One morning, Taliana showed up at the shop to find a completely different version of Ilyan. Instead of his patchwork coat and tattered cap, he wore a finely tailored suit, trousers, and vest, topped with a bright blue cravat. It was like the quixotic aquamancer had been transformed into a high-end banker. (Don’t tell Twigly. She hates bankers.)

“What’s with the makeover?” Taliana laughed.

“It’s my birthday!” Ilyan said. “Come, hang your coat up, I have a matching scarf and vest. We’re going to hit the town. All my regular customer know I’m closed today.”

“Hit the town?” Taliana repeated.

“Of course!” Ilyan said. “There’s a recently unveiled statue in the eastern market that I thought we’d go see. Maybe shop for a new rug while we’re there—the textile selection is always better there. Then, we grab some edibles!”

“You mean . . . food?”

“Victuals! Yes, you know what I mean. What’s your favorite tastable?”

“Tastable?”

“Delicacy. Confection.”

Talaina didn’t have to think hard about it. “Pudding cakes,” she said. “My family has them at the new-year festival each year.” She hid a frown. That wouldn’t be happening this year, unless Twigly apprenticed herself out to a pudding cake maker (which was unlikely, as she’d been caught stealing from each one in the city. How was she not in prison by now?).

“Pudding cakes it is, then!” Ilyan said, stepping outside. His gaze immediately turned to the sign above his shop door. He gazed at it a moment, thinking, then looked down sharply at his apprentice.

“I’ll be doing my semiannual accounting next week,” he said sternly. “If I find evidence that your vandalism has hurt my number of customers, I’m taking the losses from your paycheck.”

No customer had yet to even mention it. Taliana interpreted Ilyan’s “threat” as a tacit surrender.

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*****

Taliana and Ilyan were browsing their seventeenth rug when Taliana spotted him.

The young man drifted out of sight behind a vegetable stand, seemingly engrossed in studying a rutabaga. But she had recognized the round face.

“Master,” she hissed, moving closer to Ilyan. “Don’t look, but there’s a human male, watching us from across the street.”

Ilyan wrapped up his conversation with the rug seller (who, coincidentally, was the twenty-seventh person that day that Ilyan knew. Taliana was beginning to be convinced that the man knew half the city).

“Human male,” Ilyan repeated, without looking in that direction. “Do you mean the young man in the red vest and black trousers, with the faux gold armbands and the dueling knife tucked in his belt?”

Taliana spared a glance at the vegetable cart. “Yes,” she said in surprise.

“He’s been tailing us since we saw the statue,” Ilyan said, turning bag to the rug he was examining. “Possibly earlier. I’m not sure.”

“He tried to bribe me a couple weeks ago,” Taliana said. “Cornered me in a tavern and tried to buy your secret.” In hindsight, she probably should have told Ilyan about that encounter sooner. Oops.

“He’s the same man who flashed the passably counterfeit passable three months ago,” Ilyan said, moving on to the next rug. “Persistent fellow.”

“Why is he shadowing us?” Taliana said.

“Probably watching to see if I buy anything unusual for an aquamancer,” said Ilyan. “Good luck to him. He’s obviously trained in pyromancy, not aquamancy.”

Taliana’s eyes widened, and she spared another glance in the young man’s direction. He lacked the tell-tale red cloak, but his garb definitely gave off the vibe of a member of the pyromancer’s guild.

Alarm bells rang in her head. In Imperium, you did not mess with the pyromancer’s guild. Each pyromancer excelled not just in summoning fire, but in stealth, espionage, combat, and a dozen other skills. It was an open secret that guild members were frequently hired to perform theft, robberies, and other crimes. The guild held enough political clout that it blocked any attempt to prosecute its members for guild-sanctioned missions.

Pyromancers were not cheap. If whoever wanted Ilyan’s secret had hired one . . . then Ilyan and Taliana were in trouble.

“Should we do something?” Taliana whispered.

“Yes,” Ilyan said. “Help me settle on a rug.” He saw the alarm in her eyes and grew more serious. “Don’t worry about it, Taliana. In sixty-three years, do you think this is the first time someone hired a mercenary to get at my secret? Just be careful and don’t let yourself get cornered alone anywhere. If our friend visits the shop again, let me handle it.”

Taliana did her best to ignore the man’s lurking presence for the rest of the day. Though she found she had lost her appetite for pudding cakes. Well, almost.