“Gruff,” the dwarf said, well, rather gruffly. That was all he had to offer, and even just his name felt like a thing more difficult to extract than one of his teeth.

The gargantuan smiling man said, “I’m Julio mon Charrazzon the Seventh, hailing from the Broken Isles.” He offered a bow so deep and flourishing that Perfidy glanced behind her to make sure a king or queen hadn’t stumbled upon them.

“There’re six other o’ ye?” she asked him.

“Not anymore. A Julio mon Charrazzon must die before another can assume the cherished name.”

“Speakin’ o’ talkin’ funny…,” Perfidy muttered.

Miss Marin gestured toward the scowly boy, who crossed his arms in a most defiant way. “Ain’t got no name,” he said. If anything, his scowl deepened, small face scrunching up like a squeezed piece of soft fruit.

“When we found him, that much was true.” Miss Marin said. “How he survived on the streets as long as he did without any parents or caregivers is no small miracle. That’s why we started calling him Mirac.”

“Hate it,” the boy said, but Perfidy sensed a glimmer of a smile behind the grumpy façade.

“And I’m Jereb,” the last one said, smiling brightly.

“Ye already said that.”

“I did? Oh, sorry. And you are…”

“None o’ yer godsdamned busyness. I’m leavin’, is whut I am.”

“And that is your choice to make,” Miss Marin said. “But rest assured that you passed our little test with flying colors.”

“Ain’t got any colors, whether flyin’ or not, an’ I didn’t see any tests neither. Also, if ye are all mages, then I don’ want nuthin’ to do with ye. I prefer not to be burned at the stake, if it’s all the same to ye.” Perfidy turned and started to leave, not having any idea which way would lead her out of the forest and back to civilization.

“And yet everywhere you go, that will be the risk you face.”

Perfidy stopped, feeling a throb in her temple. Turned. Put her hands on her hips. “Why do ye say that?”

“Perfidy,” Miss Marin said, pausing as if to collect her thoughts.

“Don’ say my name like ye know me. ’Cause ye don’. Ye don’ know nuthin’ ’bout me.”

“I know you’re the one who stopped yourself from dying when you fell from the treetops just now. I know the same thing happened when you fell from your roof. You saved yourself.”

“That’s impossible.”

“You used magic, Perfidy.”

“I’m no godsdamned witch!”

“No one said you were, but you do have a natural ability to channel godsblood into power. Just like all of us do. The sooner you come to terms with that, the better.”

Perfidy wanted to scream. And cry. And throw things. And hit things. Hard. But instead she just turned and did the very thing she’d refused to do when faced with the murderous eagles.