As Kismet shook Henry awake the next day, he startled so much that he slapped her in the face with the back of his hand. "Up, up!" she hummed despite the blow, and Henry groaned.

"What . . . How long have I been . . . ?" Before he could finish his sentence, he was cut off by a long and profuse yawn.

"Four hours sharp!" snarled Kismet. "Refill the water supplies and grab a bite to eat, then make your way back here. A new task awaits." With that, she disappeared, leaving Henry to sit where he had slept, stunned. "Four hours?!" he finally yelled when he had gotten his bearings, but Kismet was long gone. "Four hours," he repeated to himself and yawned again, barely resisting the urge to drop back down and let himself slip into sleep. He wanted to be miles from here. To eat a lavish breakfast, to fight an epic battle . . . and sleep for longer than four hours.

But he was here . . . of his own accord. And so Henry pulled himself to his feet. Eating, drinking, replenishing the water reserve . . . he mechanically carried on. This time, he managed to steer clear of the wall before eventually meeting with Kismet in the central cave.

"If you had sat still for ten minutes, you may have slept for eight hours," Kismet greeted him. "Let's see if you can do better today."

Were he able to see, Henry would have spent the entire time giving her death glares as he hauled boulder after boulder up the wall outside. Apparently, there was a particular kind of rock down there that helped her gauge the condition of the volcano, whether it was still dormant or not. But Henry couldn't see, so he had to rely on trial and error. That was, of course, the whole point. Perhaps after yesterday, she had decided that the parkour was insufficiently unpleasant as a physical activity.

By lunchtime, he was dead on his feet, and not in a good way like the day before. When Kismet finally let him off the hook, he collapsed to the floor beside the supply of Firebeetles, and hadn't she lifted him by his collar, he thought he may have fallen asleep on the spot.

"Oh no, you cannot shorten the duration of the trial by going to sleep prematurely." She shook him. "I have a master hourglass for reference."

Henry groaned.

"You've not brought me the correct rock today, so we'll try again tomorrow," she continued, putting him back down. "Keep at it, and don't worry; unlike that of Sisyphus, your task is at least finite."

Henry refrained from giving her a response. Instead, he reached for the beetles and found that there were only two left. This discovery sufficed to shock him awake.

"We are out of beetles," he said, stuffing one into his mouth. The last one he twisted between his fingers uncertainly.

"Oh well," Kismet replied. "That is too bad, I suppose."

"What do you mean?" asked Henry. "Will you not replenish the reserve?"

"And for whose convenience should I do that?" She cracked a beetle between her teeth, and Henry frowned. Before he could ask if she had more somewhere, she continued: "I eat them where I see them. I do not actually need a stash."

It was then that Henry, for the first time, felt a pang of genuine worry. "And what about me? What am I supposed to eat?" He flailed his hand in the direction from which her voice had come.

"If you need a stash, then catch your own," said Kismet. "You wish to stay, so find a way to achieve it. Who am I to provide for you? Your mother? This is not an all-inclusive lodge here."

"But I am blindfolded!" Henry sprang to his feet. He opened his mouth to resume complaining and cried out when he stubbed his foot on a rock. He let loose a string of curses and reached for the nearest wall, but miscalculated. Had Kismet not caught him, he would have toppled. "How do you presume I am supposed to hunt beetles without my eyesight?" He crossed his arms, hanging limply in her grip.

"There is a spot where many of them converge," was all she said, putting him back on his feet. "Follow the tunnel down below in the direction toward where you accomplished your Sisyphean labor, and when it forks, go the other way until you reach the next largest cave. And you know what?" He heard a quiet rustling, then the clanking of metal on stone. "For this task, I'll even give you this back. But only if you share your catch with me."

Henry's heart leaped as he fell to his knees to retrieve . . . yes! He cried out in delight as his fingers wrapped around the familiar handle of Mys.

"Good luck," mumbled Kismet, but Henry barely registered it. Who needed luck when they had the most magnificent dagger in the entire world?

