“I know.” He’d already said this three or four times, in various different ways, as if he sensed her nervousness—but none of his reassurances helped. She kept thinking back to Emris’s explanations about Chaos, how it was dangerous and could overwhelm someone who wasn’t properly trained. She shivered. Something had killed that serpent, something inside her, even though she hadn’t meant to. That sounded a bit like Chaos, didn’t it?

Emris knocked again, louder, and an impatient voice cried out, “Yes, yes! All right. Come in.”

The door opened. Inside, a portly older man sat low in an armchair at an enormous desk, a huge wall of bookshelves at his back. A musty tome lay facedown on his belly, and he was in the process of pushing his glasses up his nose. A big silver pot of sharp-smelling coffee steamed on the desk in front of him. Out the window, Lena glimpsed a wonderful view of the beautiful, glittering dome of the Holy Council.

“Is this her, then?” the man said, plunking the book on the table, standing up, and peering at Lena as if she were a tadpole in a pond. Like every passerby in the temple, he didn’t seem to notice her birthmark at all—not even with a flicker of the eyes. He observed her all at once, summed her up in a glance. It was disconcerting and comforting at the same time. He had a large red nose and a stern but kindly face, his dark eyes peering from behind gold-framed spectacles.

“It is,” said Emris. “Shall I leave you to it?”

The older man waved his arm. “Wait here—we shan’t keep you long.”

Lena was surprised by her relief. In a whole world full of strangers, she supposed, Emris was less of a stranger than most. He took a chair by the door, slipping a book off a shelf nearby and shooting Lena a reassuring smile.

“Well, then. Come here, girl,” said the First Huntsman, and Lena crossed the several feet of embroidered carpet to the desk as he poured himself a cup of coffee and shuffled some papers. “Take a seat. Remind me of your name?” He picked up a feather quill, unscrewed a glass ink jar.

“Lena,” she said, sitting down on the opposite side of the desk. The chair was very smooth and squashy. She sank into its cushions, her feet lifting off the floor as she slid backward.

“Family name?” he asked, glancing at her from under bushy eyebrows.