Emris stopped at the bottom of the staircase. A grand hallway—polished wooden floor, paintings of old men and women in gilt frames—yawned emptily in front of them. The huntsman sighed, turned to face Lena, and grasped her by the shoulders. “Listen. I can tell you what’s going through the First Huntsman’s mind—he’s wondering whether Chaos is starting to affect your power … to infect it. But somehow I know he’s mistaken. Everyone’s magic has a different character.” He smiled. “Just because we haven’t seen it before doesn’t mean it’s wrong…”

“But …?” Lena could sense the word, although he hadn’t spoken it.

Emris shook his head. “But nothing. There are those who will probably say otherwise, that’s all. And yes, the Holy Council will likely want to test you to make absolutely certain—but it’s standard stuff. We can practice. Come on. I’ll run you through the Binding, and then we’ll find some lunch in the refectory.”

She wanted to ask about the test, sensing he wasn’t telling her the whole story, but followed as he continued to walk across the hall, the wooden floor softly creaking under his weight. Besides, another question felt more urgent. “What’s the Binding, again?”

“A little exercise every mage has to go through—mostly at the age of twelve or thirteen. Nothing you can’t handle.”

Is it true, then? Am I really a mage? She frowned. I made something happen, something impossible, just by force of will. So … I must be. Her whole body shivered in response to the thought. She’d always been told magic was wicked. Now, it seemed, she really was carrying it inside her. Did that mean she was wicked too?

Or maybe she’d been wrong her whole life. The thought pained her, but maybe … maybe Vigo had been wrong. Emris didn’t seem evil. Even the First Huntsman hadn’t been unkind. As Emris led her down the long hall, she let the notion sit with her, swirling in her mind like ink in water. Maybe Vigo was wrong. Maybe magic wasn’t evil.

But she couldn’t accept it, not quite.

I’m so sorry, Vigo. I’m letting you down.

“Here.” They had reached a small pointed doorway at the end of the hall. Emris rested his hand on the handle. “From here on, the temple’s going to look a lot more … um … templey.” His scars twisted as he smiled.