Orenda was less full of anger and more full of sense when she found herself seated across from Quiroris a second time. She had a healthy dose of fear, both of him as a figure, and of what she now knew she was capable of, of what had happened to the last group of earth elves who thought that they were strong and important before they crossed paths with Orenda Nochdifache. Quiroris did not wear his anger or aggravation or whatever it was on his face, but could not hide it in his eyes the way that Orenda suspected he hid his grey roots with a braid that still ran across his forehead.

She sat quietly as he opened a large book and began to read through it.

“We’ve had a bit of a rough beginning,” Quiroris said, folded his hands over the book, and ran his eyes up and down Orenda’s form. “I want to help you, Orenda. I feel as if you do not believe me. You’ve lied to me, repeatedly, so I cannot, in good conscious, believe you. This puts me in a rough place, because the fact of the matter is that you will be unable to learn anything from me, if our relationship stays where it is now. In order to learn and to teach, there must be mutual respect. You look at me as if you have never trusted a man less, and I don’t understand why. I’ve been nothing but kind.”

“You called me a liar,” Orenda told him.

“I don’t see how that makes me untrustworthy,” Quiroris said with great practicality, “When the fact of the matter is that you have lied to me. I need it to stop. Please, Orenda, let me help you. Let’s wipe away the conversation we had last night and begin anew. This time, tell me the truth. Only the truth.”

“I can only tell you what I know,” Orenda told him.

“That’s fair enough,” Quiroris said. “I can’t expect more than that. But please tell me the truth.”

Orenda nodded.

“Is Orenda Nochdifache your real name?” Quiroris asked.

“Yes,” Orenda explained, “At least, it’s what I’ve always been called. It’s my understanding that orphans are given names at the workhouse. It may not be what my parents intended, but it has always been my name.”

“Right,” Quiroris wrote something down and asked, “You have no contact with any family? You don’t know who your parents are?”

“No,” Orenda said, “Which is hardly a rare occurrence.”

“You don’t know who your father is?” Quiroris specified.

“No,” Orenda shrugged, “I imagine he is either dead, or someone who did not want a child.”

“I would say that you are right,” Quiroris said, “Which is also unfortunately not uncommon. I, frankly, feel that it should be a criminal offense. I would like to see those men hang. Elven children are fairly rare. They’re always a gift.”

“Do you like children?” Orenda asked because the idea shocked her.

“Young lady, I have dedicated my life to helping children reach their full potential,” Quiroris sounded insulted, “I would think that would attest to my character.”

Orenda thought this over, but made no response.

“Was what you told me last night true? About how you awakened your powers by finding a fire crystal, and then getting thrown onto the street?” Quiroris asked.

“Yes,” Orenda said simply.

“The fool who ran that workhouse couldn’t have known what they had,” Quiroris said more to himself than to Orenda, “A smelting plant… I’m going to look into that. Probably some young idiot with a wealthy mother and more pride than sense. Why did you come here?”

“I didn’t, at first. I walked for days and days. I’m not sure how long. It could have been a year. But I did, in my travels, learn that there existed a school where one could learn to work some magic. So I came looking for this place.” Orenda explained, and told herself that it was not exactly a lie.

“How did you get inside?” Quiroris asked.

“I came in through the fence,” Orenda thought there was no harm in telling it now, “I broke a piece of it off and climbed through, then tried to repair it. I don’t know that I did as good a job as someone with skill would have, but I am willing to pay for that as well.”

“Orenda,” Quiroris stopped writing to look directly into her eyes, “Why did you tell me that you were going to come into some money?”

Orenda was silent for a moment, and chose her words carefully.

“Felaern,” She said at length, “Have you ever… no, I suppose you haven’t. I suppose you wouldn’t know what it was like to be truly alone. I think that sometimes I tell myself a great many things, things that may not be true, because there is the slightest chance that they may be. And when something may or may not be, but it is better than the thing that is, that may be the best thing to believe. I like to think that my parents, who are nothing and therefore could be anything, are royalty, and that one day they will come back for me. I like to think that I will come into some money, because there is no indication that I won’t. It is difficult to see the future, and it would be impossible to say that it wouldn’t happen- and then it did. So I was right. Perhaps I am also a princess. No one could tell me that I’m not and be absolutely certain. No one really knows much about the fire elves.”

“Orenda,” Quiroris pulled the loose locks of his hair that had fallen over his shoulders up and let them flow down his back, “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but… there is no such thing as a fire elven princess. Fire elves did not have a monarchy system of government. They were a religious oligarchy; they claimed that their leaders were selected by Thesis himself using a prophetic proxy in the temple at their capital. You’re not a princess. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t know that,” Orenda argued.

“I do know it, child,” he said more kindly than he had ever said anything else, “I was there. I toured the temple. I’ve seen it.”

Orenda said nothing, just clutched her sheet tighter to her chest.

“Where did you get the money, Orenda?” he asked, “And are you expecting more of it, or is that more wishful thinking?”

“I told you the truth,” Orenda said, because in a way she had, “Gary gave it to me. I can’t help that you don’t believe it; that’s what happened.”

