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that finger.”
    She smiled at him. “Yet you risk your entire body by meeting with me.”
    â€œIf I am dead, I don’t need fingers. While living, I would prefer to keep all of them. Can you do what I ask?”
    The Hanim pulled Tyvian closer by his hand, until his knuckles rested against her chest. Her fingers stroked his forearm in a way Tyvian thought beyond the bounds of professional decorum. “What does it do, this ring? Why do you hate it so much?”
    He met the golden gaze of the Kalsaari noblewoman and did his best to act as though his body was molested by dangerous enchantresses on a regular basis and found the whole affair quite boring. “Did I say I hated it, milady?”
    â€œI can see it in your eyes. When you speak of it, your hatred flares up like fuel thrown on a distant fire. Why?”
    Tyvian permitted himself to smirk. “Perhaps I’ll tell you, but I only trade secrets for secrets.”
    The Hanim released his hand. “What do you want to know?”
    â€œYou do not, by any chance, have a professional relationship with Banric Sahand, have you?”
    The Hanim sighed dramatically, as though she were on a stage and wanted the back rows to hear her. “A slight one. Sahand was once an ally of my family—­during the wars—­but not since then. At the moment, his vassals have expressed an interest in purchasing animals from my menagerie—­the wilder and more frightening, the better. I do not know why.”
    Tyvian nodded. “Logical enough.” To himself, he added, Even though you’re obviously lying.
    â€œAnd now your turn for secrets. What does the ring do?”
    â€œI’d rather not say,” Tyvian said.
    The Hanim hissed like a cat. “Perfidious wretch! Is this how you do business?”
    â€œCome now, milady, do you really think I am so stupid as to fall for the whole ‘information trade’ nonsense. It’s among the oldest swindles in the book. What you told me was at least half a lie, and you would never believe what I told you either. Let’s at least be frank with one another, shall we?”
    The Hanim assumed a stately posture. “We will consider your offer and contact you tomorrow should it be possible.”
    Tyvian nodded. “I look forward to seeing you again, Hanim.”
    She snorted softly. “Still you do not bow.”
    â€œDon’t take it personally,” he said. “I’ve spent my life snubbing those with power, no matter how beautiful they are.”
    â€œWalid,” the Hanim said, “put him out.”
    Walid clapped his hands and the floor fell away from beneath Tyvian’s feet. He fell through the dark, cursing Kalsaari sorcery the whole way down, until the abyss through which he fell became a flume full of foul-­smelling water and trash. It wound and dipped through some dark system of tunnels and at last ejected him with a whoosh into a gutter. He landed flat on his back, knocking the wind out of him and covering him with freezing muck.
    Pulling himself out of the stink and grime, Tyvian wheezed until his lungs remembered how to breathe air, then spent several moments cursing the Hanim. “The wretched witch could have at least tossed me out a side door.”
    His clothes were a complete loss. Even if he had them magically cleaned, they would never quite be the same. He tossed his jacket in the gutter and used his scarf to wipe off the larger patches of refuse and slime from his breeches and shirt. For all his aggravation, however, he had to admit that the loss of a suit of clothes was a small price to pay for the deal he had secured.
    Tyvian had complete confidence that the Hanim would accept his offer, because he knew that what he’d suggested was of immeasurable worth to Theliara and the Kalsaari Empire as a whole. A Mage Defender like Myreon was a walking secret weapon, trained in doctrines and disciplines the Kalsaaris would kill