I turned to see what he was looking at and saw my lute case, empty. My lute was gone. I looked around wildly, ready to spring to my feet and dash off searching for it. But there was no need—a few feet away stood Ambrose and a few of his friends. He held my lute loosely in one hand. “Oh, merciful Tehlu,” Simmon muttered behind me. Then at a normal volume he said, “Give it back, Ambrose.” “Quiet, E’lir,” Ambrose snapped. “This is none of your concern.” I got to my feet, keeping my eyes on him, on my lute. I had come to think of Ambrose as taller than me,
