Carn flopped back on the table, knocking over quills and scattering books. “Ugh!” Ember exclaimed, digging a hand under his back to retrieve a crumpled scrap of paper on which she had been making calculations. 

“Woah!” Naz echoed, snatching her mug a moment before the fox’s swishing tail knocked it over. He sent them an upside-down grin, his mop of red hair scraping the library floorboards. Ember rolled her eyes, but she glanced around to make sure no librarians were around to chastise him for making a scene. The sound of subdued conversation drifted up from the lower floors of the library, but it was quiet where they sat, surrounded by leather-bound tomes and artifacts on hardwood pedestals. 

“This is torture,” Carn groaned, covering his eyes with his hands. “I wish I could kill whoever discovered all of these amino acids.”

“You only need to memorize these twenty,” Ember said, holding his textbook up to his face and pointing at the list of structures. 

He let out a disparaging wail. “Twenty?!”

“Ask Charlie to study with you,” Naz said, gesturing with her quill, “you don’t listen to Ember and me anyway.”

“His grades are worse than mine,” Carn moaned. “Why did I think it would be a good idea to change my major from scouting to education?”

Ember leaned back in her chair, feeling a surge of affection for her friend. It was an overcast and chilly day, tense with the anticipation of the upcoming first round of exams, and she suspected that the fox’s antics were an attempt to lighten the mood. 

She brought her mug to her lips, sipping her bitter tea. For a moment, it was uncomfortable against her new set of fangs—especially the metal-covered tips—but the sensation was quickly forgotten as the liquid warmed her belly. Her gaze slid over to the library window, and she looked at the ground far below: at the students walking between classes, exchanging words with each other; at the leafless oaks; at the small animals hunkered down in the cold. Then, inevitably, her mind settled on her parents, and she was overcome by a feeling of futility.

“What are you thinking about?” Naz asked, leaning toward her. 

Ember turned toward the pisces, raising an eyebrow at her perceptiveness. She set down the mug, placing both of her palms flat on the table as she thought of what to say. Then, in low tones, she recounted her conversation with Corax five days before. “I don’t know what to think,” she concluded, a finger tracing a cut along her cheekbone, “it felt like something was missing, but there were no signs that he was hiding anything.”

Carn sat up, his expression growing serious. “Do you think he would lie to you?” 

“Why would he?” Ember asked. “What would he stand to gain?”

“I don’t pretend to understand the headmaster’s motivations, but I can’t imagine he’d hide the truth about your mother,” Naz said. “I’ve always believed that he has our best interests at heart.” Ember shrugged hopelessly. “Do you have any other leads?” 

“Nothing concrete, but my history professor did say that one of the mayors she served is still alive, although he lives outside of Mendel’s walls.”

“Do you know his name?”

“No, but I can ask Professor Bao.”

Naz nodded. “Give me a name, and I’ll find out what I can about him.”

“Thank you,” Ember replied, knowing that the pisces was much more well-connected than herself. A couple of minutes passed in silence, and she sipped her tea again, reminded of when she had shared a similar drink with Orthus in the forest. Perhaps he knows something. 

“In other news,” Naz said cheerfully, “it’s Carn’s birthday on Friday.”

Ember turned toward the fox abruptly. “Really? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Carn looked down, uncharacteristically sheepish. “You have a lot going on, Ember. I didn’t want to trouble you.”

“That’s nonsense,” Ember said, jostling his shoulders. “I’ll always have time for both of you.” She blushed a little, but both Carn and Naz smiled at her. “So, do you have any plans?” she asked, eager to move the conversation along.

“I was thinking of having a small get-together,” Carn replied. “Nothing crazy—I had enough of that last semester—but maybe something with you guys, Charlie, and some of our other friends.”

“That’s a good idea,” Naz said, and Ember heard the gratefulness behind her words that Carn wasn’t slipping back into reckless habits. 

“I would offer my room,” Ember said, knowing she was the only one in a singlet, “but with the other reptiles…” she trailed off, thinking about Charlie’s small, bird-like body, and Marcus’s overbearing manner. “Maybe not.”

“No problem,” Carn said, “we’ll have it at mammalia. My roommate already agreed to it. Just bring yourself and some food—and Ember, why don’t you invite Morgan and Sebastian?”

***

Balancing the tray of custards in one hand, Ember raised her fist and rapped on the door twice. Carn pulled it open with a good-natured grin on his face and a relaxed haze in his good eye. “Come in, come in!” he said, ushering her inside. “There’s gin on the table.”

