“I’m so glad you’re alright,” Dr Vibilla said as she walked Orenda into a rather sterile room that she instantly took a disliking to. “I was so worried when we found you passed out in the bathhouse.”

“I imagine I come from rather sturdy stock,” Orenda told her, “Given how few of us are left, I assume only the most sturdy survived. I’m not particularly worried about it. I feel fine.”

“Behind that screen, miss,” the doctor said, “You’ll find a gown. If you could change into that, I can go over your vitals quickly.”

Orenda stepped behind the screen and instantly peeled off the necklace and stuck it in her pocket. She changed quickly and marched back toward the doctor, who was laying out a series of tools that Orenda did not understand on a tray beside a table.

“Sit on this table, please,” Dr Vibila instructed, and Orenda did with no trouble. She sat, kicking her bare feet as the doctor stuck a long tube in her mouth and explained, “Sit quite still and hold this in your mouth. I’d like to listen to your heartbeat.”

Dr Vibila pressed a cold piece of metal to Orenda’s chest, but Orenda watched the tube. It had some sort of red liquid inside of a tube of glass that was marked with numbers, but she couldn’t read them very well because it was so close to her face, and when she tried her eyes crossed and she became overly aware of her nose. Orenda watched the liquid climb up the tube to the top and tried to get the doctor’s attention without opening her mouth. She tapped her on the shoulder, growing more and more alarmed as she felt the glass of the tube heating in her mouth.

She was about to disobey and speak a warning- she sensed the liquid boiling and knew the glass was about to shatter- but the doctor took it from her mouth, screamed, and dropped it. As the red liquid puddled on the floor, Orenda noted that it was more vicious than she had expected.

“I was going to say not to touch that,” Orenda said calmly, “I knew it would be hot. Earth elves seem not to do very well with heat.”

“Orenda you have a terrible fever,” Dr Vibila said, aghast.

“I don’t think so,” Orenda shrugged, “Were that the case I would be ill. And I would be more hot. I had a fever once as a child, a great many people did. Something had gone around the workhouse. No one could touch me, because it would scorch their flesh. I don’t fall ill often. I sometimes get overly hot during my menstruation, but it’s easily dealt with, I just wipe wet rags around my neck until the water evaporates, then wet them again. I’ve found it quite does the trick.”

“Many people’s temperature fluctuates during that time,” Dr Vibila said, trying to pretend as if she wasn’t concerned as she cleaned up the mess, “That’s fairly normal, especially in youth.”

“I thought as much,” Orenda shrugged, “And if it wasn’t, I can’t imagine I could have done anything to prevent it, so I didn’t see a reason to be concerned.”

“Right,” Dr Vibila tossed the broken glass into what Orenda assumed was a garbage can and came back wiping her hands on her apron, “Have you had difficulty breathing since your accident?”

“No, not after I coughed up the water and stood,” Orenda explained and let the doctor take her arm.

“You’ll feel a slight prick,” she said, and Orenda did as she tapped her hand with a metal device that Orenda could not name. “Have you been overly tired?”

“I’ve been walking too much with too little food,” Orenda explained, “Of course I’ve been tired. I should like some breakfast, at some point.”

“Oh,” Dr Vibila said, “I’m afraid you’ve missed it. Breakfast is served at six in the morning, in the dining hall. But you can buy snacks and such, out of your account. If you go to the dining hall at noon, they’ll be serving lunch. Do you have any dietary restrictions?”

“What do you mean?” Orenda asked.

“Some people are allergic to certain foods,” Dr Vibila explained, “Do any foods make you sick?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Orenda nearly kicked her when she hit her knee with a small hammer and her body moved on instinct, “I’m quite fond of food, actually. If I’m paying for it, I expect to eat my fill.”

The doctor laughed and Orenda didn’t appreciate it because she hadn’t been joking in the slightest. She was hungry and tired of being here.

“Aside from the fever,” Dr Vibila said, “You seem perfectly healthy.”

“Thank you,” Orenda said.

“You said that you were menstruating?” Dr Vibila asked.

“Not right now, but occasionally,” Orenda shrugged, “As often as anyone else, I suppose.”

“Have you ever thought about motherhood?” Dr Vibila asked.

“Not any time soon,” Orenda said as if the question was stupid, “I’m far too young. And I imagine that I shan’t have children. I would need a fire elf to father them.”

