Quille glanced down the hallway at Brenna. The girl looked as nervous as Quille felt, waiting for her torturer to emerge from his chamber. Up and down the long dungeon hall, young assassins like Quille and Brenna waited to be admitted into the chambers that would be their prisons for the next three days. Quille steeled her will, remembering her training.

She saw the headmaster moving down the hallway, stopping at each novice to whisper a word to each. He paused beside Brenna, stooping to press his lips to her ear. The short, auburn-haired girl closed her eyes tightly and bit her trembling lip. When her eyes opened again, she had taken on a vacant stare, and she seemed unafraid.

As the headmaster walked away, the door opened before her, and the torturer stepped into the hall. He was a thin young man with a patchy beard and an arrogant sneer. Brenna stepped through the open doorway into his cell without looking at him or even sparing a final glance toward her friend. The young torturer noticed Quille watching him and laughed. He leered at Quille for a moment, his eyes playing over her firm young body, and then he followed Brenna into the room and locked the door behind them.

The headmaster stood before Quille now. He stared down at her for a moment, and a bit of the hardness went out of his cold gray eyes. Then he smiled and nodded. Quille nodded back, her face a mask of grim resolution. He leaned close and whispered, "Dormouse."

Quille's eyes burned as she looked up at her master. She pursed her lips tightly, and nodded her understanding. The headmaster placed his hand on her shoulder, giving her a little squeeze, and then moved on toward his next student.

Quille's heart leapt as the bolt rattled and the cell door swung open, bathing her in the ruddy glow of the room beyond. Warm air, thick with the scent of burning pine poured out into the cold darkness of the hall. A young man, hardly more than a boy, stood silhouetted in the doorway. He did not speak or show any emotion, but only stepped aside and motioned for Quille to enter his chamber. As he turned, the light fell across his face, revealing a dark-haired youth with haunted eyes and a joyless expression.

Quille breathed deeply, willing away her fear as she stepped into the torturer's cell. This would be the final test for the boy as well as the girl. Her life depended upon keeping her word a secret, and his depended on extracting that word from her by any means.

The hallway echoed with the sound of the door slamming shut.