“Let’s just hope no one starts any fires,” Biana said. “Right, Sophie?”

“Hey, if I hadn’t started that fire, we might not have become friends with Tam and Linh,” Sophie reminded her.

“Plus, a school isn’t a school until Sophie tries to destroy it,” Fitz teased.

“Uh, I think Keefe has taken over that role,” Biana whispered. “I can’t decide if that means she’s the bad influence—or he is.”

“I think they’re mutually troublesome.” Sir Astin gave Sophie a papery smile. “And much as it would delight me to see some of our particularly sheltered elves endure the kind of creative initiations Exillium specializes in, the Coaches have arranged a much faster, much less invasive dividing process. Everyone will also be provided with simple capes to wear with their tunics, pants, and boots. And in case you’re wondering, you will be participating as well. So will all of the Exillium Waywards.”

“Is this what you meant when you told Tam and Linh that you were working on something to keep them less isolated?” Sophie asked.

Sir Astin nodded. “They will now be coming to Foxfire twice a week—and should the experiment go well, I’ve been in talks with the Council about establishing a permanent connection between the schools. I envision an exchange program once a week, to allow both schools to interact and benefit from the other. But the first focus will be on self-defense training.”

Dex pointed toward the grumbling crowd. “Doesn’t sound like everyone’s excited by the idea.”

Sophie wasn’t surprised. Most of the elves were snobs about Exillium—believing the school existed only for the hopeless cases. All the Waywards had been banished from the Lost Cities, and very few had done what Timkin Heks did and earned their way back.

Councillor Emery held out his hands, demanding silence. “Clearly this idea will take some getting used to,” he told them. “But it is a necessary change.”

A fresh round of shouts disagreed, and Bronte stepped from his place at Emery’s side.

“Would you honestly rather risk your lives than train to use your skills?” he shouted.

“No, we’d rather you do your job and exile these black-robed idiots,” someone yelled back, triggering an eruption of cheers.

Sophie couldn’t hear what Bronte said in response, but the set of his jaw was pure disgust.

“If you don’t calm yourselves,” Councillor Emery shouted, “I will let Noland call for silence. And you all know the headache a Vociferator can trigger.”

Most of the crowd obeyed—though Sophie caught a few grumblings about the hypocrisy of threatening them with someone’s special ability.

“Regardless of how you may feel about this decision,” Emery told them, “keep in mind that this arrangement is not optional. Anyone who refuses training will face a number of consequences.”

“Like what?” Sophie whispered to Sir Astin. “They wouldn’t exile people, would they?”

“Honestly, I’m not certain,” he admitted. “But there is never a shortage of manure to shovel at the Sanctuary.”

“And what about the ogres?” a female shouted from somewhere off to the side.

Sophie recognized the voice even before the crowd parted to let her linguistics Mentor march toward the stage. Lady Cadence’s dark gray gown looked as tight as the twisted bun in her dark hair and paired well with her stormy glare.

“Why am I not surprised you’ve decided to interrupt these proceedings?” Emery asked.

“Probably because you’ve ignored all my requests for a private meeting,” Lady Cadence said smoothly. “And I’m hardly the only dissenter. I’d wager you could hear the shouting all the way in the Forbidden Cities. And while most of their arguments are weak and biased, that doesn’t change the fact that your plan is deeply flawed. Improving our skills won’t do a drop of good in the face of an ogre warrior—and we cannot afford to make them our enemy. When it comes to pure, brute strength, nothing can best them.”

Every goblin in the audience snorted.

“Laugh all you want,” she told them. “Goblins are powerful in your own way—and you have held your own in many battles. But you survive primarily because of clever battle tactics—tactics that can’t rival the ruthless rage I’ve seen ogres manifest in the heat of a fight.”

“The ogres are formidable adversaries,” Councillor Emery agreed. “But King Dimitar is wise enough to avoid starting a war that he knows he would lose.”

“Are you certain of that?” Lady Cadence asked. “Hasn’t he ignored all of your requests for a Peace Summit?”

Councillor Emery glanced at the rest of the Councillors. Several seconds passed as he rubbed his temples, before he nodded and raised his eyes to the crowd.

“We’d been planning to deliver this announcement through coordinated scrolls, that way everyone would be notified at once. But . . . in light of these apprehensions, it seems prudent to set your minds at ease now, and we’ll notify the rest of the populace this evening. King Dimitar has agreed to meet for a Peace Summit. We’re in the process of arranging the gathering in Lumenaria now. The exact date will not be shared—for obvious security reasons. But we expect to reach a satisfying resolution in the very near future.”

The cheer that followed sounded mostly like a collective sigh of relief.

“Did you know about that?” Sophie whispered to Sir Astin.

“No,” he admitted. “But it explains why I’ve received such pushback for our visit to Gethen. I’m not sure if we’ll be able to get anywhere near Lumenaria until the summit is over. They’ll have everything on lockdown to prepare their security.”

“And there’s no way to sneak in?” Fitz asked.

“Definitely not. Lumenaria—in many ways—is more secure than Exile.”

“So then . . . it probably would’ve been good if we’d met with Gethen before the ogres agreed to the summit,” Sophie said.

“Yes, Miss Foster. The power of hindsight strikes again. Though in all fairness, we wouldn’t have known to ask him about the symbol, so there’s no telling how useful that meeting would’ve been.”

“I still wish we’d done it,” Sophie mumbled.