Ember lifted the ice pack from her ribs, wincing, and placed it on her desk. She had been taking a much-needed break from crafting the letter to her father, which was proving a difficult task: she had to be vague enough to avoid giving away Mendel’s secrets, but specific enough for him to understand her meaning. The goal was that, unless someone had been trained in counter-intelligence, the letter would appear innocuous.

She sighed, leaning over the paper again and beginning to murmur the words under her breath.

Father,

I pray that this letter finds you well. Much has changed since the night I moved away. The city to which I traveled is nothing like we were told—it is an enchanting, surprising place, full of passionate and eccentric beings. There is connectedness here; the city breathes as a person might, and the residents have taken to me as both a student and as a friend. Despite what we were told, they are not hostile to other races.

It is true that I am ill, but I am also in the best health of my life, and I have changed beyond the point of recognition. I have found my illness to be as much a gift as it is a curse, and it has allowed me to spend my days studying and training in athletics.

But my reason for writing is not only to talk about myself. There is fear here that something is stirring in Ciradyl, led by the Holy Order. Have you heard such stirrings of unrest in the city? Are you safe? Can you move of your own volition, and if so, might an opening arise in which you can travel south?

There is another matter that concerns me. Since my arrival, I have had strange dreams and visions of my mother that have sown doubt as to the manner of her disappearance. Is there anything about her that you have not yet told me?

If you are able, write me back. I am desperate to hear from you.

With love,

your daughter.

Ember tapped the quill to her mouth, thinking deeply. By omitting her own name, Mendel’s name, and any mention of the affliction, she had ensured that the letter would be seen as nothing more than a routine correspondence from a daughter to her father should it be waylaid on its journey. She folded it neatly, touched it to her forehead with a prayer, sealed the envelope, and addressed it to the avian sisters’ household.

Then began the most painful wait of her life.

***

Ember shifted, resting her chin on the metal bar and letting out a quiet huff. Even in her absurdly puffy fur coat—which the doctor had ordered she wear to facilitate her healing—the scaffolding made a very uncomfortable seat. It didn’t help that her ears were ringing from the sound of metal clanging against metal; on the training floor below, the intermediate class was practicing a drill with weapons. Meanwhile, Ember’s own knife hung uselessly at her hip.

It was the second class she had attended since her fight six days before, and she was once again relegated to the role of spectator. Since many Linnaeans were still staying in the city proper after the hostage situation, the class was less than half its usual size, and it pained her to miss the opportunity for individualized instruction. Although she was still learning by observation and practicing her infrared vision, without a physical outlet for her anxiety, awaiting news from Kora was causing great mental strain.

“Ten-minute break!” Ophelia yelled over the trainees. With the look of the undead, the pairs of students broke apart and stumbled toward their water flasks.

“Remember, we’re only halfway through!” Roland added, shaking his head in disappointment. His eyes met Ember’s, and she folded her arms over her chest. It was just her luck that the black hawk-eagle had been among those to return to campus, and though he hadn’t said anything directly, his smug glances made it clear that he was glad to see her benched.

“Ember!” a voice called, and she looked away from Roland to see Lance staggering across the training grounds in her direction. He looked exhausted, and one side of his face was smeared with dried blood where he had caught the tip of a blunted blade.

Ember smiled slightly, waving at the ermine. When she returned to the intermediate class after her fight with Freya, he was one of the first students to express his concern for her health. She appreciated the gesture, especially in Jisu’s absence—worryingly, the panther hadn’t attended class since the night of the winter solstice, and Ember had no way of contacting her.

As Lance approached, she clambered down stiffly from her seat. “Happy new year,” he said, and they clasped forearms in a typical fighters’ greeting. “How are you feeling?”

Ember winced. “Not the best, honestly.” She held out her arms, emphasizing the fur coat. “I feel ridiculous.”

“I still can’t believe you were attacked by a moose,” he added. “Especially during this time of year.”

“I know, right?” Ember said, clearing her throat. “Me neither.”

There was an awkward lull in the conversation in which Lance looked at Ember expectantly, waiting for her to clarify the details of her story. Ember occupied herself by coughing, once again silently cursing Marcus, who had created the lie while she was unconscious.

“Did you see my spar?” Lance finally ventured. “I may be agile, but my hits aren’t powerful enough to cause any damage.”

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“Try to be more strategic,” Ember suggested, grateful for the change of topic. “Aim for your opponent’s weak points, like their ears, nose, throat, jaw, and solar plexus. You can also target the same area with consecutive strikes, which will wear your opponent down.”

Lance seemed to consider it. “That’s good advice. By the way, have you signed up for your courses yet?”

“No, not yet. I’m planning to continue the biology and history sequences, and I still need to take trigonometry. But I don’t have an elective.”

Lance made a sympathetic face. “Don’t wait too long—the deadline is next Wednesday, and the office is going to be packed until then.”

“I know.”

“Okay,” he said, looking slightly ill. “I’m going to sit down. If you want, wait for me after class, and I might be able to recommend a few courses.”

Ember thanked him, then climbed painfully back up to her position in the scaffolding. For the remainder of the class, she poured her focus into observing the other students’ drills. The time passed quickly, and when Ophelia called the training to a close, she joined the other students at the center of the arena for the end-of-class ritual.

