She released the tile as if it were a viper, wiping her fingers on her coat. Her skin crawled. How could Ben do that? How could he do it even after a fire where he’d saved lives and homes? It was like hoarding pieces of bad luck.

At least he’s not here for this, she thought dully. It would break his heart.

Frostpine returned. “Let’s go,” he told Daja, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Someplace where fire isn’t the enemy.”

The next day, Firesday, Daja could not stay still: if she did, the image of rows of the covered dead haunted her. She couldn’t even concentrate on the living metal suit. At last she decided to skate to Alakut Island to visit the fancy stores on Hollyskyt Way. She had forgotten the confectioner’s shop, or the hole where it had stood, was there. Seeing the charred gap ruined her desire to look at other smiths’ jewelry. Instead she skated to Bazniuz Island. There she wandered the open air markets on Sarah Street, buying her midday from dumpling and grilled meat carts, washing it down with cider. She bought notepaper to write letters on, then new quill pens to write with, and a packet of roasted chestnuts to eat while she wrote.

She even reached Everall Bridge in time to race Nia home: she lost. When Nia teased her as they glided into the boat basin, Daja replied loftily that Nia had taken unfair advantage of her, because she was laden down with parcels. She would have added more, but the sight of the refugee children housed by the Bancanors stopped her. They had gone still beside a snow fort they built near the alley. Daja looked at the packet of chestnuts, still warm in her hand, then offered it to them. One boy accepted it, never taking his eyes off her, then ran back to his friends. Daja and Nia removed their skates in silence. Once they’d left their outdoor gear in the slush room, they went upstairs to meditate.

After they finished, Daja went to her room. A maid found her there. “Viymese,” she said, bobbing a curtsey, “Viymese Salt has come, and requests a moment of your time. She is in the front parlor.”

“Doesn’t she want Frostpine?” Daja asked, confused. “He’s at Teraud’s.”

The girl shook her head. “Viymese Salt requested you.”

Daja sighed and went downstairs. The front parlor was not a room for a big girl who was most comfortable in a smithy. The delicately carved and painted furnishings were cushioned in bright yellow and white striped silk; porcelain and crystal figures were on tables and shelves everywhere. The windows were paned in costly glass, and protected by gold and white brocade curtains.

Heluda Salt sat in one dainty chair, looking like a market woman in the empress’s sitting room. Her gown was sensible black wool, old-fashioned, with long sleeves. A white blouse with a round collar rose above its neckline. The veil on her strawlike dyed blonde hair was solid, sensible wool like her gown, black, with a tiny white embroidered border. The tea glass in her soot-streaked hands looked simply ridiculous. At her side was a large leather bag that Daja supposed contained her mage kit. It looked just as out of place as Heluda did.

“Don’t they use proper mugs around here?” she demanded of Daja.

Wary as she felt, Daja had to smile at that. “No more than they must,” she told her guest. “It makes their teeth hurt, or something.”

Heluda set her glass on the table next to her. “Daja, I have news, and some questions. This concerns the explosion and fire on Airgi Island.”

“I saw,” Daja said grimly. “They told you Frostpine and I think they used boom-dust?”

“They did. I didn’t get to the site until this morning-I was out past midnight over a double murder in Blackfly Bog,” Heluda explained, and sighed. “Why the idiots didn’t just pick up the husband right away… it’s usually the husband, or the lover.” She drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. “Never mind. The thing is, I’ve had a chance to go over the area. Most traces of the crime-of the criminal-are destroyed in explosions and fires, of course. But some traces are too strong to be wiped clean by fire. I found traces of your magic.”

Daja felt as if her spirit had stepped back to leave her body as a seated shell. Traces of her power? She and Frostpine hadn’t even tried to stop the fires. All they had done was muscle work, not magic.

Heluda finished her tea and poured herself another glass. “Some of my colleagues wanted to look at you and Frostpine. The sheep-brains thought that since black powder comes from the south, and you two are from the south, and the most suspicious fires began after your arrival, well! The matter was solved. They were going to bring you in for questioning.”

Daja wasn’t that detached from her body: she felt her skin creep. Not even law-abiding citizens heard the phrase “brought in for questioning” comfortably. Unless they had a mage skilled in interrogation spells-such mages were usually expensive to hire-lawkeepers used crude, painful means to question people.

“Don’t worry. They’ll be good little cow pats for now.” Heluda smiled, a flinty look in her eyes. “They don’t understand character as I do.” She sipped her tea. “I want you to take a mage’s look at something, though.” She reached into her open bag with both hands and pulled out a heavy object wrapped in silk magically treated to protect its contents. Gently she put the object on the table between her and Daja and opened the silk to reveal a curved, twisted iron bar covered in soot.

Daja did not want to touch it. She already knew she wouldn’t like what she learned. It was fire-blistered, its shape warped: everything about it made her twitch.