He wanted to see Isabelle, who had been taken to the officers’ ward, but he also had a duty to train Rebecca to use her sorcery. He led her to the courtyard between the headquarters, the barracks wing, and the warehouses. Someone had gone to the effort to plant a garden, really not much more than a square hedge with a fountain in the center. The fountain itself was a work of greater mechanical ingenuity than artistic merit. The basin was taller than ordinary and filled only half-full to keep the water from sloshing out. The spigot was on a weighted gimbal that kept it pointed vertically. Even so, the brisk cold wind carried most of the spray away.

Bitterlich ascended the sloping flagstones and sat on one of the tilted benches, gesturing Rebecca to sit beside him. It helped avoid the sensation of conflict if two people were facing the same direction, shoulder to shoulder.

Rebecca regarded this move with due skepticism. She was rightly wary of adults trying to take advantage of her. It was a minor miracle that she gave them any slack at all.

At last, she yielded to his superior patience and plopped down beside him, but in an attitude that suggested being spring-loaded.

“I need you to help me figure out the extent of your powers,” Bitterlich said.

Rebecca regarded him mulishly, arms crossed. “I don’t like changing. It feels strange.”

“Strange how?” Bitterlich asked. “Does it hurt or burn or itch?” Those could be signs of something seriously wrong with her sorcery.

“No,” Rebecca said. “It’s more like being wrapped up in a blanket.” She held out her hands. “I don’t have arms or hands or legs and I can’t talk.”

“Ah,” Bitterlich said. “That makes sense.”

Rebecca scrutinized his expression for any sign that she was being wound up. “It does?”

“Yes. When I turn into a cat”—Bitterlich did so, pulling on Littlepaws’s form—“at least I have four limbs, and paws make pretty good hands. I can walk and manipulate things. I can see how it would be disconcerting not to be able to do all those things at once.”

“And you can talk,” Rebecca said.

“So can you, with practice. With a lot of practice you can probably learn to keep your arms even while in wyrm form. And just think of everything else you’ll be able to do. You’ll be able to fly and breathe fire.” That was, alas, the extent of his knowledge of ghostfire wyrms.

“Fly?” Rebecca said, her eyes growing round.

“You were doing it on the ship when you first transformed. You were just too panicked to remember.”

Rebecca considered that for a moment. “And you can teach me to talk.”