Han studied his friend for any telltale signs of wizardry. Dancer looked the same as always, except for being desperately unhappy. There were the blue eyes which must be a gift from his father, so incongruous against his dark skin and hair.

“You’re going to train up another wizard?” Reid spoke contemptuously. “When there are far too many already?”

Elena stood her ground. “We are going to give Fire Dancer what he needs to control the gift he’s been given.”

“That’s not a gift,” Reid said. “It’s a curse. And the world would be better off with one less wizard in it.”

Shilo nodded, regarding Dancer as if he were a viper she’d found under the porch. “He can’t stay in the Spirits. The Nǽming forbids it. You know that.”

“The boy has stayed here this long,” Averill said sharply. “He can stay until he leaves for Oden’s Ford.”

Han processed this in fits and starts, seemingly a few steps behind the others. Dancer was leaving? No, he was being exiled. Evicted like a tenant from a slumlord flat.

He remembered the meeting with Micah Bayar and his friends on Hanalea, when Dancer had confronted the young wizards with this very rule—wizards were not allowed in the Spirit Mountains.

But Dancer—couldn’t an exception be made? He belonged here. This was his home.

Han stood, meaning to say as much, even though he had no right since he was only a guest himself. But Willo caught his eye and shook her head.

Confused, Han sat down again. Did Willo really mean to let this happen? Would she allow her son to be sent south to live among strangers?

Elena faced Dancer, thrusting her hand into a pouch she wore at her waist. She pulled out something glittering, which she dangled in front of Dancer.

It was an amulet—carved from a translucent caramel-colored stone. A glowing figure of a clan dancer ringed by flame. Dancer stared at it with a terrible fascination, as if it were a poison he was required to take.

“Fire Dancer,” Elena said gently, “we in the clans have long been the makers of the tools of high magic, even though we are unable to use them ourselves. For hundreds of years we have been in an uneasy truce with those who can use them. When these gifts are abused, we control access to them. Each mistrusts the other, but each depends upon the other. The Maker in her wisdom has decreed that her gifts be distributed thus, to protect us all.”

She slid the chain over Dancer’s head so the amulet rested on his chest. He stood stiffly, hands clenched at his sides, as if moving might set it off. A long moment passed, and the amulet began to glow. In answer, something kindled under Dancer’s skin, an incandescence that hadn’t been apparent before.