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I turn, surprised at all the sudden attention. A girl is coming up the ramp behind me, dark brown hair cut shorter than most women at the Mortis, with thick bangs across her brow, sharp features, warm olive skin, and quick dark eyes that are both kind and mischievous. She’s shorter than me, slim, and she walks with an ornately carved wooden cane in her right hand, dark and well-worn, her pace quick and uneven. I’d noticed her in all my classes, usually with the smiling boy that resembles her.

“You have?” I say.

“Of course. A new second-year who skipped the practicals? You’re the most interesting thing that’s happened since Kelwyck set his own sleeve on fire in Hetch’s class last term.” She catches up to me, the cane striking stone in a rhythmic manner. “I’m Avelene. Avelene Hallward.”

“Nice to meet you, Avelene,” I say, already taking a liking to her.

She adjusts her grip on the cane and falls into step beside me. “You’re from the Brackens. Which island?”

“Fernhollow.”

Her eyes brighten. “I should have been able to tell from the accent. I’m from Elmshade myself. We’re practically neighbors.”

A fellow islander? No wonder she’s treating me more like an equal.

“Small world,” I comment.

“Small islands, anyway.” She glances at me sideways. “I saw you last night in Bone Work. It’s not easy to impress Professor Vale, but I think you might have.”

Something tightens in my chest at his name. “The professor with the perfect hair?”

Avelene’s grin spreads. “So you noticed.” She has one snaggletooth that makes her look extra charming. “At the very least, he didn’t make you cry or question your life choices, so there’s that. My brother thinks he’s the best professor at the Mortis. I think he’s the best professor who’s also slightly unhinged.”

“Who is your brother?”

“Ambrose. Looks like me, but smiles too much, very white teeth. Too nice for his own good. We’re twins. He’s been in all your classes.” She waves a hand vaguely. “He’ll introduce himself eventually.”

We’ve reached the fourth floor. Avelene pauses at a junction in the corridor and taps her cane against the stone once.

“I’m in room fourteen, just around there,” she says. “Door doesn’t latch properly, so it’s always open. Come by if you want. I usually have chocolate biscuits.”

Then as quickly as she appeared, she turns and heads down her corridor, her cane tapping a steady rhythm that fades as she goes.

I stand there for a moment and try to hide the smile on my face before I head to my room. The fire has been tended again, the coals still warm, the moth in the corner fluttering its wings in greeting.

I pass through the wards and sit on the bed, pulling Morena’s skull from beneath it, unwrapping the linen with utmost care.

“I think I might have made a friend,” I tell her. “She even invited me to her room. She has chocolate biscuits.”

Morena doesn’t answer, of course, but I still think she hears me.

I wrap her back up and slide her under the bed and sit for a while in the quiet of my room, which is warm and small and mine.

Outside the window, the late afternoon light has a strange quality to it. The grey is different somehow, warmer, tinged at the edges, as if someone has held a copper penny between the sun and the sky. It could be nothing. It could be the angle of the season, or the fog catching the last of the light.

I watch it for a moment, then I let it go.

I have a letter to write to my mother, and a chapter on structural memory to read before Wednesday, and a whole new life to adjust to.

The sunset deepens, and the color grows redder.

The Bleeding is happening much earlier than it should.

Chapter

Five

SATURNA