“Flicker,” the old sprite said with a sigh of relief like the creak of a forge bellows. “You’re all right. And—” His eyes found Alice, and he ducked his head in a half bow, long white hair falling around him like a curtain. “Reader. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”

The other sprites turned to her at this, naked hostility on their faces. One by one, they bent as Pyros had, but Alice felt herself shrinking under the glare of all those red eyes.

“It’s all right,” she said. “You don’t have to do that.”

“She’s not the same one as last time,” Flicker said. “She’s a kindling of his, or something—”

“An apprentice,” Pyros said, straightening to look Alice over. “Bitumen, can you see to Glare’s arm? I must have words with the Reader in private, and I fear I am near exhaustion in any case.”

He looked at the largest of the other sprites, standing close behind his shoulder. After a moment, the big man grunted, and Pyros gestured toward another curtained doorway leading off from the big room.

“If you would, Reader?” Pyros’ eyes found Flicker, who had begun to edge to the rear. “And Flicker, I would appreciate it if you would join us.”

Without waiting for an answer, the old man turned away. Flicker slunk after him, shoulders hunched. Alice followed. She couldn’t help but glance at the table they’d all been gathered around, steeling herself for the sight of something gruesome, but there was nothing there but a pile of flaky gray ash.

CHAPTER SEVEN

AN OFFER OF AID

PYROS LED THEM to a room with a few stone chairs and two of the elaborate glass sculptures. There were also a great many long stone cylinders, about as thick as Alice’s arm, leaning in bundles against the walls or stacked in the corners. They were covered in intricate inscriptions, and Alice wondered if they served the fire-sprites in place of books. She hadn’t seen any paper since she’d gotten here, or indeed anything that might have come from a plant; everything the sprites used for clothing or furnishing was made from leather, glass, or stone.

As soon as the beaded curtain had fallen closed behind them, Pyros spun on his heel, looking furious. Alice grabbed the Swarm thread at once, ready to defend herself, but the old man was advancing on Flicker, one bony hand coming up to slap the boy hard across the face. Flicker’s hair pulsed a wild blue-white for a moment.

“You have been accused of many things,” Pyros said, “but never, until now, of being an utter fool. What were you thinking?”

“That we have a better chance of finding the bluechill if someone looks for it,” Flicker spat back. The impression of Pyros’ hand was livid on his cheek. “That I’d rather do something than cower and hide.”