“Oh . . . that is a very short story. I showed my magic quite young, and was being taught by another Earth Master whom I called my Grandmother, although we were not related. A werewolf attacked us both. I was rescued by the man who came to be my guardian, with others of the Brotherhood. Everyone decided it would be safer for me and my father and mother if I were to live at the Lodge.” But Rosamund’s expression had darkened a great deal, and Giselle knew immediately that there was more to the story than just that. “I literally grew up training to be one of the Brotherhood, especially after they all realized that hurting, and not healing, was my forte.” She sipped her tea. “I have the advantage of you. I know, more or less, your story. Gunther passed it to me when he sent me to intercept you and this . . . lot.”

Giselle giggled; in part with relief that she would not need to tell over her tale, and in part because of the expression Rosamund had on her face when she said “this . . . lot.”

Rosamund sighed. “Amateurs,” she elaborated, a little sourly. “I can only assume that because the distances are so great in the New World, and because the native Elementals do not respond significantly to white Elemental Masters, they are accustomed to vast, barren spaces in which their actions have few, if any, consequences.”

“Well,” Giselle suggested, “Perhaps you should compare the Black Forest to territory crawling with hostile troops, troops who have often left traps behind them.”

“It’s accurate,” Rosamund agreed. “Perhaps not crawling with hostile troops, but certainly the part about traps being left behind.” She took a hearty drink of her tea then smiled over the teacup. “I do believe we are going to be excellent friends, you and I.”

Giselle started a little in surprise, which turned to pleasure. “I haven’t had many friends,” she confessed. “Three, really. Mother’s friends from the Brotherhood and Tante Gretchen.”

“Ah! Pieter Meinhoff and Joachim Beretz.” Rosamund nodded, and offered Giselle more tea. “Joachim taught me to shoot. Most of my friends as a child were adults, too. Introducing me to other children didn’t . . . work out very well.”

“How so?” Giselle asked, curiously.

“Well, it generally began with me quizzing them on what sorts of lethal skills they had—I knew better than to talk about magic, of course, but it seemed to me asking about their ability to shoot, or stab, or bash in heads was just making sure we were all able to defend ourselves if something dangerous came at us. And then they’d ask me why, and I’d tell them, and they’d run away screaming and have nightmares for months.” Rosamund smiled as Giselle gave her an odd look, not sure whether or not to believe her. “It’s quite true. You can ask Gunther if you ever meet him. Or Joachim.”