The inside of the dorm room was lit by warm torchlight and filled with people. Morgan and Sebastian sat atop one of the two beds, speaking with Carn’s roommate; two of Carn’s mammalian friends stuffed their faces with hors d'oeuvres; and Charlie stood half-hidden behind Carn. A hand-cranked phonograph—undoubtedly borrowed from the common room—played an upbeat tune in the background.

Ember set her tray down on the table amongst the other foods, turning to lean against the wall as she appraised the room. Since she and Naz had moved him in, Carn had made the space his own: posters of constellations—presumably drawn by Charlie—were tacked to the walls, a collection of outdoor gear sat on a shelf, and a desk overflowing with notes was pushed up against one corner. 

Naz took Ember’s arm, startling her. “Come meet Carn’s friends,” she said, “they’re good conversationalists when they take a break from eating.”

Ember hesitated. She wasn’t in the habit of introducing herself to new people, and she was suddenly aware of her appearance: of the green and brown bruises; the scapping cuts left by Roland’s talons; and last year’s scars, cutting through the whiteness of her skin with unsightly pink. She wasn’t usually embarrassed—in fact, there was a certain amount of fighters’ pride associated with the injuries—but she wondered suddenly how she would look through the others’ eyes. 

“I’m not in the best state to be introduced,” she told Naz.

The pisces looked at her strangely. “They’re Linnaean, Ember. They’ll be impressed.”

Ember paused, her lips pursed, and then shook her head slightly. “Of course. What was I thinking?”

She and Naz joined the others, and the time passed quickly, lost to conversation. The students mingled, telling stories, complaining about their workloads, and discussing the newest trends in the city. Ember caught up with Morgan, reminiscing about Hickory, and Sebastian looked over her fang knife to make sure that it was being maintained properly. 

Ember grew more relaxed as the evening depended, and she found herself sipping from a glass of liquor, thrust into her hand by Morgan. She was careful to stay alert, however, lest the incident with Charlie be repeated. The group of eight gathered around the small desk, where Carn played a round of chess against his roommate, the others taking sides and whispering advice. 

When several hours had passed, Charlie said something in Naz’s ear, and she clinked a fork against her glass for quiet. “Why don’t you open your gifts now, Carn?”

Carn sat down on his bed, surrounded by his friends. “Mine first,” one of the mammals said, thrusting his gift into the fox’s hands. Carn ripped open the brown paper, revealing a large jar stuffed with fermented fruits. He held it up, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

“That’s my special brew,” the mammal said proudly. “I call it burnjuice.”

Carn uncapped the jar, pouring a little of the orange liquid on his tongue. He sputtered, his eyes watering. “Damn, that’s horrible!”

Everyone laughed as he raised it to his lips again, managing to swallow a mouthful. Then, he was piled with gifts from the others: a new eyepatch, sweets, and a mask painted with the colors of his favorite ranked fighter. When it was Ember’s turn, she presented him with a switchblade, the handle carved with the symbol of a tiny fox. 

Carn hugged her with one arm, beaming. “Thanks, Em.” 

She smiled. The carving was crude—she had done it herself, her back bent as she labored by candlelight, but all of the effort was justified by the look on Carn’s face. 

The fox looked up from examining the switchblade. “Hey, where’s Charlie?”

“Here,” came the soft response, and everyone turned to see the avian stepping back into the room with a bundle cradled in his arms. His small frame struggled with the weight, and Naz stood up to help him as he handed the package to Carn. 

The fox’s nose twitched. The moment he unwrapped the blanket, a puppy with golden fur burst from inside, yipping and squirming in an effort to lick Carn’s face. 

“A companion animal,” Ember realized. Charlie’s eyes were warm as he looked at Carn, and when Ember turned back toward the fox, the pure joy on his face took her breath away. He wiped his eye with his sleeve, tucking the dog close to his chest. 

“You’re okay with this?” Carn asked his roommate, his eyes still locked on the puppy. 

“Yeah, man. He asked me first,” the roommate said, jabbing a thumb in Charlie’s direction.

The puppy leaped from Carn’s arms, dashing toward the table of food, and the guests fell over themselves trying to catch him. Amid the wild rush that followed, Ember looked thoughtfully at Charlie. She hadn’t noticed it before, but now she realized that despite their outward differences, Charlie understood Carn—perhaps more than anyone else. She smiled at the little bird, and to her surprise, he nodded back at her, his hands resting against the back of the desk chair as he watched Carn happily.