Senna nodded. “I’ve wondered the same thing. But it’s just not the way they do things here, right or wrong.” She studied Mistin more closely. “What’s it like where you’re from, in Dresdan? What’s your family like?”
Mistin hesitated as if considering her words carefully. “The world hates Witches. My mother forbade us from singing. Still, someone always managed to find out what we were, and we’d have to move again. One time, we didn’t get away fast enough. Only my brother and I escaped.”
How had Senna known Mistin for months and not realized most of her family was dead? “I’m so sorry.” Senna had lived with the outside world’s hatred of Witches her entire life. “Where’s your brother now?”
Mistin gave a small smile. “He followed me to Nefalie. He wants to become a Guardian.”
Senna watched a bird fly into the pavilion, circle the heads of the Apprentices a few times, and dart out again. “Why didn’t your family live here? It would have been safer.”
Mistin’s nostrils flared. “My family’s songs were very weak. Believe it or not, I’m the strongest of them. There would have been no place for my sisters here. And I would not have left them alone.”
Senna couldn’t fathom it. Wastrels weren’t welcome on Haven. Apparently, they weren’t welcome anywhere else either—rejected by Haven for not being enough of a Witch, and rejected by the world for being too much of one. They would belong nowhere. “It shouldn’t be like that. There’s plenty of room here.”
Mistin stirred her potion harder than necessary. “That’s why I’m still here, despite the fact that they treat me like a servant and everyone looks down on me. There’s nowhere else for me to go. Certainly nowhere safe.”
Senna stared at her beaker so Mistin wouldn’t see the pity in her eyes.
“Finish up, girls. It’s nearly time to shift your studies,” Prenny announced.
Senna stopped off her half-finished potion.
“Brusenna— Senna, you’re in trouble, aren’t you?”
Senna startled. “How could you know that?”
Mistin shrugged. “I told you. Weakness forces a person to develop other strengths. Good singers tell the world what to do. Not-so-good singers are better at listening to what can’t be heard.”
Things like hearing the music of the Four Sisters? Things like Traveling? Senna rinsed out the dirty beakers and set them in the sun to purify. “What do you mean?”
Mistin straightened her narrow shoulders and assessed Senna from head to foot. “Maybe I can help.”
Senna opened her mouth then closed it again. What she needed were answers—answers only the Heads had. “Unless you can tell me where to find hundreds of Witches hidden somewhere outside of Haven, I don’t think you can help me much.”
Mistin’s eyes went impossibly wide. “What?”
Senna sighed inwardly. And small talk had been going so well. “Never mind.”
Prenny stalked around, pointing to beakers that needed cleaning and books that needed to be reshelved. “The chesli harvest starts at the next crescent moon—that’s a little over a week away. Everyone is required to participate. Plan your schedules accordingly. Jassy! If that beaker of acid spills on my book, I’ll use your hide as replacement parchment!”
Senna snatched up her last few items before the Head made it to their table. She shoved everything in her satchel as she walked. She was meeting Joshen for lunch, and she didn’t want to be late.
“Senna?” She turned back to see Mistin following a few steps behind. The girl bit her lip. “I meant what I said. I can help you.”
Senna didn’t know how to respond, so she stayed silent.
Mistin glanced around and took a step closer. “I work as a secretary to the Heads to help pay my tuition.”
Senna tipped her head sideways. “I know.”
Mistin rubbed her palms together nervously. “I make appointments.”
The first prickle of unease jabbed Senna’s stomach. “What are you trying to tell me, Mistin?”
The girl tucked her hair behind her ears. “You’re the closest thing I have to a friend. Everyone else mocks my song. When I said you were in trouble and I could help— Your mother made an appointment to speak with the Heads today.”
Senna straightened. Why would her mother be meeting with the Heads? “About what?”
Mistin’s dark eyes met Senna’s. “You.”
7. A Choice
A crawling sense of betrayal skittered up Senna’s spine. Mistin glanced around again and took a step closer. “You’re mother is trying to force you off the island.”