“I’m s-s-sorry,” Seven whispered. “There’s so much that isn’t clear, the paths are so tangled, but I’ve always known that you had to find out h-here, like this. I wanted to tell you before, but you n-n-never would have believed me.”

Twelve stared dumbly at her, barely able to take in her words.

“She is an elemental,” the Croke said to Victory and Morgren. Did Twelve imagine it or was its voice not quite as emotionless as before?

Victory shrugged impatiently and Morgren looked blank.

“A type of witch,” the Croke said. “A very rare one. The last ones on record were killed during the Dark War.”

Twelve felt a dull thud of surprise. A witch?

“Powerful?” Morgren asked. He stared hard at Twelve. She didn’t even have the energy to look defiant. “Perhaps she could be of use, then.”

“Powerful, yes,” the Croke said slowly, “but she will never join our cause. Her path is set against ours.”

“No.” Victory’s voice was rough. “She isn’t a witch. She can’t be! I’ve known her for years and I would have seen if she carried that kind of contamin—” She stopped talking abruptly as Morgren stepped closer. “There will be a way to make her see,” she said more quietly, a strange pleading tone in her voice. “She just needs time. Perhaps when she meets our master . . .”

Twelve looked up. So the Croke was not their master? She shuddered. If the master was more terrifying than the Croke, then she was in no hurry to meet him.

Morgren scowled. “When has the Croke ever been wrong, Victory? If this child has power and sets herself against us . . . you must see we can’t allow that to happen.” He drew Skin from its sheath and stepped forward. “I will make it quick and clean for your sake though.”

He raised the knife and slashed at Twelve’s throat in a deadly, sweeping arc.

Seven screamed and Twelve pushed against the chair with all her might, toppling it over backward. She felt the blade shiver through the air a hair’s breadth from her neck, then she was falling, praying the chair would break. If she could just get one limb free . . .

With a curse, Morgren stepped forward again. Another scream tore through the hall. This time it came from the training ground outside. Everyone froze. A wet, tearing sound reached their ears. Twelve’s stomach churned. Someone had just died horribly.

Morgren’s and Victory’s faces told her they had come to the same conclusion.

“Guards, to us!” they roared together, their voices mingling into one.

“Barricade the doors!” Morgren yelled, the green fire flaring bright in his hand.