He woke in a strange room with a steaming bowl of vegetables balanced on his chest.

  “Eat!” a woman commanded. It was Periphery Mallow, mother to Circe and [Doctor] of the village. “You’re too skinny by half, but you’ll live. If you eat.” And she swept out.

  Circe watched from a high-backed chair in the corner. “Made sure you wouldn’t aspirate,” she told him, which meant nothing. “Think I’ll sleep through class today. I owe you. I’ll remember.”

  It sounded like a threat.

  His throat hurt. When he cleared it experimentally, Circe held up a long, thin, curved funnel.

  That had been in my throat? he thought in horror.

  “You weren’t clotting right,” she said, her voice matter-of-fact. “Sorry.”

  He had never been able to read Circe. Was she teasing?

  “Well?” Mistress Mallow’s voice boomed from the doorway. “Chew. Swallow. The cart passed ten minutes ago. You've both places to be, maths to do.”

  Circe didn’t look particularly rushed.

  He went back to considering the bowl on his chest. It was a simple meal: unidentifiable steamed roots, okra, onions, and celery. He poked at a pale green leaf with his spoon, unearthing a slice of zucchini. A pitcher of bright red tea, with a matching cup, sat nearby, cloudy with condensation.

  "That golden stuff is gravy," Circe volunteered from her corner, noticing his hesitation. "I reduced it myself. It's leftovers. Dad made lamb with mint last night. It's got Roselle in it for depth."

  Dalliance looked at the bowl in a new light.

  "When did you have time?" Dalliance asked, genuinely curious.

  "I'm not a [Pupil]," she said simply. "It's a side effect of being a [Hedge Witch]: I'm nocturnal."

  “And yet you’re waking me up at six in the morning?” Dalliance grumbled, experimentally nibbling a carrot. The whole thing was gone an instant later.

  “There’s something called a ‘stimulant’ that helps you wake up,” she said. “I chew on them all through class.”

  Dalliance made a face. “Da gives us those sometimes. They’re gross.”

  She pulled a piece of gnarled white root from a leather pouch at her neck and held it out. “Want one?”

  "Yeah," he grumbled, taking the root.

  He swallowed it whole, a trick he’d had to practice to avoid the bitter taste.

  "Goes well with lemon grass," she said brightly.

  He ate quickly, both by force of her interested gaze and his gnawing hunger.

  Walking to school alone—but for a girl—was a different experience. For one thing, she was pretty. For another, she was touchy. And for a third, she was pushy.

  "We're going to be late," Circe told him, her pace quickening.

  "We are already late," he said simply. He winced as a jolt of pain shot through his hip. "And my butt hurts. Okay? Is that fine? Is that enough? Did you need that part of my dignity, too?"

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  She laughed, a bright, surprising sound. "I'm just happy you're open enough to tell me that it hurts." She stopped walking. "Hold still."

  He yelped as her cold fingers pressed against the wound on his upper hip, right through his trousers. He couldn't quite say, 'Get your hand out of my pants,' but he definitely thought it. The accusation stuck in his throat for a moment, but then the pain simply vanished.

  "Mom doesn't like me healing things that can heal by themselves," she said, pulling her hand away as if nothing had happened. "Says I'm wasting my potential. But you know, I go to sleep most evenings without healing anyone at all. So."

  He made it another few steps before the silence became too awkward to bear. "Sorry, I was short with you," he told her.

  She just hummed, adding a little skip to her step. "Are you sorry you didn't let them shoot me full of arrows?" she asked.

  "No," he said, confused.

  "Then you don't owe me anything you didn't already do for me."

  The birds were singing in the high branches. As they walked, Dalliance looked up. Some of the late trees, still in shadow, were beginning to blossom even though the heat of summer had already begun.

  "I like being out later in the day," she said. "Going to school while it's still misty outside and then going home when the sun's going down seems like an awful waste of the day."

  "And then you're up all night," he realized.

  She waved her hand in a waffling motion. "Just because my body wants to be awake doesn't mean it gets the choice," she said. "I'm a witch." She mimed drinking a potion.

  He nodded thoughtfully. "So, how does one become a witch?"

  "Well," she said mysteriously, "first, one has to have an initiation."

  Nothing more seemed to be forthcoming.

  "I've always wanted magic," he confessed.

  "It's bloody brilliant," she said. "I can see why. I always wanted magic too."

  "That's why I'm trying to get into the Academy," he told her. "To be a college [Mage]."

  She nodded. "Me too." The reminder that they were competing for the scarce slots seemed to reassert some of the distance between them, at least in his mind. If she felt it, she made no sign.

  "I'm going to heal our wounded from the Wall," she said instead. "The demand for healers is high, so Mom says that even if there aren't any slots left, for someone who already knows magic, maybe they'll find an extra something for me. They're really starving for healers."

  "The Wall," he mused. Mankind had brought the monsters of the wilderness to a deadlock without ever truly repulsing them. A constant battle for hundreds of years.

  "It always sounded so grand when I was younger," he said. "The Wall."

  "You're not exactly an old man," she pointed out.

  "I know." He picked up an acorn, turning it around in his fingers. It was last season's and a little soft. He pried off the cap and sent it spinning away to the side. "I just . . . there's someone that I trust," he said, "who tells me . . . ."

  "You don't have to tell me if you don't trust me," she said.

  "That's not it, I was just trying to find the words. When I was really young, I wanted to be a wizard and throw fireballs at people. Monsters, maybe. Now, I just want to make pretty buildings and live in a nice house, and get paid a lot of money. Someone I trust told me that's what adults wish they had focused on—building something that lasts, and a life they enjoy. But I still wonder if I would have wanted to clear the Wall one day."

  "That's probably a boy thing," she said dismissively. "I don't feel bad about wanting to get paid lots of money."

  As they turned onto the Best property, Dalliance threw the acorn, which landed spike-down in the soft mud.

  "That's a nice gesture," she said. She went over and poked it fully under the earth. There was a pulse of magic that felt warm and alive, and suddenly a six-inch sapling was pushing up out of the hole.

  "This is a nice place for a tree. I think it will help the windbreak a little bit. And, you know, my grandma always said it's good to take the time to plant trees and flowers. As we live, we're going to use up wood, so we should put more wood back into the world as we go, to kind of make up for it. You wouldn't want the world to run out of wood."

  "I wouldn't want that," he agreed.

  They approached the schoolhouse.

  "It's been strangely nice getting to know you."

  She looked him up and down. "I like you," she said. "But I think I'm too tall for you, so I shan’t dance with ribbons in my hair on your account."

  And with that deeply confusing statement, she lightly pattered up the steps and into the schoolhouse, leaving a thoroughly disoriented Dalliance in her wake.