“Right. Of course, Instructor Hawk.” The words sound awkward together, and I can’t help but tease. “You sure you don’t want me to call you ‘master’?”

The look he gives me could make grass wither. “I’m not a guild master. Taurians never are.” He storms out of the room, nearly knocking Gwenna over onto the pile of bags in the cart. “Get some sleep. Lark can take care of herself.”

“When do we meet Magpie?” I call after him.

He ignores me and heads down the stairs. Rude. Perhaps we’ll see Magpie in the morning, then. A thrill of excitement races through me at the thought of meeting my childhood hero. Dreamily, I turn on my heel and set Squeaker’s carrying case down upon the floor…only to notice that Gwenna is glaring at me.

Hard.

“What was that all about?” Gwenna asks, her tone dangerously even.

“I persuaded Instructor Hawk that we both need to join the school to round out the numbers.” I release Squeaker from her carrier and she immediately waddles out with an indignant look, her orange fur spiked with rain. She begins to sniff things, settling in. “It’s all taken care of.”

“What did you convince him with, pray tell?”

“My winning personality?” When she continues to scowl, I can tell she’s not buying it. “He needs a wife—”

Gwenna’s screech echoes in the room. “What—?!”

I immediately race over to her side and clap a hand over her mouth, settling on the bed beside her. “Shh! I don’t want him to change his mind!”

“Are you insane?” she hisses. “You’re going to hook up with some stranger just because he needs a wife? Does he know who you are?”

“No, and neither of us is going to tell him!”

“Aspeth, he has hooves.”

“Well, I’m sure his other parts are reasonably normal. Don’t you think? But apparently there’s some rutting situation”—I ignore Gwenna’s horrified moan and continue on—“and he needs a bed companion. And I need a chaperone, so it works out quite nicely for both of us. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Your father—”

“Will be dead unless I get some artifacts. Me taking a Taurian to my bed is the least of my problems.”

“Well, no wonder you got him to agree,” she mutters. “Horny old goat.”

“I don’t think he’s that old. And he’s a Taurian. There’s no goat involved there, just bull.”

She points at me. “You are the worst and this is a terrible plan.”

“You won’t tell on me, will you?”

Gwenna sighs heavily. “No. No, I suppose I won’t. But if you call me ‘Chickadee’ again, all bets are off.”

My stomach is full of butterflies all night. I don’t sleep a wink, just stare up at the ceiling in the darkness while Gwenna snores in bed next to me, Squeaker sprawled atop my breasts in her usual sleeping spot. The cat is enormously heavy and presses on my lungs, but I don’t mind. It’s a comforting weight, having her there, and I pet her and try to compose my thoughts.

I’m marrying a stranger in the morning.

A stranger with hooves, as Gwenna pointed out. His face isn’t even remotely the same shape as mine. I suppose kissing is out…and then I wonder why I’m even thinking about kissing at all. I did enjoy kissing Barnabus, I think wistfully, but his kisses were a lie to get me to marry him. I’d rather take an honest man with no kisses than a liar with a sweet tongue.

Then again, I’d rather join the guild with no man, but I guess I can’t have everything.

Hours pass, and when the dawn begins to creep into the skies, I ease myself from bed and feed the cat her dried rations, then dress myself in the uniform I had made for this day. I’ve been on my guild plans for months now, and so I’ve made myself a fitted version of the very basic fledgling garb. Each fledgling wears brown trousers with multiple pockets, knee-high leather boots, and a plain white shirt under a guild jacket encrusted with rows of buttons. Over the tightly buttoned jacket, an individual guild sash is worn affixed over one shoulder and showcasing the particular guild artificer’s honors. Mine is plain at the moment, but I affix it anyhow. My boots are finely tooled leather with decorative sparrows dancing up the sides next to the buttons, and I have matching bracers that look very nice and keep my large, fashionably puffed sleeves out of the way. My blouse is plain white as is proper, but I’ve made sure that it’s crafted from the finest linen, and I’ve paired it with a functional overskirt in brown made out of a glossy shot silk that gleams in the light.

I look rather fetching, if I do say so myself. I feel well-armored against the disparaging comments that the men of the guild are likely to make this morning when I show up for apprenticing with the rest of Magpie’s crew. It’s outrageous that these men think women can’t hunt for artifacts as well as anyone else…as if gender has anything to do with it.

Putting on my spectacles, I peer at my appearance in the small mirror mounted on the wall, tuck a few stray strands of hair into a bun at my nape, and then pull my spectacles off again and hide them in one of the trunks. I can’t let anyone know about my vision issues until I’m official.

Swallowing hard, I take one last look at Gwenna, still in bed, and my sweet Squeaker, who’s hungrily eating the last few bites of her kibble. I kneel down to scratch Squeaker’s orange chin. She’ll be fine in the room by herself while we’re in our schooling, and Gwenna will make sure that she’s got more food and water and her toilet pads are changed out. “I have to go,” I whisper to Squeaker. “I’m off to marry a Taurian. Wish me luck.”

Squeaker just purrs and leans into my caress, oblivious to the chaos in my head. She’s happy as long as she’s got kibble and a nice comfy place to lay her head. It’s Gwenna I’m worried about—what if she changes her mind and spills the truth about who I really am? We’re friends, but I know she can also be stubborn when she thinks we’re doing something foolish.

Marrying a stranger? That has to be the height of foolishness in practical Gwenna’s eyes.

I head down the stairs, my stomach full of flutters. Someone’s opened the shutters and light floods into the dormitory. It’s a quaint place, with heavy wooden beams and equally heavy furniture placed in strategic sitting spots, but I suppose it makes sense given that a Taurian would break anything dainty. It’s cozy, though. There’s a shelf with books on it across from the fireplace, and a desk covered in papers on the route to what must be the kitchen area. There’s no one around, and I have a moment to squint at the large portrait of a strong-looking woman at the landing. She’s wearing a guild sash over one shoulder and pants. Her face is lit up with wonder and she holds a glittering box in her hands, extending them out toward the viewer. This must be Magpie.

A box? I wonder which of her many finds are contained in the box. I lean in closer, trying to focus my eyes. Perhaps this isn’t Magpie after all? The sash she wears is the red of a guild master, though. How very confusing. I practically press my nose to the painting, trying to get the object in focus.

“What are you wearing?”

The harsh voice echoes in the quiet dormitory halls and I wince, turning around at the top of the landing.

It’s the Taurian, standing at the base of the stairs. He’s dressed in a guild uniform similar to mine, but his shoulder is covered with the bright blue of his guild sash and something gleaming that I can’t make out. But the large russet head is most certainly his, as is the wide breadth of shoulders in the white linen shirt. He’s not wearing a guild jacket, and looks so casual I don’t know what to make of it. I decide to ignore his state of undress and smile instead. “Oh, good morning, Instructor Hawk. I was admiring the painting.” I gesture at it behind me. “I don’t suppose you know—”