Barti and I were rooming together again this year. So was Otto. When I had asked at the end of the previous term, as delicately as I was able, if Barti would not prefer to emerge from his brother’s shadow, he merely shrugged and said, “It’s all the same to me. Just so long as we don’t get Paffuto again.”

In order to forestall this dreadful possibility, we urged Otto to pick someone whose character he could vouch for. Otto delivered; the dark-skinned fellow that greeted me as I lugged my trunk up the stairs introduced himself as Prince Uzoma and promptly came down to help. Like Otto, he was studying law; unlike Otto, he took his studies quite seriously. We discovered later he was top of his class. Given that the other Prince at Queen’s University, a perpetually hungover youth from Lichtburg, was treating his educational stint as a glorified babysitting exercise, I was particularly impressed.

It wasn’t until Prince Uzoma and I stood at the top of the stairs, panting slightly, that I discovered he was short. Shorter than I, by a good half a head, but nearly twice as muscular. His clothes were well-tailored, but seemed even so to be struggling to contain his muscles. He had conducted the lion’s share of the lifting with a bewildering display of ease.

“Weightlifting,” he said cheerfully, when I expressed my admiration, and flexed demonstratively. “Nearly every day. Care to come sometime? I bet we could pack some meat on your bones in a fortnight, have you ready to throw your trunk up the stairs next time.”

“No thank you,” I said, smiling. “I’m more of a fencer. We go for lithe.”

“Very wise,” he agreed. “Play to your strengths. Ever been in a duel?”

“Only sparring.” I looked at him appraisingly. “Ever been in a fight?”

“Twice!” he replied, teeth flashing white in a broad grin. “Once here, in an alehouse, and once with my cousin on one of the royal ships.”

“Who won?”

“I did,” the Prince replied proudly. “Both times. Threw my cousin clean overboard.”

He kept me company as I unpacked, regaling me with tales of his family. He was not the crown Prince; he was the fifth son of nine, by three wives, and had nearly as many sisters as brothers. Their kingdom was not large, but it was wealthy; it controlled the third-largest African port in the Mediterranean.

“I’m the only one who wanted to travel this far for my education, though.” He sat on my desk and swung his legs. “They were only too glad to oblige; too many of us as it was, may as well get me out from underfoot. Ho, Barti!”

“Hello, Uzoma.” Barti had just come in. He smiled and extended his hand. The Prince hopped down and pumped it enthusiastically. “Good to see you again.”

“Ales, then?” Uzoma asked. “Once you’re all done unpacking?”

“Yes, why not; it’s going to be a fine afternoon.”

Otto took no convincing whatsoever, once the offer of ale was shouted across the common room at where he was fussing around with his neckerchief in front of the mirror. The four of us set out in good spirits, comparing notes on our journeys. Uzoma’s had been the longest, of course; three days aboard a ship, then another six overland in a carriage. Barti and Otto had only traveled for three days. I came from further; it had taken me four. We were comparing notes on the best carriage-snack when a large shadow passed over us.

I had seen such shadows my entire life. It did not register at all until my companions snapped their heads up and exclaimed in astonishment.

Only then, with a sudden deluge of horror, did I realize what had happened.

I followed their gaze as they stood there, shielding their eyes from the glare of the sun, mouths slack with shock, and saw what I knew I would see: a Winged One.

There were no Winged Ones near Queen’s University. The closest flocks lived days to the north, in the mountains. Near the villa.

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Surely, it was too far to fly in only four days. Surely.

At first, all I could see was the dark shape of an indistinct winged figure, silhouetted by the sun. I gawped like everybody else on the quadrangle, my consternation as unfeigned as theirs, and watched as the figure circled overhead. It seemed to be looking for something. After a few languid passes, it finally landed, at the peak of the University chapel’s steeple, where it proceeded to toy with the weathervane. Tarnished copper flashed in the sun, illuminating dove-gray wings and a braid of tawny hair.

Oh, no.

