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The witch’s eyes flicked back and forth across my face, his expression darkening.

“Gone,” he said quietly, at last, when I found myself unable to finish.

I nodded, lips pressed tight, and fought against the rising tide of emotion. He covered his face with a hand momentarily, then lowered it to his mouth and squinted at me.

“She is not the only one. We hoped otherwise. Since we received a letter from her after it fell…”

My recommendation. He was waiting for an explanation. I cleared my throat, leaving my eyes shut an extra moment in a struggle to clear them of tears.

“She was going to send it. Before…”

“Doubtlessly,” he said, and peered down his nose at me. “Then you mean to tell me there’s no news of the missing one. Who we wrote her of, the night before it fell.”

“Who…?” I shook my head. “No. I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I recalled the letter Eudoria had been reading that morning. It had burned with her.

He nodded, lips pressed tight.

“See yourself out, then.”

“Wait. I’m supposed to stay. To join the Temple.”

“I do not think we require your… assistance,” he said, with a cold, diplomatic smile.

Perhaps if I’d arrived while the wild outland magic hung heavy in the air, he would have taken me more seriously—would not have realized just how thin my own burned.

“But Eudoria sent me. She was going to. I’m good with spells.”

“We are busy with many crises. Be on your way.” He turned, and began to walk, leaving me to the guards.

“Let me prove myself,” I begged. He didn’t turn. “Tell me how I can prove myself,” I yelled, as he walked down one of the Temple’s narrow roads. “I’m meant for this. There must be a way.”

“Perhaps if you can figure out what happened to the Ward,” the witch said over his shoulder, with an expression that looked smug and laughing all at once.

“You mean you don’t know?” I called. One of the guards took me by the shoulder and dragged me gently back out the gate, then swung it shut. “You must know something. You must have theories,” I called through the angry sting of the iron bars.

“You’ve been dismissed,” the female guard informed me. “You can leave now. Farewell.”

Someday everyone would laugh about it—how Meda the great enchantress had been turned away from the Temple the first time she approached it.

Who was I kidding? I was powerless. I turned and walked away.

Now that the sun was falling the city seemed even more treacherous than before. Its once-white walls turned dusky gray, its shadows long, its strangers menacing. My stomach growled. I passed a sunken garden visible through the slats of a fence. There, at lantern-lit tables spaced among the greenery, couples and small groups sipped from tiny cups and ate off little plates.

I kept walking. I needed somewhere I could find a bed as well as a meal. A block later my eyes lit on a wooden sign hanging over a door with a painting of a cup and a bed. Relieved, I pushed open the door.

Inside I found a fire-lit tavern with white walls and a low beamed ceiling. Plush armchairs ringed the hearth, and two long tables took up the main length of the room, crowded with patrons, food, and drinks. A woman stood behind the short bar, leaning on the counter and nibbling at the end of a reed pen.

It smelled like stewed vegetables and hot, spiced wine. My stomach growled. I quickly stepped to the counter and caught the woman’s eye.

“Excuse me? I’m looking for a place to sleep. And eat.”

The woman nodded and pushed herself upright. Her looped black braids fell to her shoulders before doubling back up against her crown. Her full lips were painted a dark shade of red, and a high-cropped vest gathered her billowing dress tight against her bust. I rather liked her look, though it seemed unusual. Nobody in Nis-Illous styled themselves that way.

“It’s fish and peppers tonight.”

I considered this. Fish and peppers was prepared a few ways, at least in Nis, not all of which I liked.

“In a clear broth?” I asked. She nodded. “Fine.”