I slept for twelve hours straight, woken only by the smell of hot soup Likh brought into my room. I feared I might wake to find myself still in that dreaded cave or that the strange visions within might somehow have escaped to find me in my nightmares. But when I woke, Kalen’s fingers clasped mine, his palm folded over my smaller one.

“Was it real?” Likh asked quietly, watching me devour the meal. “You mentioned a fire in Kion. Surely nothing in that mountain was capable of burning your hand. The torches?”

My injury stung, wrapped in a bandage stuffed with herbs and other medicines. “I don’t know. You’ll need to question Agnarr. But I understand why so many people fail the mountain’s test. I’m sorry to be one of them.”

Likh scowled. “I’d like to give him a piece of my mind. Why would he subject people to that kind of trauma?”

“Because they have to be sure.” I had come away from Stranger’s Peak with more than a singed grip. “Gorvekai know the ingredients to shadowglass but cannot wield it on their own. The spell in the wrong Dark asha’s hands makes the world worse, not better. They need someone willing to sacrifice every ambition for it. I couldn’t.”

“But of course you’d refuse! Kion burning, being told you would die—what did they expect?”

I was silent.

“Agnarr wants to meet with us again once Tea feels up to it,” Khalad said.

“I’ll be ready as soon as I change this,” I said, lifting my hand. “It’s starting to smell.”

“I’ll see to it.”

“Can you accompany Khalad for a bit, Kalen?” Likh asked. “I want to discuss something with Tea.”

Kalen looked over at me, and I nodded. “We’ll be back soon,” he promised.

“I don’t trust this Agnarr fellow,” Likh began heatedly after they left. “I don’t care if he thinks you’re not the right kind of Dark asha, even if you clearly are. We don’t have another twenty years for the next one to come along and meet his requirements. There are Drychta and Faceless in Yadosha right now. He and the Gorvekai can afford to wait in their little corner of the world, but King Kance can’t!”

I was watching the kaleidoscope of colors in Likh’s heartsglass change from silver to red to blue to yellow in dizzying patterns. He was angry for other reasons. Was it because Agnarr had called him Lady Likh?

I didn’t realize I’d spoken the question aloud until Likh froze, the scowl slipping from his face. I pushed on hurriedly.

“Is that how you want to be called? Admittedly, it feels odd to hear others call you Lord or Sir.”

Likh’s expression turned pained. “Lady puts me off guard, gives rise to other thoughts. But would it be strange to ask for that title?”