“Really?” Dr Vibila seemed shocked at the prospect, “I would have thought you would want several children. There are so few of you, I would imagine you would dream of more.”

Orenda was highly offended by this, but could not articulate why.

“My son is also a doctor,” Dr Vibila continued, “I’ve thought of having more children, but I’m so busy with work I don’t know when I would raise them.”

“That’s nice,” Orenda said because it seemed polite, not because she believed it. “If we’re finished I really would like to go collect my supplies and get a bite to eat.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Dr Vibila said, “If I could only get your height and weight, I suppose I’ll be finished. Can you come to the scale?”

Orenda followed her and stood on a rickety metal contraption while the doctor adjusted dials and instructed her to stand up straight, which Orenda almost always did anyway. She had never developed poor posture because princesses simply didn’t do that sort of thing.

“How old did you say you were?” Dr Vibila asked, writing something else down.

“I think I’m about twelve,” Orenda told her, “They didn’t really know my birthday at the workhouse, but that seems about right.”

“Interesting,” She said, “Because on the charts I would have put you at about fifteen, and even then you would have been on the high end of the weight spectrum. You’ll be taller than the other children.”

“Children come in many sizes,” Orenda said because she knew this to be true and had never thought to rank them. She didn’t think she was as tall as Bubbider, who was about the age the doctor had mistaken her for. “Besides, I don’t think I’m much of a child anymore. I feel that I’ll grow out of it soon. I’m not a baby.”

“Don’t be in a hurry to grow up, Orenda,” Dr Vibila said with a tinge of sadness, “Life is a very long time. You’ll have more adulthood than you can handle.”

“Are we finished?” Orenda asked impatiently.

“One more thing I think you should know,” Dr Vibila said, “But I can tell you while you dress.”

Orenda nodded and walked behind the screen to change her clothes.

“Magical acumen is hereditary,” Dr Vibila explained as Orenda pulled her dress over her head, “It flows through the blood. Whoever your parents were, they had the potential to be great fire mages. At least one of them must have been incredibly powerful. I hate to think that they were probably never trained. I’m so glad you’re here, Orenda. You have an opportunity that most of your people will never get, and the potential to use it for great good in the world. I hope you take advantage of that.”

“Yes,” Orenda agreed after she had gotten her stockings pulled up and was lacing up her boots, “I don’t like to think how much magical talent has been lost to the world. I wonder how many people just as strong as I am are wasting away in the streets because they’ve no way of knowing. It doesn’t seem fair.”

“Yes,” Dr Vibila sighed, “The world is not a fair place. We can only do our best to help one person at a time.”

Orenda draped the medallion around her neck and tucked it into her clothes.

Orenda made her way to the student bookstore, which was not a bookstore at all, and she thought she disliked the lie. It was, in fact, a general store that sold far more than books. The shelves held everything from clothing to foodstuffs. Orenda grabbed a basket and began to fill it with the things on her list without paying particular attention to what she was doing when she heard a voice that she could not place.

“Oh my god!” Came a squeal that filled Orenda with an instant rage. “It’s the princess!”

Orenda turned to unleash her fury, and saw three earth elf girls standing in the aisle with her. They looked so shockingly similar that it unnerved her, but elves had multiple births so rarely that the event was largely unheard of, so Orenda knew they could not be triplets. The more she looked at them, the more she saw the subtle differences that told her they were not related, but they all had the same straight hair in the same two braids, the same large eyes and upturned, narrow noses, the same slim body frame, and the same outfit in the form of the school’s mage robes, that it took her a great deal of staring to figure out that they weren’t some mirage that had given her double vision.

“Why on Xren are you like that?” She asked as her mouth moved faster than her brain, “Why do you all look the same?”

“I remember you!” The girl in the middle said, “I thought you were trying to trick me, but you really are a princess! You’re not a pauper! You’re here! With the rest of the nobility.”

“I have absolutely no memory of you,” Orenda said, because she didn’t. She had no idea who this screeching girl was, and was not particularly interested in meeting her.

“I’m Kazula!” The girl always spoke so loudly that it grated on Orenda’s nerves, “We met in the library! You told me you were a princess!”

“Impossible,” Orenda brushed her off, “I’ve never been to a library in my life. I would certainly remember you if I had met you. You’re quite loud.”