***

He needed luck . . . A lot of it—and soon. Lest he would starve. With every ounce of his being, Henry wished that Kismet would not be in the cave when he made his attempt to slip back in. After hours of fruitlessly attempting to stab beetles in the darkness, he had no desire to endure any of her inevitable gloating.

Just as he had expected, the lack of eyesight had proven to be an insurmountable hurdle.

Initially, he had attempted to crush the bugs under his feet but soon realized that bug mush scraped off of ancient cave walls would be inedible. When he had tried catching them with his hands, they had revealed sharp wings and mandibles. As for stabbing them with the dagger—which seemed to be the only viable option—it was completely unfeasible without eyesight.

"So, how is our exterminator in training? Will we dine lushly tonight?" snarled Kismet ahead, and Henry froze.

"It is impossible!" he exclaimed, sinking against a wall. "Utterly impossible when I have not my eyes."

To his disdain, Kismet broke into roaring laughter. "Oh, oh!" she howled. "Impossible! Says he who "will not be deterred by impossibilities"! Or was that all drivel?"

Henry suppressed the urge to throw Mys at her.

"Oh, pup," she taunted. "Do not tell me that we have finally discovered the bottom of your allegedly infinite drive! And through beetles!"

"I cannot use echolocation because, in the time it takes for me to snap my fingers and aim my dagger, they have already relocated!" yelled Henry, mostly to shut her up.

"Is that the best you could come up with?" she said in a more serious voice, which upset Henry more than any of her previous taunting . . . because in it he heard a pang of disappointment. "I had taken you for an out-of-the-box thinker, Sisyphus. Is that not how you overcame your impossible labor?"

Henry didn't reply. Shame washed over him in waves, and for once he was grateful for the inability to look at her. He pulled his arms tighter around himself and bit his lip.

"Don't let your pride in your unusual skills blind you to what is best for the task at hand," she said in a more mellow voice. "Choose the method that is most suitable, even if it is the most basic one."

"Like what?" asked Henry.

"But if I give it away, it is no longer challenging. Do you not like challenges?" She went back to teasing him, and Henry rolled his eye. "But never mind that; it is getting late. You may try again tomorrow. Now, let us determine how much sleep you can have."

At least this time, Henry had something to occupy his mind. He was consumed by the attempt to identify his apparent oversight, which justified her candid disappointment. Henry clenched his teeth as her words echoed in his mind, corroding his pride like acid.

It was only now that he realized that, despite Kismet's tendency to present herself as an eccentric, domineering slave driver . . . none of her tasks so far had been random or aimless. Even though he was still on trial, she had already imparted her teachings to him.

By depriving him of his weapons and sight, she had effectively redirected his focus toward his other senses. And she had been right; this was exactly what he had aimed to achieve—reducing his reliance on his eyesight. Within a matter of days, he had become much more adept at orienting himself . . . even though he still occasionally bumped into walls or rocks.

She had sent him to run an obstacle course, which had substantially improved his ability to perform tasks without relying on even his echolocation. Additionally, it served as an effective means of physical exercise.

She had made him scale and traverse the terrain with heavy rocks, compelling him to improve his stability and growing increasingly steadfast on the steep cliff.

She had him sit here, still for ten minutes, because . . . Henry begrudgingly acknowledged that it was likely intended to enhance his concentration and calm his mind.

And now she had him . . . stab beetles in the dark? He frowned and nearly jumped as the hourglass clacked. Was it really halftime already? Henry suppressed the urge to ask; his sleep was on the line and he would not sacrifice a single hour this time.

What did she mean when she said to choose the most suitable method, even if it was the most basic one? What other method, besides echolocation, even was there? Henry let out a groan and immediately scolded himself, while Kismet let out a disappointed sigh. "And you were doing so well. But that is strike one."

Henry gritted his teeth so that no sound might slip past them and focused his thoughts on the beetles. Just then, a noticeable growl emanated from his stomach, and Kismet laughed. He barely restrained himself from snapping at her, but to his surprise, she proceeded to address him. "It is not that hard, you know?" she said, her voice entirely void of mockery. "And if you're currently silently imploring me for a hint, I can disclose this much—consider allowing the beetles to make the noise."

