Emris climbed the stairs, beckoning Lena with a glance over his shoulder. His footsteps barely sounded in the empty landing at the top. But she had clumsier feet, the wood creaking and popping under her hobnail boots, hand-me-downs from some older cryptling who’d outgrown them. Somebody stirred elsewhere in the house—a rattling cough, a groaning bed. Emris opened a door and ushered Lena inside. He shut it behind her with a click and drew across a thick velvet curtain.

A long wooden table dominated the room, surrounded by high-backed chairs. Its surface was hidden beneath scattered papers—maps, in fact, each of them impossibly large and overlapping, pinned flat with paperweights.

“Welcome to the temple of Faul,” said Emris. “The huntsman’s temple.” He poked the fire, replenishing the embers with a fresh log. Sparks drifted up the chimney. “We came in by the back door. There’s a big impressive hall downstairs, by the front entrance, full of incense and statues and suchlike. But we’ve all got to live somewhere, so they tacked a whole terrace on the back. There are bedrooms, a kitchen, training rooms, offices, a bathhouse, and a huge dining hall—and rooms like this, for temple meetings or study. This one’s the map room.”

On the mantelpiece Lena noticed a silvery wooden carving of a hunter, his bow drawn tight, aiming with a narrowed eye.

“What’s that?” she asked, approaching it. “Is he your … your god?” She gulped; the word felt strange and dangerous on her tongue. As if, in speaking it, the statue might suddenly spring to life.

Emris nodded as he crouched down in front of a cupboard, rooting around inside.

“Why hunters?” She glanced at him. “What is it you do, exactly?”

“We’re a sort of peacekeeping force.” He turned and met her eyes. “We catch magical criminals, or Rogues, or Radicals—anyone who might present a magical threat to themselves or others.” He took out a couple of plates, a wheel of cheese, and a loaf of bread, and set them on the table as Lena sank into a velvet-cushioned chair. “Like Constance, for instance.” He appeared to struggle to say her name, as if it were too bitter to taste.

“She’s a Rogue too?” Lena asked, frowning. “She didn’t seem particularly—”

“No.” He cut her off. “She’s a criminal, Lena. She broke the law—in fact, she broke the most important magical law of all.” His jaw tightened; he looked angry. He returned to the cupboard and pulled out a lidded jug and two metal goblets.

“What did she do?”

Emris shook his head as he set the things on the table. “I can’t tell you any more right now.” He turned to one side as he poured them each a measure of the deep-red liquid.

“You promised me answers,” she pointed out.