“There are those who say that Rogues—or former Rogues—will never be as accomplished or controlled as those who have been in the temples from the start.” He smiled. “Nonsense—of which Emris is the finest evidence. Well, let’s get started.” He shuffled his papers again. “I suppose I should ask you the obvious question: Do you feel drawn to any one of the temples? Emris mentioned he’s shown you the basic outline.”

Lena shook her head.

“Well, that’s not unusual. No matter. Part of my job here is to be a good judge of character—to see in you what you can’t see in yourself.” He took up his pen a second time, resting the feathered tip against his top lip. “Now, I’m going to ask you a series of questions, and you’re going to answer quickly and instinctively. Don’t think about it—just say it. Does that make sense?”

“No,” she said. How was it possible to stop yourself from thinking?

But the First Huntsman either didn’t hear her or ignored her answer. “Good.” His pen was poised. “Would you say you’re a forgiving person, Lena?”

“No.” The word leaped out of her mouth before she thought. A smile hovered on his lips.

“As I said, I have a knack for this. Do you draw a strict distinction between right and wrong? Or is it more blurred?”

“Blurred,” she said instantly.

“How important is your family to you?”

Lena shook her head. “The only family that mattered to me is dead.”

The First Huntsman offered no condolences but scribbled a line on his paper. “When threatened, do you run, or hide, or fight?”

“Run.” She frowned, thinking back to the serpent. She had thrown a knife at it before running. “Or maybe fight.”

He tapped his pen, as if uncertain. “Remember, try not to think, Lena. Are you guided more by your passion or your reason?”

“Passion.” She shook her head. “No, reason,” she argued, annoyed at her own answer. “Or at least a mixture of both.”

He coughed. Lena sensed his unease—she was doing something wrong. She shifted in her seat, warmth flooding her cheeks. “I’m failing, aren’t I?”

“Not exactly,” he said. “It’s not that kind of test, remember. But your uncertainty is unusual … One last question, then. Are you a good person, Lena?”

The answers had arrived readily on her lips, if confusedly—but now, nothing. Her mind fell blank. She took a few deep breaths. Are you a good person? You stole a butterfly from the crypts. You let Vigo die for you. She shook the thoughts from her head. Of course. Of course I am. “Yes,” she said at last. “I mean … I think so.”