Considering that the streets of Vastwarren are cobbled (terribly cobbled, I might add) and slant heavily, this is a rather alarming piece of news.

“And we do this in the dark?” Mereden asks, her voice timid.

“It’s all good, Mer,” Lark says in a confident voice. “We’ll be tied together, just like in the caves, right?”

“Exactly,” Master Magpie says. “You’re getting it now.”

“But it’s going to be too dark to see anything,” I point out. I can barely see as it is. In the dark? I’ll just be stumbling.

Magpie turns to me. “Then light a fucking torch and quit complaining. You think it’s bright in the caves?”

“I think I preferred it when Hawk was teaching us,” Gwenna mutters.

I do, too.

NINETEEN ASPETH

Despite our general helplessness, the evening isn’t as bad as I expect it to be. Gwenna makes a fire and we light a torch, only to find that the torch doesn’t burn for very long at all. Magpie then produces an oil lantern and lectures us. “When I say come prepared, I mean it.”

After the oil lantern is lit, we’re tied together. Kipp takes up the front, followed by Lark with the lantern. Gwenna follows behind her, then Mereden, then me in the back. We march up the slippery stream, and Magpie’s right—it’s only ankle-deep. It’s still incredibly treacherous, though, and we end up slogging with each step, our boots heavier with water every moment. I decide that I’m going to get myself a staff before anything else. A short one, so no one can gripe about my having it in close quarters. Maybe just to bosom height instead of past my shoulder. I like that idea—a staff to assist with walking, and to put a lantern atop because not being able to see is maddening. Right now, I can’t see anything except Mereden’s backside and the coiling puff of her dark hair.

We march up the stream.

Down the stream.

Up the stream again, this time in a different order with me at the front. This goes badly for all involved and Magpie barks things at me like “Are you blind?”

(I don’t point out that in fact I am quite night-blind without my spectacles.)

We march up and down the stream until all three moons in the sky have disappeared again and the night grows bitterly cold. Our teeth chatter and Kipp gets too cold to function, so we take turns carrying him.

“Enough,” Hawk finally declares. “You’ve shown them you know what you’re doing, Mags. Let them rest.”

“Oh, fine,” she says. “Though I know Hawk’s just griping because he wants time with his wife. I suppose you all get a break.” She claps her hands together. “Now we make camp and another fire.”

“What happened to the last bloody fire I made?” Gwenna demands.

“Were you tending it?”

“No! I’ve been marching upstream all night and scaring all the fish!”

“Then it’s out, isn’t it?” Magpie’s smile is evil in the shadows. “So make another fucking fire. You’re not going to have anyone to depend on in the tunnels to keep things lit for you. Don’t expect different out here. My job is to prepare you.”

Gwenna shoots me an agitated look, as if she’s blaming me for everything. I can’t fault her for that—it is my fault that we’re here, as fledglings. I suppose I deserve any and all blame. “I’ll make the fire.”

“I can make it,” Gwenna says. “I know how.”

“You all need to learn how to make fire,” Magpie corrects. She points at me. “You make the fire. The others can set up their sleeping packs. Tomorrow we practice sword work.”

We all groan, with Kipp’s hiss carrying above the rest. I’m not sure if he’s delighted or irked about the sword work. Probably a mixture of both, knowing Kipp. Sometimes I’m not sure if he likes us or is just tolerating us to get to his endgame, being in the guild. Come to think of it, there are no slitherskins in the guild at the moment but no one objected to his fledgling-ship. Meanwhile, anyone with a pair of breasts was deemed a problem.

I want to prove them wrong and make them regret their silly prejudices. I want them to have their eyes opened when we pass. I want them to be dumbstruck when they realize just how capable we are. It’s yet another reason why we need to try so very hard to pass this first time around. Magpie won’t get a second chance, and I suspect neither would we.

It takes a long while (and Magpie barking some terse instructions) before I manage to figure out how to make a fire, but when it’s finally going well, camp is set up. There are mini-tents, and we can sleep two to a tent, with Kipp preferring his round, cozy shell. Mereden and Gwenna will sleep in a tent together, and Lark will bunk with her aunt for tonight. When we’re in the tunnels of the Everbelow, I won’t be able to sleep with Hawk, of course. I blush just thinking about it.

But it’s not time to sleep just yet. Gwenna tosses a bunch of ingredients into a stewpot to start a meal and we all relax by the fire, waiting while it bubbles.

“So,” Magpie says.

Everyone’s quiet, regarding her. She seems awkward now that we’re relaxing and there are no orders to bark at us. I discreetly look around for Hawk, but he’s on the edge of camp, leaning up against a tree and just watching us from afar.

“I’m glad you’re with us,” Mereden says in her sweet voice. She clasps her hands over her knees, looking young and innocent, her dark eyes gleaming in the firelight. “You have such a reputation with the guild. I was so excited to meet the legend of so many stories.”

Instead of being flattered, Magpie looks embarrassed. She pats her pockets, grimaces, and, when Lark passes her a skin of water, takes a swig from it instead. “Stories are just that. Stories. Sometimes exaggerated, and sometimes they don’t matter at all. What matters is now.” She grimaces at the water and hands it back. “Speaking of the here and now, have you all thought about names that you’ll take? When you pass?”

I inwardly preen at her assumption that we’ll pass. “Sparrow,” I say proudly. “You can call me Sparrow.”

Lark groans, rolling her eyes. “We know. We know.”

Mereden giggles, her sleeve masking her smile.

“There’s nothing wrong with anticipating success,” I point out, my back stiff. “Your name is Lark, after all, and you don’t see me harassing you about that.”

“That’s because my mother named me that at birth,” Lark points out. “It was her idea. When I pass maybe I’ll change it up. Be ‘Mudlark’ or something.”

Mereden just giggles louder. “ ‘Mudlark’ is a terrible name.”

“Oh, shut up,” Lark says, but there’s a hint of a smile on her face. “Like you’ve picked out something better?”

“I haven’t,” Mereden admits. “I haven’t thought that far ahead. Maybe you can think of one for me.”

“ ‘Tit.’ ”

She scowls at Lark. “You know what? Forget I asked.”

“ ‘Bushtit,’ ” Gwenna says suddenly. Lark howls with delight.

Mereden frowns in her direction. “You’re not helping.”

“I don’t know. I thought ‘Bushtit’ was pretty good,” Gwenna says with a smile. “It beats ‘Chickadee,’ which is what Aspeth thought I should be at first. I think we settled on ‘Wren.’ ”

“ ‘Chickadee’ is a great name,” I protest. “They’re very industrious birds. Happy and busy. They make me think of you.” Perhaps I’m not very good at picking out names. “But if you don’t want to be ‘Chickadee,’ you don’t have to be. Mereden can be ‘Chickadee.’ ”