Underneath his blindfold, Henry frowned. Allowing the beetles to make the . . . His hand twitched, and he stuck it under his leg again. His lips pressed together tightly as he vowed to prove himself to her. Was that not why he was on trial anyway? To prove himself. This trial was a challenge, thought Henry suddenly. Finally, he had a new one.

He had accomplished his first challenge and made himself a successful outcast. Now he would make Kismet and her teachings into another. It was all a challenge, and the beetles were a sub-challenge; Henry smiled. He would not fail.

Whatever her advice meant, he would decipher it tomorrow. He would bring back a mountain's worth of beetles, and that would show her. She would never dare to be disappointed again.

***

Allowing the beetles to make the noise . . . Henry thought as he sat there, Mys in hand, in the middle of the Firebeetle cave. He had just woken from seven hours of refreshing sleep, and he already felt that it had done wonders for his ability to focus.

Henry remained in unbroken silence, pondering the words, when he suddenly heard it: the faint patter of miniature feet scurrying across the floor to his right. He frowned and swiftly turned his head, directing all his focus toward the source of the sound.

Tap-tap, tap-tap.

Henry moved not an inch as he heard the beetle approaching. Suddenly, they were alone in the cave, in the universe. Henry did not question how exactly he managed to locate the sound so precisely; all he knew was that when he raised his hand with the dagger and struck, upon raising it again, a beetle had been impaled on the tip.

An immense wave of pride swept over Henry as soon as he processed what he had just done, and he let out a joyous "Ha!" At once, all the remaining beetles in the cave scattered. But no matter. Henry dropped the beetle he had killed into a cloth and allowed himself to grow unmoving again.

Tap-tap, tap-tap . . . snap.

And thus, he continued for the next ten minutes. Henry only moved to pierce and collect his prey, which he allowed to come to him rather than actively pursuing it. In retrospect, he would find it astounding how powerful such a simple shift in perspective had been. But was that not what Kismet had meant? A shift in perspective.

Tap-tap, tap-tap . . . snap.

So far, Henry had presumed that becoming an outcast had been the most profound change of perspective attainable. It was only then that he questioned for the first time just how much more there was to comprehend that had previously eluded him due to the limitations in his perception and thoughts.

It was such an intimidating realization that he chose not to indulge in its implications and instead decided to take each shift in perspective as it came. But he would no longer be surprised by them or believe in absolutes. Absolutes, in any shape or form, suddenly seemed inherently restraining.

At first, his hunt was exhilarating, but Henry quickly found himself mentally drained from maintaining such high focus for so long.

Tap-tap, tap-tap . . .

Tap-tap, tap-tap . . . snap.

He soon began slipping out of it, and the longer he sat there, the harder it became to slip back in.

Tap-tap . . .

Not long after, his head began aching, and he was more strained than he remembered ever being . . . but at that point, he had already obtained an impressive load of beetles.

He clutched the cloth with his haul proudly as he finally made his way back to Kismet's cave, and this time he looked forward to returning. He ascended the cliff confidently and located Kismet near the stairs, then dropped his load at her feet.

"How many would you like?" he asked with his hands on his hips. "Take your share now, for I will carry mine up and steam them on the hot spring. Perhaps, like so, their taste will be more fulfilling."

Kismet laughed. "However did you manage that?"

"A change in perspective," replied Henry with a confident grin, and she remained silent.

"Watch out, lest your head explodes from all this hot air!" called Kismet when he was already ascending toward the hot spring.

And henceforth, Henry decided for himself that missing even a single hour of sleep was unjustified. If he could sit still to hunt beetles, he could also do it for Kismet's amusement.

