The apprentices scrambled to where Orla, Cyril, Runa, and Edwyn spoke in hushed voices at the head table. It was hard for Barclay not to glare at Cyril, sitting so casually across from the woman he claimed had killed their friend. His rigid posture, his gleaming medals… Barclay took back every kind thought he’d had about him. Cyril really was a slimy, stuck-up liar.

“We need to talk to you,” Viola said breathlessly. “In private.”

Runa studied the dire expressions on their faces. “Is it important?”

Viola nodded. “Extremely.”

“In that case,” Orla said, “we can speak in my office.”

They climbed the spiral staircase up several floors until they reached a cozy study, its walls covered in maritime maps and shelves displaying a collection of ships in glass bottles. Damp mist clung to the air, and Barclay couldn’t guess why until he spotted Murph asleep beneath the desk, fog billowing out of his nostrils whenever he snored.

Once they’d all crowded inside, Runa asked, “So what is it?”

Viola fiddled with the glittery pins on her shirt. Barclay could tell keeping quiet about Cyril’s story was bothering her as much as him.

“We believe that someone is summoning Lochmordra using the weeping tide,” she said. “And we think that person is Ansley.”

“Ansley MacGannon?” Orla said, aghast. “Why would Ansley do something like that?”

“I hope you realize that these are serious accusations,” Runa told them carefully. “And that this would be a very poor way to show gratitude toward Ansley for letting several of you stay in her—”

“This is nonsense,” Cyril cut in. “There’s no way to summon Lochmordra, not one that’s been discovered.”

“But there might be,” Barclay said. “Even without knowing the items to make his snare.”

Barclay stiffened under the weight of the adults’ heavy stares, especially Orla’s.

“W-when Lochmordra attacked Trowe, he was in the same sort of frenzy as all the Beasts affected by the weeping tide,” Barclay said. “I think—we think—that’s because the weeping tide affects him, too.”

“Really, Orla,” Cyril said, sounding exasperated, “they’re just children—”

“But they’re Guardians in training,” Edwyn reminded him. “Sometimes it takes a fresh perspective to see what we can’t. I think they deserve to be heard out.”

“W-we think it might be Ansley because…” Barclay cleared his throat. “Because Ansley keeps a tank of the weeping tide. She’s been studying it. Feeding it.”

“It’s not just that,” Yasha added. “Ansley could also have all the items you’d need to make a snare. We’ve seen the Fire Coral and Polypop bells in her shop.”