“What day is it?” I blurted out, voice strangled.

Barti looked at me, face grave with concern that he dared not voice. “Friday.”

“No, what… what is the phase of the moon?” I tried to remember, myself… Had it been a crescent when last I looked? How long ago was that? And was it waxing or waning? Francesca would know, I thought fretfully; girls always knew.

Uzoma, incredibly, had whipped out not only a pair of spectacles from somewhere on his person, but a small pocket almanac. He consulted it primly. “Full moon,” he declared. He folded it again and put it away, followed by his glasses.

Oh, no.

I couldn’t remember what the Nahashaaf word for full-moon day was, but I knew that today was their third day of adventure.

Sheshef and her adventures. I despaired.

“You live near Winged Ones, don’t you, Leo?” asked Otto, in genuine innocence. He was still shielding his eyes, never taking his eyes off Sheshef. The weathervane, apparently, was only meant to be blown about from above, not twisted by the shaft as she had been doing, and it had come out entirely. She held it awkwardly in both hands for a moment before tipping it back upright and screwing it back in. “Have you got any explanation for this? Something to do with the moon, sounds like?”

There was no point in denying it. My heart raced. “Yes,” I replied, struggling to keep my voice even enough for casual, serviceable half-truths. “My father has books on the Winged Ones; I spent some time this past summer reading about them. They spend the five days of full moon—two days before to two days after—going on adventures.”

“Adventures!” Otto grinned. “What fun!”

“What kinds of adventures?” Uzoma watched with interest as a priest came out of the chapel and onto the quadrangle, then turned around to look up at what everyone was pointing at. If he yelled, I couldn’t hear him, but I could see very clearly that both of his hands had flown to his head. He turned and ran back inside.

“Defacing chapels, apparently,” Barti murmured. I got the distinct impression he was trying not to laugh, possibly with nerves. He was very carefully avoiding eye contact with me.

I myself was not a nervous laugher, but if we didn’t do something soon, I was going to give myself away in some other, probably less deniable fashion. Or Sheshef would spot me. She might already have.

I had to go. Now.

With a tremendous effort of will, I forced myself to turn away casually. “Winged Ones are always going after shiny things. Let’s go; I hear the ale calling me.”

“What?” yelped Otto. “You’re going to leave? I need to see if this creature makes off with the weathervane!”

“She won’t.”

“She?” Otto squinted. “You can tell it’s a female from here?”

I waved my hand in desperate dismissal, and sought safety in crassness. “You’d be seeing more between the legs if it were a male. She’ll just fly off once she’s grown bored.” My own words, my own dismissive tone, ripped at my heart, but not as strongly as the fear that gripped it. “They mess with the weathervanes at home too, but never take them. They can’t carry anything that heavy when they fly. Let’s go.”

“I’ve never seen a Winged One before,” Uzoma murmured. He sounded awed, and extremely uninterested in ale. “At home, we only have the Bes.”

“Let’s go, Leo,” Barti said quietly. He was doing a good job of hiding his regret; he might never have seen a Winged One this close before, either. He wanted to stay. “I’m thirsty.”

Fly away, I urged silently. I, too, wanted to stay. I didn’t know what the University would do about her. Try to shoo her away, probably—but how? I bit my lip. If they did something to hurt her…

But Sheshef, either genuinely bored or finally sensing her risk at last, spread her wings wide—I could hear gasps of wonder from the other students—caught an updraft, and lifted gracefully away from the steeple. She spiraled up and out of sight against the sun.

“Well!” said Uzoma. He chuckled and shook his head. “What a treat. Never seen one before.”

“I’d never seen one that close,” Otto said, sounding awed.

“Me neither,” Barti said quietly. I heard an echo of an apology in his voice. “I’m glad she flew away before somebody tried to throw something at her though.”

“She was on top of a church,” Otto said breezily. “Nobody’s going to hurl stones at a church.” He turned at last and slung his arms over Barti and Uzoma. “All right, who’s for that ale?”