Twelve ducked into her dorm, relieved to see it was empty. She changed quickly into her warmest clothes: two layers of woolen leggings—waxed waterproof but soft on the inside—three pairs of socks squeezed into fur-lined boots, three thick tunics under her bearskin, her warmest fur hat, muffler, and gloves. Over everything, she buckled her knife belt and the two axes in their slings while Widge fought to drag a dusty canvas bag from under her bed. She shoved blankets and oilskins into it along with her copy of A Magical Bestiary. Without pausing for breath, she hurried back to the training ground and couldn’t contain a grin as she stepped out into the daylight again.

It was chaos. Students milled everywhere, climbing over the ogres, prodding the dead wolves. A couple of Hunters were trying to round them up, but it was like herding bees. After so long locked in their rooms, the children were in no hurry to return.

Twelve jogged lightly to the kitchens and ducked inside, her eyes scanning the neat, long shelves of labeled jars and bottles. On her shoulder, Widge’s interest noticeably sharpened, his nose twitching hopefully. There were trays of yesterday’s bread beside the ovens and she grabbed two loaves along with some dried meat, a small bag of raisins, and three apples. She emptied a jar of nuts into her pocket for Widge, then added a box of matches and some candles to her pack. Trying not to attract the Hunters’ attention, she slipped out of the kitchen and hurried to the armory.

Inside, order had been restored. The shelves stood once again in neat rows, the weapons carefully organized and gleaming. Twelve pulled down one of the torches from inside the door and made her way past the swords, longbows, and axes, past even the rarely used flails and war hammers, until she reached the back of the building. Here, tucked away as if the Hunters hoped it would be forgotten, stood a large steel-mesh cage with a padlocked door.

Twelve’s axes made short work of the lock and she stepped inside, breathing as quietly as she could. Widge gave a frightened squeak and vanished into her bearskin. In front of her stood a single stack of four shelves and on each shelf, at perfectly spaced intervals, sat three plain wooden boxes no bigger than Twelve’s handspan.

Not allowing herself time for second thoughts, Twelve picked up the nearest box. With trembling fingers, she flicked the lid open. There was just time to make out three curled, glowing forms before a pair of eyes snapped open and Twelve slammed the lid closed again. Beneath her fingers, the wood grew warm, then cool again. With a sigh of relief, Twelve tucked it at the very bottom of her bag and hurried back to the training ground.