“Tell me more about Gary,” Quiroris prodded, “Everything that you can remember.”

“He was a dragon,” Orenda decided that she may as well come clean. The event was as strange to her as it would seem to Quiroris, and there was the possibility that he genuinely was trying to help her. That didn’t mean that he was a good person, just that he may be the sort of person who liked elven children in particular, and as an elven child Orenda may have an advantage of courting his favor.

“He was small, about the size of my torso, and a shimmering blue. He spoke to me, but did not seem to understand what he was saying. He mostly repeated things said to him. He had a bag tied to him, and told me that he loved me.”

“Where did he come from?” Quiroris asked.

“I don’t know,” Orenda answered, “He was there when I awoke.”

“Is he there now?” Quiroris asked.

“I wouldn’t imagine he would be,” Orenda shrugged, “He flew out the window.”

“I see,” He said, and seemed to know more than he was telling, “Did he seem the kind of dragon that one would keep on ships? That sailors are known to keep as pets?”

“I don’t know,” Orenda shrugged, “I’ve never been on a ship.”

“A ship that sailed the world, maybe?” Quiroris prodded, “That would have access to money minted across the globe?”

“If you say so,” Orenda shrugged again, “I can’t imagine I would care for sailing. Water in large quantities makes me dreadfully ill. That’s why I fell into the pool. I don’t think it should be stored like that. It’s a safety hazard. I can’t be the first person to nearly drown.”

“Right,” he said as if that greatly confused him, “that makes sense, I suppose… mages tend to weaken, that is, if they’re particularly susceptible to the flow of magic, around their retarding element. You’ll learn all of this in class. I imagine that you would fall ill on the ocean. I imagine any fire elf would.”

“What makes earth mages ill?” Orenda asked.

Quiroris tapped his pencil and seemed to realize that he had made some sort of tactical mistake. He was choosing his words carefully, but the way he acted gave Orenda her answer.

“Fire,” she said.

“Fire is dangerous, Orenda,” Quiroris explained, “One spark can reduce an entire forest to ash.”

“Fire mages are dangerous,” Orenda thought aloud, “So during a war, it would be in the Urilian’s best interest to wipe them out, to take out the mages first.”

“That… would perhaps be a sound strategy, yes,” Quiroris said, “But we really need to discuss this money, what it is and where it came from-”

“And it makes perfect sense,” Orenda continued, “That someone who was there, who was perhaps fighting in that war, was perhaps a powerful earth mage, would be exactly the kind of person who would want to see the fire mages wiped from the face of Xren.”

“Orenda,” Quiroris said softly, “What happened to the fire elves was… horrendous. It is not something that a child should think about.”

“Not all children have the privilege of ignoring it,” Orenda stared into his eyes, and Quiroris looked down at the book he had been writing in.

“Adult matters,” He said softly, “Can get complicated. Sometimes people, in a group, can take actions that seem perfectly sensible at the time. But people are mortal. People make mistakes. Sometimes actions, which at the time seemed not only right and just but incredibly important, can… after some time, leave the people who performed those actions… with a lingering sense of sorrow and regret.”

“Sorrow does not reanimate the dead,” Orenda said, thinking of the screams that came from the library.

“No,” Quiroris agreed, “And it does not do one well to dwell on the past. We must look to the future. On the subject of your lodgings, I’ll be placing you in a four person room with second year students, but on the subject of your schedule, your finances, your supplies, and your focus, things will be a bit more complicated.”

“What do you mean?” Orenda asked.

“You should have been here two years ago,” Quiroris explained, “And you can’t actually perform any spells without a focus, and wouldn’t understand them anyway without a grasp of the fundamentals and theory- also, I believe that the workhouse probably hasn’t prepared you in terms of general education, which you should have spent five years learning before you came here for specialization. You’ll have to learn mathematics, composition, reading, history, things like that. We can’t let it fall by the wayside or you’ll be completely lost on subjects like potions and alchemy. You’ve got a great deal of catching up to do, so I’m afraid you’ll be much too busy to have a great deal of free time.”

“I’ve never been afraid of a little hard work,” Orenda shrugged.

“I expected as much,” Quiroris went on, writing something else down. He seemed to not know he was being insulting when he continued, “I mean, looking at you, it’s obvious that someone has been using you for hard labor. You could be an animal, a workhorse. Don’t worry, after a few years here, you’ll lose that girth, those muscles that are more suited to a cow or human than a proper elven lady. I’ll have you in etiquette classes as well. We’ll get you all sorted out, Orenda, you should have never had to put up with the sort of things you’ve been through. We’ll get you some proper clothes, and I’m sure the other students will be more than willing to help you assimilate.”

“I don’t think I should want to lose my muscles,” Orenda was shocked that he had said it.

“Orenda,” Quiroris explained, “You’ll come to learn that… your appearance, the way you present yourself, sends certain signals to other people. Mages were selected by Thesis to feel and control the magic that flows through Xren. People who were chosen by gods do not look like…”

“Like people who were raised in workhouses?” Orenda snapped.

“Exactly,” Quiroris agreed, “You are better than that.”