“The Fang of Dusk,” Floriane explained. “She’s a Guardian, a Lore Keeper who specializes in protecting the people of both the Wilderlands and the Elsewheres. Using enchantments to keep Beasts within the places where they should be, like the Woods.”

Barclay didn’t realize any Lore Keepers did things like that. Then he recognized the nickname. Tadg and the other would-be apprentices had mentioned her earlier that day. The Fang of Dusk was famous. And important.

“How do I talk to her?” Barclay asked.

“She’s right over there.” Floriane nodded toward the fireplace, to the woman sitting silently beside the High Keeper.

“But she’s with the High Keeper,” Barclay said uncertainly. She could be as bad as Soren.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Mandeep told him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so unhappy to be a guest of honor. Erhart hasn’t left her side all day, trying to show her off to all the visitors and giving her a grand tour. I bet his nap is the first peace she’s had since she got here.”

“Well, we can’t just go over and talk to her,” Viola hissed.

“Why not?” asked Barclay. “I thought your father was important. You can talk to anyone.”

Mandeep gave him a faint smile. “I’m afraid we are anyone. Runa Rasgar is not.”

“She’s frightening,” Floriane said.

“She’s respected,” Mandeep countered.

“Then what are we?”

“Tolerated,” Athna muttered into her empty stein.

Though Barclay was grateful for their help, he wasn’t much fazed by their warning. He was used to convincing people to help him. It had taken him dozens of tries to convince Master Pilzmann to make him his apprentice, after all. Barclay would not give up. Not yet.

He gave them a polite thank-you, and—despite Viola’s protests—marched over to Runa and the snoring High Keeper.

Barclay cleared his throat. “Um, excuse me, Miss Rasgar?”

Runa turned around, and Barclay saw that the right side of her face was marred with a gruesome scar, where sharp claws had raked across her pale skin nearly all the way to her ear.

“I suppose that name belongs to me,” she said, “though I’m not used to being called ‘Miss.’ ”

Her cool gray eyes swept over the two of them and settled on Viola, who looked more uncomfortable than Barclay had ever seen her.

“Viola Dumont… How is Cyril?”

“H-he’s well,” Viola managed. She fretfully fiddled with her pins again, even ones that didn’t need straightening.

“How unfortunate,” Runa responded. “Whatever you’ve come to ask, do keep it brief. I don’t want Erhart to wake up. He keeps asking for money… desperate to fix this place…”

“Please, Miss Rasgar.” Once again Barclay used his grown-up-pleasing voice. Runa gave him no smile, but Barclay wasn’t certain she was the sort of person who smiled, anyway. “I’m looking for a way to remove my Beast Mark. Is it possible?”

Her gaze returned to him. He swallowed.

“It’s possible, but dangerous. More so depending on the Beast.”

“It’s a Lufthund,” he told her.