Seven ducked her head as they hurried past, almost falling off her stump. Victory had clearly told her to keep practicing through dinner. With a rueful groan, Twelve saw the other girl was making about a thousand wobbly mistakes all at once. Even worse, she was imitating Twelve’s double-axe routine, ignoring the fact that her weapon was a sword.

Stand up straighter, Twelve silently urged her, wincing as Seven tumbled to the iron-hard ground yet again. She opened her mouth to call out encouragement, then shut it abruptly. She wasn’t here to make friends—it would only complicate things. Several deep breaths calmed her as she climbed the council house steps behind Victory.

The magnificent double-height doors were ornately carved with battle scenes from legendary hunts. Beyond them lay the Great Hall, the grandest space in the Hunting Lodge.

Its wood-paneled walls were mounted with antique weapons, and the heads of hunted creatures loomed over the fireplaces. Winter wolves, ogres, and other strange beasts glowered down at her, their glass eyes glinting. Twelve blinked as her own eyes adjusted, then she shivered. It was an imposing space, designed to impress their rare visitors with the Hunters’ prowess.

Unlike the rest of the Hunting Lodge, the council house was lit with moonstones rather than torches. Set into the ceiling, the tiny stones glowed at night, casting their mysterious silvery light over everything. Before arriving at the lodge, Twelve had barely believed they existed. Moonstones were like witches, often discussed but never seen. The people who mined them rarely sold them. Her stomach flipped at the sudden reminder of the cave clan. It sickened her that they had access to such wonder. She pushed the thought down quickly before unwelcome memories began to surface.

Victory stamped the snow off her boots and led them up a flight of stairs. Soft, deep-piled rugs sent by grateful desert caravans muffled their footsteps. More moonstones gleamed down on a long hall off which each of the three Elders had a room. Twelve’s heart sank as Victory marched them to the farthest door. She was taking them to Elder Silver. To distract herself, Twelve examined the gifts from various clans, each hung carefully on the walls: frogskin-bound stilts from the bog folk; an enormous, intricate village-rudder from the river clan; a fur-soft bark cloak from the forest people; and brightly feathered gliding wings from the mountain clan.

Twelve’s eyes drank them in even when they stopped outside Silver’s room. Inside her furs, Widge awoke. He poked his head out of her collar to take in their surroundings and squeaked disconsolately. Twelve could only sigh in agreement as Victory knocked and the door flew open.

Chapter

Three