Happy Valentines Day, peeps! I hope yours is fun! See you Monday with the chapter,

  e

  At Thornfield, names held great significe. When a student found the hey wahey would sult with the Master of Archives, who would then search his records to make certain it wasn’t currently in use by a living Thorn. If the name was free, the student was allowed to keep it. Students ged names occasionally, but for the most part the first name chosen was the ohat stuck. It was a moal decision that the grafting would rely upon, not to be made on impulse.

  So it shocked everyone when Nine was the first student in their year to cim she’d found her name.

  “I heard it from Master Smith aold me what it was, and that’s it,” she told her disbelieving roommates. “Morrow night I’m a-going to Master Risk aing him to look it up.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Izak said. He and Twenty-six had just fiheir blood magic practice for the day, and he was eager for the distra from the wounds the pirate was tending. Lately, they were w on a version of the thorrick he’d used in the previous tour—smaller so the pirate could heal faster tain.

  “It’s bad medie to tell a secret afore it’s known,” Nine said.

  “Oh, e on! We won’t make fun of it.”

  “A name is sacred.” Twenty-six looked up from daubing salve onto the gouge marks in his forearm. “You should not tell anyone before you take it, Nine.”

  “I ain’t gonna, me.”

  Izak smirked. “My name isn’t sacred, and it isn’t a secret. For all the talk of new beginnings and earning a new name here, the grafted prince walks out of Thornfield with the same name he walked in with. I was Izak then, I’ll be Izak forever.”

  “Then you will remain a child forever.” Twenty-six went back to ing up his arm.

  “I haven’t heard you cheg the Archives for a new name,” Izak muttered.

  The pirate didn’t look up from the bandages. “Wheime es, you will know my name.”

  “You mean to tell me you already have one in mind?”

  “What is it?” Nine demanded, her decration of bad medie already fotten.

  Twenty-six wouldn’t tell them.

  ***

  The following afternoon, urned from the Archives beaming like a full moon.

  “I got it, me! My name wasn’t already took, so’s I got it!”

  Twenty-six stopped sharpening his cutss, and Four set aside the folio of lewd drawings he’d borrowed from Eighty-eight, the rustic who had bee known as the resident artist.

  The brat turned her back to the archer loop and fixed her brothers o a time with her one-eyed gaze, certain they would be as captivated by her name as she was. She raised both hands to frame the annou.

  “Lathe.”

  Four blinked. “Lathe? As iurning wheel the artisans use?”

  “That’s it. Master Smith doold me about ’em. You stick a k of wood on ’em and carve out bits with knives!”

  Her brothers looked at one another, doing that annoying thing where they said stuff without talking.

  “You are certain?” Twenty-six asked.

  “’Course I am! That’s good medie if I ever heard it, Lathe.”

  “But…” Four’s voice wavered. He shen wiped his hand down his face. He got himself under trol and tried again. “But it’s so stupid.”

  The ensuing fight made a mess of Eighty-eight’s folio. Pages were torn, mashed, and creased, and a sptter of royal blood obscured a portion of one drawing.

  “It ain’t stupid, it’s my name!” Nine insisted whey-six finally pried her off of Four. “I’ll carve up anybody that takes after Pretty, me. Or the pirate scum, or you, ya dumb pile a’ dung.” She stabbed a fi Four. “I’ll pare ’em down to nubbins, just like a the!”

  Four wiped the blood from his lips and spat out a torn shred of the wadded part she’d been trying to cram down his throat.

  “I apologize,” he said. “Lathe is actually a very appropriate name.”

  Twenty-six let go of the brat. She dropped to her feet and straightened up, fixing her mussed clothing and close-chopped hair with an air of injured dignity.

  “For an idiot,” Four said.

  The folio didn’t make it.

  ***

  “Seleketra.” Pretty stared at the fa the mirror. She didn’t look like the starving close-rat Athalia had taken in a year ago. She looked otherworldly. She looked like the demon demigoddess her new name meant. “Seleketra.”

  It still spooked her sometimes, passing by a shiny surfa Athalia’s townhouse and catg sight of the curling tattoos etched into spice-brown skin. And those eyes. Her eyes had been the hardest part to sit still for, the needles poking and jabbing. But she’d do. She might not be a real daughter, but she was a good one. She’d do for Athalia, for all the love and affe and luxury the Daylily gave her, and she’d do because one day she would start paying it back. Athalia already had all the love and affe Pretty could give, but soon she would be able to start paying back all that luxury and spent mooo. Then the Daylily could rest and enjoy the life Seleketra made for her.

  Pretty stared into the eyes in the mirror, the ghostlight curlicues in her dark irises glowing back at her. Brat wouldn’t even reize her now. Pretty hardly reized herself.

  “Seleketra?” Athalia opehe door. “It’s time.”

  Pretty swallowed hard.

  Seeing her face, Athalia crossed the room and kissed her oop of the head.

  “Don’t be scared, now,” the Daylily whispered, rubbing Pretty’s upper arms briskly as if to chase away her trepidation. “It won’t be like you were used to. The knight’s an old friend of mine. He’s gentle, him. He’ll help learn you what to do, and he won’t ell nobody.”

  “And then I’ll e back?” Pretty had already made Athalia promise once a night since she found out she had to leave with a strange man, but she o hear it again. “Soon as I’m learnt, I’ll e back?”

  “As soon as you’re learned,” Athalia corrected her gently. She smoothed a strand of Pretty’s long hair. “Then you’ll e right baow, what are you supposed to do?”

  Pretty smiled just like she was supposed to, just like she’d been learned.

  In the mirror, Seleketra smiled back, parting her perfect lips to show the demon fangs that had repced her eyeteeth.