It was harder without the additional task to focus on, but when he allowed himself to look past his dissatisfaction with the task's essence and focus the way he did when he hunted, he realized that it was not for the sake of Kismet's amusement after all. Because he may not have the beetles, but he had noises to entertain him anyway. Movements, shuffles, and scrapes that allowed him to monitor Kismet the way he did the beetles. He realized she was doing it on purpose—making noises. Giving him something to focus on.

Had this been why she had sent him to stab beetles in the dark in the first place?

***

That night, he enjoyed a blissful eight hours of sleep, following a meal of steamed Firebeetles that seemed almost indulgent. Henry was pleasantly surprised by the tremendous effect of steaming, which required a mere ten minutes of roasting over the hot spring. Ha, hadn't he thought of ten still minutes as unbearable when she had first made him endure it?

And then it was back to gathering rocks . . . To running the parkour . . . To steaming more beetles . . . To hunting . . . To sleeping . . . To climbing . . . To sitting still . . . To listening.

To rinsing and repeating.

To rinsing and repeating.

To rinsing and—

"How about we do something else today?"

Henry's head shot up from the Firebeetle he had been eating. "Something . . . like what?"

"You shall see," she snarled. "But considering this is day seven, I thought it a worthy enough occasion to break up our routine."

Henry froze. The beetle nearly slipped from his hand, and hadn't he been blindfolded, he would have stared at her in disbelief. "Today is—"

"Oh, please!" she scoffed. "Do not tell me you've not at least kept tabs on how many days it's been! Do I have to do everything around here?"

Henry broke into nigh-hysteric laughter. "Is this really my last day on trial?"

"Be ready in five minutes," said Kismet sourly. "And bring your entire backpack. You may wish to have it with you where we are going."

With a wide grin, Henry finished the beetle. Had it really been a week since he had arrived? Time had begun flying by as he had settled into the routine. But it did not matter; he sprung to his feet and scooped up his backpack. It was time to finish his trial . . . that he had passed. He must have passed. He made his way down the cliff, still grinning widely. His goal was near. So near, nearer than ever.

"Will you stop grinning?" snarled Kismet. "I have not the nerves to deal with your unwarranted optimism today."

Henry shifted toward her and deliberately stretched his smile. It was the closest he could come to giving her a socially acceptable middle finger, and it had an even greater impact on her.

Kismet growled in response. "Take heed that I do not decide to string you up by the corners of your smile one day, so that it may be plastered on your face eternally."

Before he could reply, she had begun making her way down the path that led toward the cave with the Firebeetles and Henry followed on her heel, thinking that, as fun as teasing her was, she had a point. His goal might have become more attainable than ever, but today's conclusion of his trial also marked only the beginning of his actual training. His challenges were far from over; they had only just commenced. This was likely just a taste of what lay ahead.

Henry easily followed the even sounds of Kismet's steps. She had never bothered to question him on the specifics of how he had managed to catch the Firebeetles without sight, but from that moment onward, she had made it a habit to test his directional hearing whenever possible, especially during their "ten minutes of stillness" ritual.

Although he hadn't made significant progress, he had made progress in his ability to concentrate for ten consecutive minutes and even occasionally extended his practice beyond the allotted time. Kismet hadn't acknowledged his improvement, but after five days, she had permitted him to remove the blindfold.

. . . Yet Henry had refused.

When Kismet questioned his motive, he confidently expressed his realization of the reason behind her request. Even though she hadn't replied, he had perceived her silence as a sign of satisfaction, solidifying his belief that he had successfully passed another test by refusing.

Henry quickly deduced that she must be leading him somewhere entirely new. He did not recognize the path, which was at least easy to traverse, as it consistently declined. About fifteen minutes must have passed by the time he first heard something new. "That sound," Henry said, stopping to focus. "Is it water?"

"A waterfall." The sound of Kismet's steps ceased. "Commendations on already hearing it. It is half a mile away, still."

Henry's smile widened as he pressed on toward the sound. Kismet's assertion that one couldn't "improve" their senses replayed in his mind, making him question its validity. Had he simply not been paying attention to what was available to him before? Or had losing his sight actually heightened his hearing abilities? It felt that way, but he couldn't be certain.

