It took several mugs of pear cider to cheer up Abel, but that was before the rankings had been posted. The four of them visited the Guild House hours later—after Barclay’s shoulder had been stitched up and Root had been bandaged—to look at their scores.

“Ethel, you came in first!” Viola said excitedly.

Ethel’s face lit up. “But Abel and I were hardly the first ones back.”

“But you were one of the only ones with all the items. Abel, you got seventh—that’s still quite high. And Barclay! You got—”

But Barclay had already spotted his name. He should be thrilled, he knew. Relieved. But instead, a knot twisted in his stomach.

“ ‘Second’?” Abel read, too loudly. “The proctors must really like you, Barclay.”

“He was attacked,” Viola said flatly. “And he was the only other student with all the items.”

But the damage was done. The other students reading the scores turned to glare at Barclay.

“He’s some sort of cheat, isn’t he?”

“He does have a Mythic class Beast.”

“Still, Tadg deserved better than third.”

Viola narrowed her eyes at Abel. “Now you’ve done it,” she snapped, ignoring Abel as he stammered apologies and leading Barclay out of the cloud of scorn.

But while the others returned to the Ironwood Inn to discuss the day’s exam, Barclay made up some excuse and headed straight for the grove with Root. He needed to think about what had happened out in the Woods between him and Root, because something had definitely changed.

Sure enough, when he summoned wind, the pine cone soared right off the stump.

Barclay gave a triumphant holler. Root barked, as though telling him, That’s it! You’ve done it!

His chest swelling with pride, Barclay knelt and stroked Root along his back. Root’s tail wagged appreciatively.

“I understand it now. What you’ve been trying to tell me,” Barclay breathed. “You bonded with me because we’re the same. We’re both alone. And fast, and smart, and wild. And we could…”

In an instant, his exhilaration drained out of him. All he could picture were his parents—and there was a worse memory, one Barclay never dared to think about. The way the ground had shaken with each mighty footstep. The way the fallen beams had trapped him, and he hadn’t been able to see. But he could hear. The roar of Gravaldor. The sound of his father screaming. The silence of his mother, who had never answered him.

Barclay couldn’t want to be Root’s Keeper. He couldn’t want anything to do with Beasts.

“No,” he murmured to himself. “I’m still going home.”

He returned Root to his Mark, left the clearing, and in the next week that passed until the third exam, he didn’t visit again.

NINETEEN

Despite being injured, Barclay did everything he could to prepare for the third and final exam. He took notes on whatever Viola told him. He drank all sorts of questionable Lore tonics—from Scaromilk to Mendijuice—to heal his shoulder and restore his strength.