Though Barclay was grateful for their help, he wasn’t much fazed by their warning. He was used to convincing people to help him. It had taken him dozens of tries to convince Master Pilzmann to make him his apprentice, after all. Barclay wouldnotgive up. Not yet.
He gave them a polite thank-you, and—despite Viola’s protests—marched over to Runa and the snoring High Keeper.
Barclay cleared his throat. “Um, excuse me, Miss Rasgar?”
Runa turned around, and Barclay saw that the right side of her face was marred with a gruesome scar, where sharp claws had raked across her pale skin nearly all the way to her ear.
“I suppose that name belongs to me,” she said, “though I’m not used to being called ‘Miss.’?”
Her cool gray eyes swept over the two of them and settled on Viola, who looked more uncomfortable than Barclay had ever seen her.
“Viola Dumont… How is Cyril?”
“H-he’s well,” Viola managed. She fretfully fiddled withher pins again, even ones that didn’t need straightening.
“How unfortunate,” Runa responded. “Whatever you’ve come to ask, do keep it brief. I don’t want Erhart to wake up. He keeps asking for money… desperate to fix this place…”
“Please, Miss Rasgar.” Once again Barclay used his grown-up-pleasing voice. Runa gave him no smile, but Barclay wasn’t certain she was the sort of person who smiled, anyway. “I’m looking for a way to remove my Beast Mark. Is it possible?”
Her gaze returned to him. He swallowed.
“It’s possible, but dangerous. More so depending on the Beast.”
“It’s a Lufthund,” he told her.
Runa was the first person who didn’t looked shocked by this statement. “And you want to be rid of it? Do you realize how many others your age would give anything for such a powerful Beast?” She snorted, glancing around the room. “How half of these Masters would do the same?”
Barclay was already well aware of how far other Lore Keepers were willing to go.
“I just want to go home,” he said firmly.
“Where is home?”
“Dullshire.”
“The town that was destroyed by Gravaldor seven years ago, yes?” Her face—ever so slightly—softened. “How long have you been in Sycomore?”
“Since this morning.”
“Tell me, what do you think of Sycomore? Of Lore Keepers?”
“It’s…” Barclay’s face reddened from lying. “Different.”
“You can be honest.”
He looked at his boots. The room was loud with Lore Keepers laughing, with Beasts cawing and howling, the fire crackling. Dullshire was never this loud, this unfamiliar. Dullshire had no men willing to saw off arms to steal Beasts. Nobody laughed at him for being an “Elsie.” In Dullshire, even if the laws sometimes annoyed Barclay, there wererealrules, good and bad, right and wrong.
“I hate it,” he said softly. Beside him, an expression of hurt crossed Viola’s face.
“A fair assessment,” said Runa, “for someone who has only been here since this morning.”
Barclay opened his mouth to tell her that his opinion wouldn’t change no matter how long he stayed, except Runa continued.
“I’m going to help you, but only on one condition. The Exhibition is beginning—it’s why I’m in Sycomore. The Exhibition is a series of exams for potential students to showcase their skills and their Beasts so that they can be taken on as apprentices with the Guild. It’s very difficult—even dangerous.”
Of course it’s dangerous,Barclay thought.Everything here is.
“And if you place first in the Exhibition,” Runa continued, “I will tell you how to remove your Mark.”
