Runa was the first person who didn’t looked shocked by this statement. “And you want to be rid of it? Do you realize how many others your age would give anything for such a powerful Beast?” She snorted, glancing around the room. “How half of these Masters would do the same?”

Barclay was already well aware of how far other Lore Keepers were willing to go.

“I just want to go home,” he said firmly.

“Where is home?”

“Dullshire.”

“The town that was destroyed by Gravaldor seven years ago, yes?” Her face—ever so slightly—softened. “How long have you been in Sycomore?”

“Since this morning.”

“Tell me, what do you think of Sycomore? Of Lore Keepers?”

“It’s…” Barclay’s face reddened from lying. “Different.”

“You can be honest.”

He looked at his boots. The room was loud with Lore Keepers laughing, with Beasts cawing and howling, the fire crackling. Dullshire was never this loud, this unfamiliar. Dullshire had no men willing to saw off arms to steal Beasts. Nobody laughed at him for being an “Elsie.” In Dullshire, even if the laws sometimes annoyed Barclay, there were real rules, good and bad, right and wrong.

“I hate it,” he said softly. Beside him, an expression of hurt crossed Viola’s face.

“A fair assessment,” said Runa, “for someone who has only been here since this morning.”

Barclay opened his mouth to tell her that his opinion wouldn’t change no matter how long he stayed, except Runa continued.

“I’m going to help you, but only on one condition. The Exhibition is beginning—it’s why I’m in Sycomore. The Exhibition is a series of exams for potential students to showcase their skills and their Beasts so that they can be taken on as apprentices with the Guild. It’s very difficult—even dangerous.”

Of course it’s dangerous, Barclay thought. Everything here is.

“And if you place first in the Exhibition,” Runa continued, “I will tell you how to remove your Mark.”

Barclay gaped. “First? But I… I don’t know anything about Lore!”

“I’m not trying to play with you or humiliate you. If you’re not strong enough to place first, then you won’t survive removing your Mark. I will not kill you. So prove to me that, if I help you, I won’t.”

TWELVE

Outside it had begun to snow, and Barclay shivered as he stomped to the town square, Viola tripping over herself to keep up.

“The Exhibition starts tomorrow,” Viola told him.

Barclay’s already terrible mood soured further.

“There are three events, one each week for three weeks.”

Three weeks stuck in Sycomore.

“Runa was right to call the Exhibition dangerous. Apprentices have been known to get injured—even die—”

“Just stop, Viola!” Barclay shouted, whipping around. “You’re not helping. How am I supposed to compete? I don’t know anything about magic—”

“About Lore—”

“I’ll get myself killed! Or make a fool of myself! Either way, I won’t win, and I won’t be able to go home.”