Continuing their descent for another five minutes along a moderately steep trail, they eventually arrived at a location that Henry, with a simple snap of his fingers identified as a vast cave housing a thunderous waterfall. The water poured into what appeared to be a mostly round lake, filling up the majority of the cavern. It measured at least a hundred feet and Henry tilted his head upward, even though he couldn't see. "Delightful!"

He halted when the echo of his voice reverberated through the cave and smiled. For a moment he stood perfectly still, then he approached to feel the water and registered that it was pleasantly warm. An overwhelming urge to just drop in and swim a few laps, to take his first proper soak in a week, overcame him and he pivoted toward Kismet. "I will go swimming," he announced. "Whatever challenge you have for me here, I shall get to it later."

He had already tossed his backpack together with the belt holding Mys toward the wall and pulled his shirt over his head when Kismet laughed. "Are you not hungry?"

Henry froze. "Hun . . . wait." He slowly turned to her, his eye widening beneath the blindfold. "Are you telling me there are fish in this lake?"

"Considering that it's clean and not boiling, there's no reason why there shouldn't be."

As he stared in her direction, Henry felt a surge of happiness followed by intense anger. "You had me eating beetles for an entire week when there were fish only fifteen minutes away from your cave? Couldn't you have told me?!"

"Oh, but these are your reward," laughed Kismet. "For doing . . . better than I thought you would." Henry opened his mouth but she did not let him speak. "Also, we must be cautious," she said. "The territory of the pinchers is across the lake; they usually dislike visitors."

A few moments later, Henry let his mouth snap shut. It was a fair enough reason to avoid making enemies of six-foot-long lobsters. But he still made a face in her direction before he turned back to the lake. This was not the time to mourn the bygone week . . . it was time to enjoy himself. It frightened him how foreign the concept seemed, all of a sudden.

***

Henry spent a good half hour indulging in the water, swimming lap after lap without any worries about trials, perception, pinchers, or food. He simply allowed himself to unwind in the blissful water. But as he surfaced near the beach where he had left his belongings and heard Kismet's unmistakable eating sounds, he was reminded of his own growling stomach.

"Is the fish any good?" he called out to her.

"Go on and catch some for yourself," she replied. "If you can."

"Wait." Halfway out of the water, Henry froze. "Blindly?"

Kismet laughed. "Did I not tell you that you may have taken the blindfold off days ago?"

Henry paused, realizing that he stood at a crossroads. Leaning forward, he rested his chest against the warm stone that framed the basin. To his right lay a beach with a layer of gravel, but here the water was so deep that it provided just enough height for him to prop himself up on his elbows. "You say that," he addressed her, shaking his wet hair out of his face. "But is this not it? Your trial's last challenge?"

"Oh, Henry," she snarled bemusedly. "Must everything be a challenge for you?"

"So, I am right?"

"Naturally," she said before Henry could properly register that she had just referred to him by his name for the first time. "Now go, before there won't be any left." She audibly cracked a fish spine between her teeth, then spit it out, and Henry laughed.

"I knew it would have been unwise to trust this field trip," he said triumphantly. "I shall not lose." At the same time, he contemplated how he should attempt this. He could not fish blindly with Mys, but . . . the lesson was to think outside the box. To change his perspective. If he had learned anything during Kismet's trial, it was that all her lessons were, at their core, about this one concept.

Henry pondered this for a moment, then he had an idea. He swiftly slipped out of the water and fetched his discarded shirt, then jumped back in. He inhaled deeply, grateful to have practiced holding his breath in the Vineyard of Eyes, and dived.

Initially, he could only perceive the muffled gush of the waterfall and the rhythm of his own blood flow. It took him almost half a minute to concentrate enough to tune them out, and he had to come up for air three times before he detected a different kind of rushing sound. It moved erratically, and for a while, Henry struggled to track it, but after about five minutes, he finally caught the source of the noise with his shirt.

