Lena shook her head. “I don’t have one,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t ask her to explain. Cryptlings had no family name—that was taken from them the moment their birth families abandoned them to the Ancestors. When cryptlings died, they were interred in a communal tomb, like the lowest of beggars and criminals. Of course, Vigo hadn’t even been afforded that—his bones lay bare and untended not far outside the walls of the castle. Her eyes stung, and she looked down at her lap.

The huntsman appeared to sense her discomfort, sparing her further questions on the subject. His voice was gentle when he spoke again, his pen hovering over the paper. “And yet I shall have to fill the form with something. Perhaps, as you were rescued by a huntsman of Faul, you would accept the name ‘Grey’?”

Lena nodded. Lena Grey. She liked it.

“Very good. Now, has Huntsman Lochlade explained why you are here?”

“Emris said you were going to decide which temple I should start training with,” she said.

“That’s right. And to help us decide, I’d like you to complete a little test—not the pass or fail kind, just the sort to help us puzzle out where you’ll fit in. After that, we’ll pack you off to your temple and you’ll have your very first lesson.” He looked at her kindly, as if she were about six years old. “Are you ready?”

Lena suppressed a gulp. She wasn’t ready—but what choice did she have? Her stomach burbled with nerves and she sent an instinctive prayer to the Ancestors before realizing she was about to betray her old faith for good. She felt her face twist into a grimace of confusion.

“Are you ready to take the test, Lena?” he asked again, observing her distress.

She managed a stiff nod, forcing herself to agree. The only way was forward.

“Don’t worry, child. As First Huntsman, I have lots of experience in assigning temples to Rogues. In fact, Emris is among my greatest successes.”

Lena turned to where Emris was sitting in his straight-backed chair near the door, apparently absorbed in a large leather-bound book. “Emris was a Rogue?” she said under her breath.

“Oh yes.” The First Huntsman sipped his coffee, a wisp of steam curling into the air above his head. “I knew within five minutes of meeting him that he’d remain with Faul—he had a natural talent for the sort of magic we require. And he’s been a champion for other Rogues ever since. It’s not the favored route into the temples, you know—many distrust it.”

Lena blinked. She’d thought if she took this path, she’d be accepted into this new world. “Distrust it? What do you mean?”