The Warded Man

that time, you’ll even find another husband and become a Mother. But if things ever grow so dark that you feel you must sell that ring, you come to me first, you understand?”
    Jenya nodded, but her eyes were down, still dripping as she caressed the ring.
    “Promise me,” Ragen ordered.
    “I promise,” Jenya said.
    Ragen nodded, hugging her one last time. “I’ll look in on you when I can,” he said. She was still crying as they left. Arlen stared back at her as they went.
    “You look confused,” Ragen said.
    “I guess I am,” Arlen agreed.
    “Jenya’s family were Beggars,” Ragen explained. “Her father is blind and her mother sickly. They had the fortune, though, to have a healthy, attractive daughter. She brought herself and her parents up two classes when she married Graig. He took the three of them into his home, and though he never had the choicest routes, he made enough for them to get by and be happy.”
    He shook his head. “Now, though, she has rent to pay and three mouths to feed on her own. She can’t stray far from home, either, because her parents can’t do for themselves.”
    “It’s good of you to help her,” Arlen said, feeling a little better. “She was pretty when she smiled.”
    “You can’t help everyone, Arlen,” Ragen said, “but you should make every effort to help those you can.” Arlen nodded.
    They wound their way up a hill until they reached a largemanse. A gated wall six feet high surrounded the sprawling property, and the great house itself was three stories high and had dozens of windows, all reflecting light from their glass. It was bigger than the great hall on Boggin’s Hill, and that could hold everyone in Tibbet’s Brook for the solstice feast. The manse and the wall around it were painted with brightly colored wards. Such a magnificent place, Arlen decided, must be the home of the duke.
    “My mam had a cup of warded glass, hard as steel,” he said, looking up at the windows as a thin man came scurrying up from inside the grounds to open the gate. “She kept it hidden, but sometimes she took it out when company came, to show how it glittered.” They rode past a garden untouched by coreling mischief, where several hands were digging vegetables.
    “This is one of the only manses in Miln with all glass windows,” Ragen said proudly. “I’d pay a lot to ward them not to break.”
    “I know the trick,” Arlen said, “but you need a coreling to touch the glass to charge it.”
    Ragen chuckled and shook his head. “Maybe not, then.”
    There were smaller buildings on the grounds as well, stone huts with smoking chimneys and people going to and fro, like a tiny village. Dirty children scampered about, and women kept watch over them while tending their chores. They rode to the stables, and a groom was there in a second to take Nighteye’s reins. He bowed and scraped to Ragen as if Ragen were a king in a story.
    “I thought we were going to stop by your house before visiting the duke,” Arlen asked.
    Ragen laughed. “This is my house, Arlen! Do you think I risk the open road for nothing?”
    Arlen looked back at the house, his eyes bulging. “This is all yours?” he asked.
    “All of it,” Ragen confirmed. “Dukes are free with their coin to those who stare down corelings.”
    “But Graig’s house was so small,” Arlen protested.
    “Graig was a good man,” Ragen said, “but he was never more than a passable Messenger. He was content to make a run to Tibbet’s Brook each year, and shuttle to the local hamlets in between. A man like that might support his family, but no more. The only reason there was so much profit for Jenya wasthat I paid for the extra goods I sold Hog out of my own purse. Graig used to have to borrow from the guild, and they took a hard cut.”
    A tall man opened the door to the house with a bow. He was stone-faced, wearing a faded blue coat of dyed wool. His face and clothes were clean, a sharp contrast to those in the yard. As soon as they entered, a boy not much older than Arlen sprang to his feet. He ran to a bell rope at the base of a broad, marble stair. Chimes rang through the house.
    “I see your luck has held one more time,” a woman called a moment later. She had dark hair and piercing blue eyes. She wore a deep blue gown, finer than anything Arlen had ever seen, and her wrists and throat sparkled with jewels. Her smile was cold as she regarded them from the marble balcony above the foyer. Arlen had