With a cry of delight, Henry leaped out of the water and promptly let go of one end of the shirt, resulting in the fish slipping away. "Shit!" he exclaimed, plunging back into the water after the fish. Kismet instantly burst into laughter.

In another five minutes, Henry's efforts paid off as he caught two more fish and, for the first time in forever, decided to set up his torch to grill them. As he contemplated the challenge of gutting the fish blindly, he realized that Kismet had fallen silent. Henry quickly got up and snapped his fingers, trying to locate her. Eventually, he spotted her sitting motionless on the beach.

When Henry sat next to her, she did not flinch. Resting his feet in the water, he raised his hand to at last remove the blindfold. Henry blinked rapidly as the intense light ignited in his eye. As he adjusted to the harsh glare, he tentatively opened it again and was left speechless by the sight.

As Henry had suspected, the lake was nearly perfectly round and glowing brightly, which he soon discovered wasn't caused by any algae. He marveled at the possibility of a magma pool directly underneath, responsible for its breathtaking orange radiance, casting a brilliant light throughout the vast cave. Or, he smiled . . . Maybe it just seemed radiant because he hadn't perceived any brightness in a week.

"I passed, no?"

Kismet turned, glaring at him. But he found himself too distracted by her appearance to pay her expression any mind. In his memory, he could still see the tattered rat, her fur matted and unkempt, cowering in a hunched position—a captivating mix of danger and allure, yet unmistakably aged and unconcerned with cleanliness.

"You look great," he said with a crooked smile, and she actually gave him something like a sour grin in return. In the brilliant light of the lake, her recently groomed fur gleamed, appearing almost white.

"Flattery will not get you anywhere with me," she snarled. "But I can hardly say that you have not passed. All you want is for me to say it aloud. That you and your wretched perseverance won."

"Would that not be fair?" Henry shrugged. "Have I not earned it?"

Kismet stared at him, immeasurably pained. "You have," she said after a long pause. "I shall not be unfair this time. You have far exceeded my expectations with your performance and the strength of your resolve. Not that it will make what's to come any easier."

"Echolocation?"

Kismet shook her head. "You may truly be a fellow warrior of the mind, but you are also human. Even attempting this should be called insanity."

"Why, if I succeeded at the first threshold?"

Kismet glared at him again. "Because to us others, this feat that you accomplished through eight weeks of hard work comes in the nest. You do have a better understanding of your hearing than most of your kind ever achieve now," she admitted. "But to hone your stunted human senses to the point where you may perceive at the level required for what you wish to learn will . . . truly be an impossible. It may take everything out of you."

"A change in perspective?"

"Perception," said Kismet emphatically. "First comes perception. Then comes perspective. Then comes balance. And then . . ." She raised her misty gaze at him. "And only then comes the threshold. The threshold!" she exclaimed. "Oh, what am I doing? Ripred, you scoundrel, why must you make me do this? To teach! I've never even—"

"Hey!" Henry cut her off, kicking water in her direction. "Quit overthinking this already." Kismet hissed as she found herself drenched, and Henry laughed. "Stop thinking for a second, will you?"

"I will . . . when you start thinking."

"I said that I wished to be like you," whined Henry. "But not in that aspect."

***

As Henry scaled the cliff without the blindfold for the first time in a week, the whole experience suddenly felt surreal. The only concrete reminders were his pleasantly full stomach and damp hair. As he pulled himself into the cave, he decided that he would make the trip to that lake to fish at least twice a week from now on. He was not passing any thresholds with only beetles for food.

"Henry!" Kismet, who had climbed in front of him, called from further ahead. "Come, now that you can see again, I must show you something!"

When he finally caught up to her, he suddenly became aware that he hadn't even lit his torch. Yet, Kismet didn't wait for him to turn back. Instead, she swiftly vanished down the narrow staircase he had glimpsed on his initial day here, but never explored.

