “It suits you,” Maxine said, raising his chin to get a better look. “Stand and I will sort out your garb.”
    As soon as he was on his feet, Maxine tugged at his clothing with a Spirit pattern. They altered into peasants’ garb of simple brown trousers and a tan tunic loose around the shoulders. Evony touched a boil-ward to his exposed collar without warning, making him howl.
    “No more!” he shouted.
    “I will flay you if I like,” Evony replied with a glare. Maxine reached over his shoulder to mend the burn, striking her fingers across his neck teasingly. She grabbed a wrap of gauze and tied it around his eyes, extending around his head and down his cheek. Through it he could see, but no one could tell. She wrapped his hands for good measure.
    Ryker watched from his position against the wall. “He’ll need canvas shoes, ne fancy boots.”
    Nolen stooped to unlace them, finding the dexterity in his hands slightly diminished. Maxine formed him new ones.
    “Y’ have the poison?” Ryker asked.
    “I do.” Nolen had acquired quite a lot of it. It had been called black cauldron’s power, philosopher’s bane, sleeping death, and warfmans’ relief, but Nolen had always heard it called bloodroot. Just a little in Robyn’s food would never be noticed, but as it accumulated in the body, she would begin to feel tired, worn, and start sleeping through the day. Then she would die.
    “Right, lad. Y’ have the ring?” Ryker asked. Nolen held up a hand. They had burned it into him. “Y’ get stuck, y’ summon Maxine. She will visit every night t’ mend y’, but y’ keep the gauze on the whole time.”
    “I will.”
    Maxine hefted a satchel of clothes and supplies over his shoulder. “Do not get caught,” she whispered harshly. “You are my favorite pet.”
    “Be safe, lad,” Ryker nodded.
    Maxine put up the hood on her yellow cloak and tied her hair back. She shifted both of them to Anatoly City. She had scoped out the proper place to deposit him legitimately: the kitchens.
    She cut the shift a little way off. She pushed Nolen as they went through cavernous halls, guiding him around the people. He walked with his head down. He was not used to lowering his head for any man, and the gesture made his whole body react by slumping his shoulders. His fingers gripped the strap of the satchel unconfidently.
    Maxine stopped a few times to ask for assistance and finally steered him to a door. She rapped on it and waited for admittance. A woman called, and Maxine pushed him into the doorframe.
    Mistress of the Kitchens Marya sat behind a squat desk in the slender room packed