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if she wasn’t trained to control them, had “asked” him to turn her in. While he could hardly have refused the request of the other underworld leaders, a deal
had
been broken. Thieves needed people to believe they had at least
some
integrity, or only the desperate or the foolish would do business with them. Only the fact that Sonea had never used magic in any useful way, failing to uphold her side of the deal, had saved Faren from complete ruin.
    Serin had remained loyal, however. He had given Cery little information about Faren’s affairs during the reading and writing lessons—nothing Cery didn’t already know, anyway. Cery had learned fast, though he attributed that partly to having watched some of Sonea’s lessons with the scribe.
    And by showing that he—Sonea’s friend—was willing to deal with Faren—Sonea’s “betrayer”—Cery had assured people that the Thief was still trustworthy.
    Taking a slim tube of dried reed out of his desk drawer, Cery rolled the letter and slipped it inside. He stoppered the tube and sealed it with wax. Picking up a yerim—a slim metal tool with a needle-like point—he scratched a name on the side.
    Putting the tube aside, Cery balanced the yerim in his hand, then, with a flick of his wrist, threw it across the room. It landed point first in the wooden panelling of the opposite wall. He gave a small sigh of satisfaction. He’d had his own yerim made to be well balanced for throwing. Looking down at the three remaining in the drawer, he reached out to take another, then stopped at a knock on the door.
    Rising, Cery crossed the room to retrieve the yerim from the panelling before returning to his desk.
    “Come in,” he called.
    The door opened and Gol stepped inside. The man’s expression was respectful. Cery looked closer. In Gol’s eyes was a hint of… expectation, perhaps?
    “A woman to see you, Ceryni.”
    Cery smiled at Gol’s use of his full name. This was an unusual woman, if Gol’s manner was any indication. What would she be: spirited, beautiful, or important?
    “Name?”
    “Savara.”
    No one Cery knew of, unless the name was false. It was not a typical Kyralian name, however. It sounded more like a Lonmar name.
    “Occupation?”
    “She wouldn’t say.”
    Then perhaps her name
is
Savara,
Cery mused. If she had lied about her name, why not make up an occupation as well?
    “Why’s she come?”
    “Says she can help you with a problem, but wouldn’t say what the problem was.”
    Cery was thoughtful.
So she thinks I have a problem. Interesting.
    “Show her in, then.”
    Gol nodded, then backed out of the room. Cery closed his desk drawer, then leaned back in his chair to wait. After a few minutes, the door opened again.
    He and the newcomer regarded each other in surprise.
    She had the strangest face he had ever seen. A broad forehead and high cheekbones angled down to a fine chin. Thick, black hair hung heavy and straight past her shoulders, but her most startling feature was her eyes. They were large and tilted upward at the outer corners, and the same light gold-brown as her skin. Strange, exotic eyes… and they were examining him with barely concealed amusement.
    He was used to this reaction. Most customers hesitated when they first saw him, as they noted his stature, and his name, which was also the name of a little rodent common in the slums. Then they reminded themselves of his position and the likely consequences if they laughed out loud.
    “Ceryni,” the woman said. “You are Ceryni?” Her voice was rich and deep, and she had spoken with an accent he could not place. Definitely not Lonmar.
    “Yes. And you’re Savara.” He did not phrase it as a question. If she had lied about her name, he doubted she would offer the real one now just because he asked for it.
    “I am.”
    She took a step closer to the desk, her eyes shifting away to note features of the room, then back to him again.
    “You say I’ve a problem you can fix,” he