What would she do if Askell refused to admit her? She didn’t have much choice. She needed to stay within the sanctuary of Oden’s Ford. But if she crossed the river to the Temple School, it would be that much more likely she’d be seen by Micah Bayar or his friends. Plus, she would lose the protection of the Gray Wolves.

Raisa asked the clark on the first floor how to get to Grindell Hall. Surely they’d let her sleep there one night, even if they booted her out the next day.

By the time she reached the dormitory, the rest of the Gray Wolves had eaten. They’d brought plates back for Raisa and Amon, but Raisa had lost her appetite. She huddled in an overstuffed chair next to the cold hearth in the common room long after the others had gone to bed, nursing a cup of tea and waiting for Amon to return.

Finally, she heard his familiar footstep. He paused in the doorway, a tall silhouette, looking in at her. “I thought you’d be in bed,” he said.

“What did Askell say?” Raisa demanded.

Amon came forward into the light and knelt next to her chair. He closed his rough hand over hers, and that strange, wild energy flowed between them. Time seemed to telescope, and it seemed she could look ahead, this same scene repeating itself long into the distance, a future that would find them growing older together.

A prophesy? Raisa’s skin prickled, and her heart accelerated. What did it mean?

“What is it about you?” Amon whispered, a bemused look on his face. “Have I told you lately that you are amazing, Your Highness?”

“Not lately,” Raisa replied, swallowing hard. “Or ever.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my idea,” Amon said. “I figured Master Askell would flat out say no, and I didn’t want you to be disappointed. I thought you might be more willing to go to the Temple School if you didn’t know I’d come up with an alternative.”

“What did Askell say?” Raisa repeated.

“Dimitri was right. You are a witch-talker,” Amon said, shaking his head. “Master Askell has approved your curriculum and your housing. You start day after tomorrow.”

C H A P T E R  N I N E

THE
ROAD WEST

Han was glad to leave the capital of Ardenscourt behind him. The West Road ran straight as a taut bowstring across the plains between Ardenscourt and the Tamron River. They made good time, since there were no mountains to work around, only the occasional river or stream to navigate. But in some places the bridges had been destroyed, and they had to travel far up or downstream to find a crossing place. Often makeshift ferries served travelers along the east-west road.