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restlessly around one outsized boot.
    He had nice eyes. A clear green, with undertones of gold and extravagantly thick,
    russet lashes. But he was so young.
    “I ‟ ll leave you to it.” Gracefully, Mirry rose. “I have intelligence work to do for Jan.
    Thanks, Lise.” Slinging a casual arm around her shoulders, he planted a brotherly peck
    on her cheek, leaving her no more than slightly breathless.
    As he strode toward the door, he clouted Dax on the shoulder with his tail. “Be
    good, little cousin,” he advised with a twinkle.
    And he was gone.
    By all the gods, she could do with a mug of honeyed babybane . The herb was
    soothing to the soul and the stomach, its contraceptive properties a convenient bonus.
    But sadly, it wasn ‟ t to be. Stifling a sigh, Lise pulled a piece of paper toward her and
    moistened the ink brush. “You ‟ ve done your Fourth Pinion training?”
    Dax looked startled. “Fourth? Well, no, I meant I—”
    “Never mind.” Lise flapped a hand, making a note.
    “Right,” she said. “Let ‟ s work out an orientation program. You can stick with me
    until I work out how best to use you.” She jotted down the date and drew a line under
    it.
    “First, we ‟ ll have lunch at Fledge ‟ s school. She wants to talk to me about something.
    After that, I have to visit the chapter house of the Assassins ‟ Guild and chase up
    information about a thief called Michael. And I need to check with the best known
    fences for my earrings.”
    She scribbled busily, peripherally conscious of the other Aetherii ‟ s fascinated gaze.
    When he opened his mouth, she said, “Not now.”
    Daxariel subsided. Good, at least he had the sense to let her think in peace.
    Another date, underlined. “Tomorrow, you can come with me to the Palace to talk
    to the guard captain then…” Warming to the task, Lise went on for some time,
    occasionally going back to strike an item out and substitute something better.
    25

    She ‟ d worked her way through to the end of the following week before Daxariel
    cleared his throat. “Ah…”
    Lise looked up.
    Daxariel blinked green-gold eyes. “If you want to have lunch with the children,
    perhaps we ‟ d better go?” he suggested in a gentle rumble.
    “Yes, of course.” Pushing the papers aside, she rose. “There ‟ s a flight platform on
    the top floor. The Winged Envoy had it installed before she ‟ d agree to the lease.”
    “We ‟ re not going to walk?” asked Dax, a towering presence at her heels.
    “Why walk when you can fly?” countered Lise, amused at the note of
    disappointment.
    “I ‟ ve never seen a Grounded city before—at least, not from the street.”
    Reaching a landing, Lise turned to find Dax waiting politely two steps below on the
    narrow staircase. Every thought was written on his face, in those extraordinary bright
    eyes. No subterfuge, no hidden depths. What an innocent. Inwardly, she winced.
    “You were right,” she said. “We ‟ re definitely going to be late. But we can walk back
    afterward if you like.” She allowed herself a small smile. “The Sereians still find us a
    novelty. You realize you ‟ ll draw quite a crowd?”
    “Oh yes.” Dax ‟ s brows rose. They were the same rich auburn as the downy feathers
    that blended into the hair at his temples. “Me? What about you?”
    “I ‟ m one of the Gray, remember? Not spectacular like— Well, anyway, I blend in.”
    Dax snorted. “Not possible. You ‟ re too beautiful for that.”
    Lise stared. Was he flirting with her, the great idiot? But there was no roguish
    twinkle, no flush on his cheeks. He appeared to be perfectly serious, a man stating a
    self-evident fact.
    “Don ‟ t be silly,” she said briskly. Without further speech, she led the way up
    another two flights to the attic.
    “Mind your head,” she warned, opening the door.
    Dax had to crouch nearly double to negotiate the long, narrow chamber with its low
    ceiling. He was clearly accustomed to such