In all the commotion about Soren, Barclay had nearly forgotten that the Exhibition was finished. And he’d placed first, just like Runa had asked.

“Will you tell me how to remove my Mark now?” he asked.

“Do you want me to?”

Barclay’s face reddened, no matter how hard he tried to stop it. “What? Of course!”

Runa took a deep breath and lowered herself to look Barclay in the eyes. “I’m afraid I haven’t been honest with you. You see, removing a Mark has nothing to do with your own strength. I’d hoped your weeks spent in Sycomore with your friends would change your opinion about Lore Keepers. It seemed a shame to let such a promising student make such a hasty decision.”

Barclay couldn’t believe her words. All these weeks had been a lie? Even if his opinion about Lore Keepers had changed, even if he’d changed, it didn’t matter. He had to go back to Dullshire. He had to.

“So it’s impossible, then?” Barclay seethed. He squeezed the armrests of his chair until his knuckles whitened.

“Marks can be removed using a Beast of a higher class,” Runa explained. “But yours is a Mythic Beast. I’m afraid for you, it’s not possible.”

Barclay bit his lip to prevent a curse—or worse, tears.

Runa’s face softened. “I’m sorry about lying—I really am. My intentions were good. In fact, I never thought you’d do as well as you did. To progress to the final match in the bracket with so little time with your Beast. To escape from Soren—twice! I can’t offer you a way home, but I can offer you something. An apprenticeship with me, if you’d want it.”

“Your apprentice?” Barclay repeated, stunned. He was already someone’s apprentice. Master Pilzmann’s.

“You as well, Viola,” Runa added.

“I already have a Master,” Viola said, echoing Barclay’s thoughts.

Runa turned to her. “I know full well that isn’t true. Cyril would never let his apprentice wander alone the way you have.” Viola swallowed and looked at her shoes. “I don’t know if it’s any help to you, but I don’t think you could find a Master more different from Cyril than me. Or anyone who hates Cyril as much as me.” She smiled at Viola cheerily.

Viola didn’t return it. “I can’t—”

The door to the High Keeper’s office swung open. Erhart stormed inside, followed by a herd of other Masters. He pointed a shaking finger at Runa.

“You’re under arrest! For the murder of Conley Murdock.”

Barclay and Viola shot up from their chairs and exchanged a dark look. Soren had been spreading rumors about Runa and Conley for weeks, but surely, Erhart didn’t have any proof.

Runa gritted her teeth in frustration. “You’re delusional. I’m not the one who killed him. If you listen to me, I can tell you who did. The perpetrator is fleeing Sycomore as we speak—”

“Nonsense! Soren flees because he fears for his life! And I have the evidence.”

Erhart waved a leather notebook through the air, then he hurriedly flipped through the pages. Barclay recognized the messy, scratchy handwriting as belonging to Conley Murdock.