The purple light sped toward her, and Lena saw it was attached to the end of a long cane, which rapped the back of her hand sharply. Her silver knife went spinning to the ground. She snatched her hand to her chest, her knuckles burning.

This was no monster, she realized, raising her eyes. The strange face was a mask, and the figure was a young woman’s—a rich woman’s, at that. This she could tell by the velvet dress cinched in at a tiny waist, the round golden talisman hanging almost to her stomach, the gold-tipped cane at her side, and the slim kid-leather boots. Long fair hair had been wound into a tight coil at the top of her head. But this wasn’t just any young woman. The light on her cane was no ordinary lantern. How could it be? The light glowed not yellow, like fire, but an unnatural purple.

She’s a mage. Lena’s stomach twisted in terror.

Lena watched as the mage observed her in turn: her faded black habit, the cowl shadowing her face. The mage reached forward with her cane and pushed back Lena’s hood; the bright purple light made Lena’s eyes smart. The woman put the bulb of the cane under Lena’s chin and turned it one way, then the other. Lena could feel a strange, mild heat burning inside the glass. Her heart hammered in her chest. The mask’s gaze seemed to linger on the dark birthmark on her smooth cheek—perhaps with disgust, perhaps with curiosity.

And then, through the grille over the mouth of the mask, a metallic rasp said, “So you’re a cryptling. What are you doing here?”

Lena was silent.

“I said, what are you doing here? What of the quarantine?” said the mage. “Speak now and tell me the truth or I shall lose my patience.” She had an authority to her voice that made Lena afraid not to answer.

She shook her head, trying to steady her senses. “I … was convicted of magecraft and sentenced to death. I escaped. The Justice…” She trailed off, clenching her fists as grief and anger overwhelmed her.

“The Justice? What of the Justice?”

“He’s been hunting mages since the quarantine. He thinks there are mages in the city causing the storm cloud. And he convicted … me. He killed my…” What had he been to her? A parent? A teacher? A grandfather? “He killed my master. For trying to protect me. But before he was murdered, Vigo told me a way out.”

“I see.” The masked mage regarded her coolly, offering no sympathy, no apology. But she lowered her cane, and somehow Lena felt she understood.

After a few moments, she found the courage to speak again. “I … please, I don’t know the way out of the forest. Can you help me?”

The young woman nodded slowly. “I will … but you must do something for me too.”