As they sat in the butterfly position, breathing deeply, Ophelia cleared her throat. “I wanted to share some exciting news with you all. I know it’s late notice, but I’ve just received approval to teach a new course for next semester, called Practical Combat on Irregular Terrain. My hope is to apply the more advanced techniques you’ve learned to unconventional warfare: we’ll practice ambushes, raids, and fighting in groups. So if you still have space on your schedule, please consider it.”

Ember’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and she exchanged a glance with Lance—the class sounded like just what she needed to take her skills to the next level.

***

The first days of the new year passed slowly, and Ember was afflicted with a persistent melancholy. She slept much and ate little, spending most of her time huddled by the heater in an attempt to stay warm. She had no energy even for reading, and she left the dorm only to attend Ophelia’s class and to have her sutures removed.

Gradually, the students left their families in the city and returned to campus for the spring semester, which was scheduled to begin on the 11th of January. When there were no new developments, the panic surrounding the hostage incident dulled and then dissipated. At the two-week mark since the solstice, a sense of normality seemed to have returned to everyone but Ember.

Once it was clear that Ember would recover fully, Naz had returned to the city with her father for the remainder of the break, and Carn had been staying with Charlie since the night of the solstice. Ember wrote to both of her friends, though she omitted the fight from her correspondence with the fox—he was the only other person she planned to tell, but she was waiting for his return to campus so as not to worry him unnecessarily. In her opinion, he needed the break to recover from the incident with the margay and the mad rush to avoid academic expulsion.

It was on Monday morning that she received the long-awaited knock. She roused herself quickly, throwing the door open and nearly hitting Marcus in the face. “Did my letter come?”

He pointed downstairs. “No. The dove came herself.”

Ember hurried down the stairs, pausing only during a moment of light-headedness. Sure enough, a hooded figure waiting in the living room of the dorm. She glanced around; other than Marcus, there was one other reptile in the room: a lizard, who was quietly reading nearby. “What’s the news?”

“Where can we speak freely?” Kora asked in a whisper, glancing at the lizard.

“Come here,” Ember replied, guiding the dove upstairs and locking her bedroom door behind them. “So?”

Kora threw back her hood. Against the dark hardwood, she looked as misplaced as a fallen angel. She dug in her bag, emerging with a letter. Ember reached for it, but the dove withdrew her hand. “I’m sorry, but I need to make sure you understand the terms of our agreement. You are in my debt, and you’ll make an enemy of me if you or your friends spread the word of the match.”

“Of course,” Ember agreed, gripping the letter firmly. Had Kora refused to give it to her, she would have taken it by any means necessary.

“You were right,” the dove said. “The house was being closely watched. My birds had to wait for the fog to roll in before it could be delivered.”

“Thank you,” Ember replied, her heart beating so quickly that she feared it might overwhelm her.

Kora nodded once. “For the record, I hope it’s good news,” she said, replacing her hood and disappearing through the door.

Ember tore open the letter, her hands shaking as she struck a match and lit a candle. She recognized her father’s thick, uneven handwriting immediately. Though he had been raised on a farm and worked in the mines, he had received some education in his childhood, which was reflected by his good grammar.

Daughter,

You cannot imagine my relief upon receiving your letter. Not a day has passed without thinking of you, and many times I have regretted that we did not escape through the window on the night that you were taken. I also feared that you might have succumbed to your illness, though I am not surprised to learn that it was exaggerated.

I assume that the small bird who delivered this letter was your friend, so I gave it bread and water. It was quite well-trained, and it waited with me until the cover of night. Perhaps this is commonplace in your city?

It is understandable that you are curious about your mother, and I regret that I did not tell you more before it was too late. I thought that, the less I spoke of her, the less painful her disappearance would be.

Many years ago, our parents arranged for us to be married in order to combine our farmlands, which were suffering from drought. Over the years, as often happens, we came to share a real love. But not long after your birth, she began to suffer from a chronic illness. She grew tired, ate little, and developed welts that festered like open wounds. She was often possessed by a cold sensation that could not be chased away even by fire. She became taciturn, and when she withdrew from me, I lost her forever.

There was no warning of her disappearance. Her parents, who never held me in high regard, confirmed that she had left of her own accord, and my attempts to contact the authorities produced no results. It was her parents, not me, who arranged her funeral. It was an open casket, and there is no doubt that it was your mother inside. That day was unsettling. I saw men in attendance who I knew had no relation to either of us. But, for your safety, I questioned no further. That is all I know. If your grandparents still live, I wager that they could tell you more.

Though I do not wish to worry you, I will be truthful—this house has been watched since the moment that you left. It was lucky that the bird managed to sneak inside during a moment of fog. It is strange that you talk of unrest. Indeed, I often listen to the guards with the window cracked, and they speak highly of a newly appointed bishop within the Holy Order. There have been stricter laws, too: we must worship thrice weekly now, on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, and we must return home before the sun sets. Through all of this, the monarchy has been silent.

I have burned your letter to ashes. I know it will be difficult, but I must ask something of you. I have lived a humble life, and you are my greatest accomplishment. If I die now, I will be content. Please, hold me only in your heart, and risk nothing else for me.

With love,

your father.