“Your power is … unusual. There is no doubt it contains a kind of darkness, certain properties that indicate an association with forbidden magics.” Her voice was hard and cold. “And yet … after your successful accomplishment of the three tasks, and further discussion with the seven masters present, I can find no reason to deny you access to the temples,” she said. The obvious reluctance in her voice gave the impression she had looked for every possible reason. “You are to begin in Faul, as a novice under the Third Huntsman’s supervision. In a year, you shall undergo this test and examination a second time.”

The words were swimming around in Lena’s head. “You mean … I’m not a Rogue? I’ve … passed?” She turned to Emris. “I did pass, didn’t I?”

“Not exactly,” he said gently. “But they’ve decided to let you stay and prove yourself.”

Lena felt a surge of confusion and stared at the floor. She’d succeeded at the spells. She’d won in combat. How could she have done any better?

She looked up at Grand Master Auris, who had already turned to leave. “Tell me, what exactly did you see inside me?”

Auris’s eyes flashed. “That is not for you to ask.”

“Please,” Lena insisted. “I just need to know what’s wrong with me!”

Auris trained her eyes on Emris. “Huntsman, get your novice under your control and leave. I will not be spoken to in this way.”

“Come on, Lena,” said Emris, leading her to the doors.

Outside, she squinted against the sunlight, queasy and shaky and unable to believe what had happened.

“It’s not so bad, Lena. Even though you’re a novice, the temple will still afford you the legal protection you need,” Emris said. “I know it’s not what we hoped for…”

“It’s not that,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s the dream I had when I blacked out in there. When I woke up, I remembered a voice telling me something.”

“What did it say?”

“‘She who spins the cloud weaves the storm.’”

“The storm?” His voice was thoughtful.

Together, they had started down the steps, but both of them hesitated now, close to the bottom. Something was wrong. The broad street in front of the Council was unusually empty and quiet, even though the market stalls were still set up and the smell of roasted nuts and candied fruit sweetened the air. There was something else: a group of men emerging from the shadows of the stall directly opposite the Council entrance. The man at the front of the group, dressed from head to toe in white brocade, was followed by eight or nine of the black-and-white uniformed guards of the palace.