With each step, Henry's anticipation grew, eager to uncover the incredible secret she could be hiding below. As he approached the bottom of the staircase, a fiery glimmer caught his eye, causing his jaw to drop in awe for the second time that day. A lone brazier stood in the corner of the vast cave that had to be at least double the size of the one above. Henry was mesmerized by the densely covered, smooth walls.

"So this is what you meant when you mentioned other engravings," he mumbled, slowly turning. He took in the thousands of scratched-in words; they covered every inch of the walls and even parts of the floor and ceiling. The same type of simple elevator the gnawers used for their pits stood in the corner, and Henry thought she must use it to reach the ceiling as the cave was at least twenty feet high.

"Hey!" Mid-turn, Henry froze, then approached the elevator. "And where does this lead?" He pointed down another narrow staircase that spiraled downward into the pitch-dark. On second glance it appeared more haphazard, as though she had given up pretending that she cared about smooth steps.

"Henry, come take a look here." Kismet beckoned him toward a tall stack of dusty books; it towered in another corner, nearly reaching the ceiling.

"But these stairs!" he exclaimed. Without further ado, he made his way down only to discover the staircase measured only a single turn, and he almost rammed into a smooth wall at the bottom. Henry cried out and caught himself on the wall. "It is not done!" he exclaimed when Kismet appeared at the top and lifted him out of the hole.

"No, it is not," she said sourly.

"Where will it eventually lead?" asked Henry, but she did not reply. All she did was drag him over to the books. "Oh, come on!" Henry teased. "Don't be so shy. Where do you mean to connect your home? A larger hot spring for an in-house spa? A proper bedroom? You could use one of those."

Kismet still said nothing and as she dragged him along, Henry slowly grew restless. "But you must—"

"They lead nowhere," she finally hissed. "They exist only because, when there is nothing to research or try, there are not so many other things to occupy oneself with here . . . usually."

Henry frowned. Before he could properly digest the meaning of her words, she laid out a large tome before him. "Take a look at this."

After a final moment of hesitation, Henry kneeled in front of it and discovered that it was an old human chronicle. The pages were brittle and gilded, but on the one she had opened, he made out a much too familiar family tree. Henry's hand hovered over it; the picture had to be at least ten years old, but his youthful face had been remarkably well painted.

"So, that . . ."

"That is you," said Kismet, and when he looked up at her, she smiled. "Who'd have thought that the human who has taught himself echolocation and passed my trial is also of royal descent?"

"I am an outcast," said Henry, pressing his lips together.

"Yes, yes," snarled Kismet. "And yet you are also a prince. Not that it matters much."

"If it doesn't matter, why are you showing me this?" he asked.

"Henry—or, should I say, Prince Henry—not everything has to have an impact. Sometimes satiating one's curiosity is reason enough." She sighed, taking the book from him again and shutting it. "Look, I am an excellent judge of character. Right from the moment you stood in front of me, I had a strong suspicion that teaching you would be inevitable. And if I am indeed meant to be your teacher, I will not refuse any information available to me about who you are. That, and I had a feeling I'd seen your face before."

"In this book?"

She nodded. "And I called you here today to show you because today marks the day from which on I must stop pretending I am not attempting to teach you anything."

"What a shame."

"Indeed," said Kismet ruefully. "Either way, I suppose I have no choice but to say this at least once, no matter the consequences it may have on your ego: you've done excellently. As excellently as a human could ever do. And if it is indeed possible—if you and I can find a way to make it possible—I have no doubts that, in the field of perception, you will one day exceed us all. I have rarely seen anyone so attuned to their physical environment. It is truly remarkable." She dropped the book back onto the stack. "What you lack is focus and attention, and that insatiable thirst for stimulation is something we must work on, but we will get to that in due time. That being said, I will not attempt to make you quit anymore. Things will change. Not much, but they will."

"Because the lesson is whatever you end up learning?"

"It is." Kismet sat on her haunches in front of him. "Be you prince or beggar, it matters little. What matters is that, whoever you were before, now you are my student. And as such, I will treat you. Are we clear?"

Henry gave her one of his crooked smiles. "I would not have it any other way."

​​​​​​​