“You can do it.” He put both hands on her shoulders. Feathers drifted in the air around them, lifted by a breeze from somewhere. “I know I’ve probably scared you by saying how hard it’s been for me, arriving here as a Rogue. But you’re getting better so quickly—quicker than I ever did. Your test should be more straightforward.”

“What happened in yours?” asked Lena, sensing the story behind his words.

His mouth twitched uncomfortably. “The Grand Master was so suspicious of my power, she decided to examine it herself. And examination from a mage of Regis can be … well, very painful, as well as dangerous.”

Lena frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Regis is the god of politics and persuasion, and the most powerful of his disciples can see the future and the past, and sometimes even the truth—even against another mage’s will. The Grand Master … she is very powerful indeed. And she just looked inside me, I suppose, searching for…” The blood had fled from his face, and he shook his head, suddenly deciding not to go on. “I don’t want you to think about this, Lena. It’s not going to happen to you. She said it was a one-off. She wouldn’t do it again, so you don’t need to understand it—I’m not sure I do, anyway. Now, come on, let’s try again.”

But she couldn’t help worrying. Her magic was so unpredictable. One moment she felt in control—almost happy to have magic burbling inside her. And the next moment it betrayed her, throwing everything into doubt. It was as if it had a mind of its own.

If the Grand Master could see the truth, she would see that too.

After a late supper in the map room, she and Emris decided on a lantern-lit walk in the temple district, where he tested her on the temples and their disciplines. Lena felt the butterfly’s wings as they walked, comforted by the weight of it in her pocket, trying to distract herself from thinking about the test, and the Grand Master, and the strangeness of her magic.

The temples had closed up for the night and the streets were quiet, the paving stones shining wet under the moonlight. The air was damp and cold, promising drizzle, and Lena pulled her padded training coat tight around her body.

“So whose temple is this?” Emris stopped outside an impressive pillared facade with a statue kneeling at the foot of the steps. At first glance, in the half-light of the moon, it could have been a worshipper, a girl of ten or twelve kneeling still, in prayer or adulation, hands outstretched.

“Turah,” said Lena. The kneeling girl had a sheaf of grain in one hand and a full pitcher in the other.

“What color are the robes of her initiates? And what magics do they practice?”