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I sit down on the end of the bed, careful of Veronelle’s foot, and take a sip. The wine is better than anything I’ve drunk at home, and it settles into me with a slow heat that catches me behind the ribs and loosens something. Like my shoulders have been up by my ears for ages and they’ve finally lowered.

“So,” Avelene says, finally turning her head toward me. “Welcome, welcome. We’ve been dying to get you in here.”

“Dying is a strong word,” Veronelle says.

“I’ve been dying. The others have been passively curious.”

“That’s accurate,” Ambrose confirms.

I look down into the mug. “Well, thanks. I appreciate the invitation.”

“Don’t worry about it. I think we all remember what it was like on our first day here,” Avelene says. “I was lucky I had Ambrose but even so, it took a while to get to know everyone.”

The conversation in the room turns to their first impressions of the school. Avelene talks about how she took a wrong turn and ended up in the teacher’s lounge where she found Professor Wellspring having a nap with a book over her face, Ambrose says he spilled his entire supper while walking his plate over to the table and one of the seniors slipped in it and he was convinced he put a curse on him for the first few weeks. Veronelle doesn’t say much other than she found the school to be drafty and cold, and Harken gives a dry laugh when he tells me that his father put him on the mainland train bound for Sogliano port and he never saw him again. From the way everyone else takes in that information, I have a feeling it’s something Harken has brought up before.

I also notice that when Veronelle speaks, Ambrose stiffens slightly, as if listening harder, though he doesn’t look at her. And when he speaks, her eyes drift down to her fingernails where she starts to fuss with her cuticles. Interesting.

Ambrose rolls to his side and squints at me across the floor.

“So, how did you know you wanted to be a necromancer?” he asks.

“Oh,” I say, trying to find the right way to tell the truth. I take a sip of wine while I prepare my speech. “Well, it was a bunch of things really.”

“Such as?” Veronelle asks.

I wanted to bring my father and sister back.

“I wanted to make a difference in the world and figured this was the best way.”

Nobody says anything. I can tell they don’t believe me.

“That’s commendable,” Ambrose eventually says.

I catch Avelene’s eye and she gives me a look that says, you can tell us the truth, you’re safe with us. At least, that’s the energy I’m picking up on.

I go with a half-truth instead. “And also, my father and sister died in the plague. I’ve been trying to understand death ever since. I thought maybe this would help me…deal with it.”

“I’m sorry,” Veronelle says quietly.

I shrug awkwardly. “Don’t be. I’m sure I’m not the only one who lost someone.”

Everyone exchanges glances, murmuring. I learn that Veronelle lost her best friend, the twins lost their cousins, aunt, and uncle—one whole family wiped out—and Harken lost his grandparents.

“But you didn’t have any interest in necromancy until the plague?” Ambrose asks. “How old are you?”

The room gets a beat quieter.

I take another sip. “Twenty-seven.”

“I knew it,” Avelene says. “Not that you look old or older or anything, just…I don’t know, I can tell you’ve lived through more stuff.”

You can say that again, my heart panging at the thought of my mother alone at the cottage. For a moment the guilt presses in on me, the way it does when I’ve gone a period of time without thinking about her.

“Twenty-seven,” Veronelle muses. “That might explain why you got put in second-year without any practical tests.”

“That probably does explain it,” I tell her, politely but firmly because I’m getting a little annoyed that she keeps bringing it up.

“Well,” Avelene says quickly, flashing me a smile that matches her brother’s. “Then you’re the oldest of us, which means when the Mortis finally does something horrible to one of us, you’re in charge of the funeral.”