“She is a myr from Merredydd. Her mother was a Fhrey from an affluent family who are very proud of their heritage, having descended in an unbroken line from Orphe and Plymerath. She made the error of falling in love with a human man. Such things are not allowed in the conservative circles of the high Instarya. Her parents refused to allow the union and hid their pregnant daughter in a village outside of Percepliquis. When Ruby was born, she was given to a man who promised to make her, and the family’s shame, disappear. This individual was in the business of selling children. He paid for Ruby to be raised by a poor woman, and then when Ruby was five, he sold her to a workhouse in Rodencia. They called her Ruby because of her hair. The last name came from her owner.”

“How did she get here?”

“Ruby worked as a slave until the age of twelve, when she witnessed her best friend being beaten near to death. What happened next is a bit hard to explain.”

“She exploded?” Farilane asked.

The abbot’s brows rose, then he tilted his head back and forth and side to side. “In a fashion, I suppose. You see, as best we can determine, Ruby Finn possesses the ancient power of the Art.”

“Magic?” Farilane asked.

The abbot nodded. “She likely didn’t know it herself at the time, and certainly had no idea how it worked—but she knew she wanted the men at the workhouse to stop. The result was a smoking crater where the slave shop had been. Ruby killed thirty people, including her fellow slaves and her best friend. Terrified and confused, she ran. The community saw Ruby as a demon child and hunted her. She defended herself the only way she could and killed all who approached. Afterward, she came to this forest to hide. She’s been here for several years.”

“If all this is true, you must be terrified.”

The abbot shook his head. “We’ve spoken with her. She’s a bit like a wild animal, perfectly safe so long as you don’t spook or threaten her. Truth is, Ruby is actually quite protective of us these days. You see, she never meant to hurt anyone. Didn’t know she could. It was all an accident.”

“Excuse me, Father,” said a young monk, approaching the table.

“Yes? What is it?”

“More visitors are coming. The tower has spotted riders approaching from the west. A troop of what appear to be Teshlors, and . . .”

“And what?”

“And they are flying imperial colors, Father. Either Prince Nordyan, Prince Nyrian, or the emperor himself is coming here. And it would seem the First Minister is with them.”

“Were you expecting a family reunion?” the abbot asked Farilane.

She shook her head and snapped the book closed. “Nor do I want one.” She jumped up and looked at Kile and Sheldon. “Let’s get out of here.”