“Yes,” Five said, “but you’re hardly normal.”

“Shut up, Five,” Twelve muttered. Dog had turned away, tension thrumming through him.

“What?” Five asked, his face a picture of innocence. “What did I say?”

“This attack should not have been possible,” Dog said abruptly, turning back to the group and pointedly ignoring Five. “The witches of Icegaard laid protections on the lodge when it was built. Even the elementals helped.” He sighed and frowned. “But that magic is very old now. Perhaps it is weakening. A goblin mage could exploit that.” Dog paused and shook his head. “A goblin mage should not be possible since the war either.”

He sounded worried. Twelve pulled her muffler up higher, suddenly chilled. The Hunting Lodge could never be home, but it had provided her with food and safety for the last two years, taught her how to survive. The thought of it vulnerable, besieged by enemies, made her stomach twist.

“Maybe that’s how they got in,” Five said from the other side of the fire, his face distorted in the rising smoke and heat, “but it doesn’t explain why in Ember Seven was taken instead of Elder Hoarfrost or someone.”

Silence.

Dog nodded. “That is true,” he admitted. “What do we know of the girl?”

Unbidden, an image of Seven rose before Twelve. Her swirling dark hair—no, that was Poppy. Twelve shook her head. Settled on the right memory. “She’s always alone,” she told him, thinking hard. “Most of the huntlings ignore her. She’s a bit . . . odd, always distracted. She’s atrocious with every weapon she’s ever tried.”

Six shot her a dark look across the fire.

Twelve shrugged. It was true, though it felt wrong to describe Seven like that. She hesitated, then went on. “There is something quite strange about her, although it’s difficult to explain. Something in her manner. But, if there’s anything that sets her apart from everyone else, it’s that.”

“Could she know something useful?” Dog wondered aloud. “Perhaps she has family connections?”

“She’s a huntling,” Five pointed out, “so chances are they’re dead. If they are alive, they must be incredibly poor to have sent her to the lodge.” He chuckled. “Or maybe—maybe they just couldn’t stand her!” He guffawed then, a laugh that was met with stony stares. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Just thinking aloud.”

“Resist that,” Dog growled. He shook his head. “Is she good at anything?”

Twelve thought back over her interactions with Seven. “Not that I can think of.”

“Anyone?” Dog asked, looking at the boys.

Another silence.

Dog sighed and lowered his head onto his paws. “When we catch the goblins, we will demand answers.”