“She’s not a princess,” the girl to the left said, “look at her clothes.”

“She’s in disguise,” Kazula explained, “She told me, in the library.”

“I did not meet you in a library,” Orenda told her.

“If she’s a princess, why does she look like that?” The girl to the right asked, and added, “I knew you were lying, Kassie.”

“I’m not lying! She is a princess.” Kazula whined.

“If I were a princess,” Orenda turned to face her, boring into her eyes, “And we had had some discussion such as the one you present here- I imagine that I would have sworn you to secrecy. Yet now I find you shrieking lies in public. I can’t imagine that anyone would be very happy about that turn of events.”

“What’s wrong with you?” The girl to the left asked.

“I would like to do my shopping in peace,” Orenda snapped. “I’m quite hungry and would like to get it over with so that I can eat.”

“I can’t imagine you ever get hungry,” the girl to the right said as if she didn’t know it was an insult, “You’re big enough to live off your fat for weeks.”

“Think about what you just said,” Orenda finally turned toward them, “Think about this entire conversation. Know that, if the desire struck me, using my power, my girth, and my magic, I could slaughter you where you stand. You continue to draw breath because of my unending mercy.”

She picked up her basket and walked into the next aisle, where she could still hear them talking.

“She does talk like a princess,” the girl to the left admitted, “She talks like she knows she’s in charge.”

“Why does she look like that?” the girl who had been on the right asked.

“She’s a fire elf,” Kazula explained.

“Wait, really?” The girl on the right asked, “I heard it was a fire elf who destroyed the bathhouse.”

Orenda carried her heavy bags and took a big bite of the fried bread she had bought at the bookstore as she walked back to her room. She tossed them onto her bed and reached into the space between the mattress to retrieve her money, which she stuck into her pocket, and the notes that she cherished from Susan, the only thing she had ever written her, and the mysterious Gareth, the only link she had to her family.

She smoothed out the first upon the sheet- and was horrified. The inside of the note was one blotchy, inky stain. In a panic she smoothed out the other and found it equally destroyed. She grabbed at the last wad of paper under the mattress, the flier from the crazy man, and found it similarly destroyed. She knew, instantly, what had happened. They had been in her pockets when she had gone underwater. And the water had washed the ink away and weakened the parchment.

Orenda did not like to cry, but she couldn’t stop herself. There was nothing to be done about it. The note from Gareth that she had read over and over again, the only thing that proved that there existed, somewhere in the world, someone who cared about her and may one day come to find her, was gone. The note from Susan, the only thing that proved she ever existed at all, that she had been a Knight of Order, that she cared about Orenda, that her life had existed and been worth something- was also gone.

Susan was gone.

Orenda sat on the bed with her face in her hands and forgot how to breathe as tears welled from her eyes. She thought of the other girls, with parents and homes to return to when they left school. She thought of the concept of navigating the world with someone there to guide you through it and realized that she had never, and would never, have that. Orenda had been guiding herself, and would guide herself. Orenda wondered who Gareth was, and thought of what he had said as best she could, because she wanted to remember it, and now she would have nothing to remind her.

Gareth was running from the Emerald Knight. Gareth was hiding from the Emerald Knight. Gareth knew that the Emerald Knight was dangerous, and it was after him, and he didn’t want Orenda to be with him when it caught him. Orenda had heard nothing more from Gareth since the note, months ago. She kept track of time so poorly it may have been a year ago. Regardless, it was a great deal of time. It was more than enough time to be caught by the Emerald Knight.

Maybe her father hadn’t abandoned her. Maybe he really was protecting her, and this was the best he could do. Maybe he wasn’t evil, just incompetent. Orenda pulled the medallion from her neckline and studied the engraving, the fist shrouded by fire. She thought of the high priestess Ali had spoken of, of Orenda Firefist, her namesake. She turned the amulet around and stared at the tiny engraving on the back: GF.

It could mean anything. It could mean “girlfriend” or “goat fight” or “gold figure”. But Orenda liked to think a great many things that were not true. Orenda liked to think that she was a long-lost princess, and that her parents were long-lost royalty who would return for her some day. Orenda liked to think that her friends had made it to freedom. Orenda liked to think that the initials on the back of her medallion stood for “Gareth Firefist”.

And Orenda liked to think that he was a survivor.