“Where did you find her, Husband? Where are her parents? Not . . . dead?” Rosa asked, suddenly fearful.

“She was alone in an abandoned building,” said Anton, seating himself with a sigh at the table. He rubbed his shoulders and stretched his aching back muscles. “No sign that anyone else lived there. The building was close to what must have been the heart of the blast.”

“Truly?” Rosa was amazed. She glanced back the child. “She is lucky to have escaped with such minor wounds.”

“Lucky,” Anton repeated with meaningful emphasis. “I think it was more than luck.”

“What do you mean?”

“She lay in the middle of a heap of debris. Heavy beams fell around her. None fell on top of her.”

“You think she is one of the Blessed, then?” Rosa asked gravely.

“That would explain it. She used her magic to shield herself. She must be quite powerful.”

“One of the Blessed.” Rose reached down to caress the child’s hand. “In an abandoned house all by herself . . .” She sighed deeply. “A runaway.”

“I think so. So what do we do? By law, we’re supposed to turn her over to the monks.”

“Not until she is well,” said Rosa firmly. “And not until we’ve had a chance to hear her story and talk to her. We’ll tell her about our Magda, how happy she is. We’ll show her some of Magda’s letters from the palace.”

“But do you think you can talk her into going back to the sisterhood?”

“Of course,” Rosa said briskly. “The child’s just confused, that’s all. Girls at that age don’t know their own minds. Our Magda wanted to be a blacksmith, like you, when she was twelve. Remember? What a time we had convincing her that such was not her calling!”

Anton smiled at the memory. Ten years had passed since his dearly loved daughter had left home at age twenty. She was one of the Blessed, unusually strong in the dragon-magic, and chosen by the dragon to live in the palace beneath the mountain. They had not seen Magda in all that time, but they still heard from her. Twice a year, she sent them a letter telling them that she was well and happy in her service to the dragon and describing the riches and wonders of palace life.

Being a servant of the dragon was a great honor, to be sure, but Anton often envied the men his age who had ordinary daughters, who bore ordinary grandchildren.

“If we can convince this girl to go back on her own, the holy sisters won’t be hard on her,” Rosa was saying. “Not like the monks.”

“Keep your voice down.” Anton rose stiffly to his feet and went over to peer out the window.