“Isn’t your mother a greenmage healer?” Echo turned to ask me. I glanced at Smoke, the rum finally warming my chest, and shrugged. “I’m not hiring her mother,” he said. “Unless she’s pretty and cheap and at a port nearby.” “I have no apprentice,” said the faun. “You have Neale.” Sitting on a far bunk, Neale raised his cup. “While Neale is nearby, he is neither pretty nor cheap.”
