“Probably,” Odrin agreed, shoving the book back to her to force her to continue her studies, “but spelled objects are exceptionally difficult to make and even harder to come by. If you find one, hang on to it. In the meantime, why don’t you focus on your studies rather than hoping you become the luckiest reever. Now, if you smell—”

“Roses in your beverage, don’t drink it,” she said, loudly banging her forehead against the wooden desk. Odrin chuckled as he abandoned her to her wallowing.

Time passed, but she would not give up.

While she excelled in little else, she’d discovered an aptitude for zoology. Amaris slept with her favorite bestiary tome beside her bed, reading it backward and forward. As winter melted into spring, she learned she could wound a vageth with a blade and use its blood to coat her weapons, as her opponents would be defenseless against the resulting infection. She studied the lore of the sustron and the ways one could steal its scent to hide in the shadows, though it would thirst for your blood in revenge. Odrin taught her of djinn, who could grant three favors to any who held it, but unless you were ready to recapture the beast, it would have your heart in its talons after your final wish. She skimmed over the more fictional beasts of lore like the icy aboriou or the collection of what were most certainly wishful sailor’s tales of sirens and merfolk. She learned beseuls actively avoided the sizzling pain of sunlight and that if you met the ag’drurath alone in the wilderness, you’d best make your peace with the All Mother, as no method had been recorded to survive the winged dragon.

Demons, she’d learned, couldn’t truly be killed. The knowledge had horrified her, but Odrin had reassured her that anything could be bested if you cut it into small enough pieces, whether or not those separated parts stayed alive.

“And if we don’t?”

“If we don’t what?” Odrin looked up from his papers to see what needed clarification.

“If we don’t cut them into smaller pieces?”

He nodded. “Many things can reattach, given enough time. Bury the head separately and you’ll be fine. We include a spade in your saddlebags to help with the digging.”

“Oh joy.”

It didn’t sound like she’d be fine, but he said it with such nonchalance that it made her believe he’d dealt with such things a time or two.

Odrin was gentle but firm with his lessons. His relief had been no secret when he discovered her wit to be sharp, with an iron-clad memory. If he was going to break decades of tradition and bring a young woman into the castle, at least he’d brought a girl with a warrior’s heart and a fox’s mind.