“I’m not staying here for the next few years,” said the girl, firmly acknowledging that the time for manners was at an end. “I’m not staying here at all.”

The man continued like he hadn’t heard her. “My name is Quoneel. It’s an old name from a dead language, but I took it for my own because of what it means, and what it meant, and it is my name now and it protects me. Do you know how names work?”

“Of course,” she said. “I’m eight, not stupid.”

“And you have magic I take it?”

“Lots,” said the girl. “So tell me where my parents are or I’ll burn you where you sit.” She clicked her fingers and flames danced in her hand.

Quoneel gave her a smile. “You are indeed a fierce one, child. Your mother was right.”

“Where is she?”

“Gone, as I have said. I have not lied to you. They have left you here, as they once left your brother.”

The girl let the flames go out. “You know my brother?”

“I trained him. We all did. As we will train you. You will live here and train here and grow here, and when your Surge comes, you will leave as one of us.”

“Who are you?”

“I am Quoneel.”

“But what do you mean? Who will I be when I leave?”

“Who you will be, I do not know. But what you will be... If you survive, if you are as fierce as you seem, then you will be a hidden blade. Invisible. Untouchable. Unstoppable. You will be as quick and as strong as your brother, and as skilled and as deadly. Do you want that, little girl?”

It was as if he could see into her dreams, into her most private thoughts. She found herself nodding.

“Good,” said Quoneel, and stood up. “Your training starts today.”

They called her Highborn, the other children. They used it as a weapon to wound her. One of them, a girl with dull brown hair, but a sharp cruel tongue, was too vindictive to cross, so the others flocked to her side. The cruel girl was the first one of them to take a name, and she chose Avaunt.

Quoneel took the girl for a private lesson one day. “Do you know why they call you Highborn?” he asked.

“Because they don’t like me,” the girl said. The practice sword was heavy in her hands.

“And why don’t they like you?”

“Because Avaunt doesn’t like me.”

“And why doesn’t Avaunt like you?”

The girl shrugged, and attacked, and Quoneel stepped out of the way and struck her across the back of the knees.

“Avaunt doesn’t like you because of the way you speak and the way you look and the way you walk.”

The girl scowled and rubbed her legs. “That seems to be a lot of things.”