Tonight. Talon’s Teahouse. Wait for the man with crossed swords. Commit his words to memory. Return by dawn. Burn this upon reading.

The words tumble through my skull, upending all logic. The world goes suddenly loud, every sound magnified: the shuffle of tired legs, the plodding of boots through dirt, the wind raking over the grass. My breath falls quick and harsh through my nose as my fingers tighten around the paper, nearly tearing it.

“Sirscha?” Saengo asks, uncertain.

“He’s a pupil,” I whisper through my teeth. I shake the paper at Saengo. “He’s one of her pupils.”

Saengo is the only person with whom I’ve shared my secret. It was impossible not to, given that she is my best friend. As she takes the paper and skims the words, another realization strikes me, even more shattering than the last. Kendara’s notes to me have only ever been instructions for mundane assignments, like retrieving an object, overcoming a mental test, or hunting some obscure beast.

Never assignments like rendezvousing with an informant or relaying back a message. This … this is not training. This is Shadow business.

My fingers grip tightly to Yandor’s reins, a paltry anchor as the true meaning of this letter hurls against me. If she hasn’t already, then Kendara plans to name Jonyah her apprentice. For long seconds, I can do nothing, letting the impossibility tear through me. Every part of me screams in denial even as heat rises from my chest into my cheeks. I curl my fingers around the troll bone at my wrist. Kendara wouldn’t choose Jonyah over me.

I scowl at the russet dirt that passes beneath our feet. How dare she not tell me this morning? I clutch the troll bone so tightly that my palm aches.

It occurs to me what the talisman might really be: a parting gift.

My anger suddenly drains, leaving me swaying. Only the shreds of my pride keep me from tumbling to the ground and ripping into the earth at the unfairness. Somehow, in some way, I was not enough.

That has been the constant of my life. Not obedient enough. Not clever enough, except maybe in languages, and what use is that? Not humble enough to suit my betters.

Not enough for the parents who abandoned me, or the monks who raised me, or the officits who trained me.

Although I met Kendara when I was eleven, the first time I fought her was at thirteen, during my final year in the Prince’s Company. By the time graduation neared, not even the officits could best me in the sparring circle. Kendara found me training alone, and when she stood opposite me in the sword ring and ordered me to attack her, I laughed, thinking she was joking.

Blind and weaponless, she defeated me in less than two seconds.