Yasha dropped onto the balcony in a three point landing, his left arm thrown out behind him for balance. Brushing off his borrowed trousers and tunic, careful to make sure the creases fell out of the soft cotton and the gold thread etched hem hung level, Yasha stood up and rolled his shoulders, settling his magic back down like a bird might ruffle furled feathers.

             ‘We’re not making a habit of this,’ he ...