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insurmountable odds. I would rather have you return, ready for another try, than die a hero’s death on the ramparts.”
    “I understand, sir. Discretion is the better part of valor.” Shannon flashed a rueful smile. “Contrary to what some of my classroom teachers think, I
do
listen to their lectures.”
    “So I am learning.” His expression of grim foreboding had lightened somewhat. “I have sent my carriage on ahead and shall ride with you for the first few miles to go over the logistics of the mission. Certain details I cannot put down in writing. The rest of the information you will have ample time to study while you are at sea.”
    “Godspeed, Shannon. Now go.” Mrs. Merlin fluttered her hands.
    She snapped a salute and moved off swiftly through the arched hallway. It was an unspoken rule that sentiment played no part in Academy farewells. Still, on crossing the courtyard, she felt a small lump form in her throat.
A rite of passage
. From the familiar—the nicked gargoyle, the cracked tower bell, the loosened gate latch—to the unknown. For the first time, she was no longer a student but a full-fledged agent.
    One of Merlin’s Maidens.
    She must now prove herself worthy of her wings.
    Hurrying her steps, Shannon took the stairs two at a time up to her room. Not that packing would occupy a great deal of time. A proper young lady of the
ton
might require an army of trunks to transport her wardrobe, but for her, a single canvas seaman’s bag would do. A rain cloak, a throwing knife, a set of picklocks from—
    “Take this as well.” Sofia jammed a small leatherbound book in between the slivers of steel. “You may have a few moments of peace in which to read.”
    “But you haven’t finished it.” Shannon didn’t look up from rolling her riding gloves into a tight ball.
    “Which is why I expect you to bring it back in one piece. It cost me an arm and a leg.”
    “Thanks, Fifi. I will do my best to keep it unscathed.”
    “See that you do.” Her roommate perched a hip on her desk. “Or I’ll take a birch to your backside.”
    “You could try.” Shannon tested the flex of a braided rope and added it to the bag. “But you might find yourself too sore to sit down for a fortnight.”
    Sofia grinned and mimed an intricate ballroom twirl. “Not if I dance out of reach.”
    Both understood the feelings that lay beneath the banter. Thrown together, skinny little orphans plucked from the sordid stews of London, they had become close as sisters during their years at the Academy. The only family each had ever known.
    “Your prowess on the parquet far exceeds mine,” admitted Shannon. “Of the three of us, you have always been the most ladylike.” Seeing her friend scowl, she hastened to add, “Not that I am disparaging your fighting skills, it’s just that grace and charm are your weapons, while I must rely on a steel wrist and a sharp aim to vanquish a foe.”
    Her friend leveled a long look her way before answering. “Don’t underestimate your strengths, Nonnie.”
    As she tugged her shirt over her head, Shannon caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the looking glass. Though slender as a rapier, she could hardly be described as delicate. Not with her height, and the hint of lithe muscle accentuating the more feminine curves. Marco had once compared her to a lioness, pointing out her blonde mane and explosive athleticism. He had also remarked on her gaze, calling it piercing, predatory.
The eyes of a hunter
.
    Shannon stared at the glitter of green for an instant, then ducked away. How strange. She saw doubt where others saw determination. As for her face, while others described her features as striking, she considered herself quite ordinary.
    Smoothing the folds of the fresh linen, she stripped off her old breeches and donned a clean pair.
    “Know thyself as well as the enemy,” she said softly, quoting another precept from Sun-Tzu’s classic treatise on the art of war. “I shall take great