Talia was a mixed-blood, like Raisa—her mother was clan and her father was Valeborn—a member of the Queen’s Guard. She always rose early to read the Temple Book before class. Either that or one of her moonspinner romances that would put a blush on a fancy’s face.

Talia was a person of diverse interests.

“You two ready?” Hallie called from the door. “If we don’t hurry, all the sausage will be gone again.”

At least Hallie and Talia had quit calling her “Lady Rebecca” after they’d heard her swearing like a teamster when Switcher stepped on her foot.

The three of them barreled down the stairs, nearly toppling Mick, who was hopping around the common room, trying to darn his socks while wearing them.

“Bad idea,” Raisa called as she shouldered open the door.

“That fool’s just hoping somebody will offer to do it for him if he looks pitiful enough,” Hallie said. “He’s going to have holes in his socks for a good long time.”

Snickering, they crossed the dark, soggy quad to the dining hall, where sleepy cadets were already lining up for breakfast.

At least I don’t have to do my own cooking, Raisa thought as she plopped a dollop of porridge into her bowl, adding molasses and milk and, yes, two sausages. One advantage to drilling at the break of dawn—there was still meat left.

She carried her tray to the long table, sat down, and began shoveling in the porridge. It was a bad way to start the day, but she refused to leave any of it behind when the bells rang for first session.

This term she was enrolled in a History of Warfare in the Seven Realms lecture and recitation; a finance class full of clarks with ink-stained fingers; courses on military strategy and weaponry; and an intensive on the Ardenine language. Plus, she had been assigned to drill daily with the first-year cadets. That was right after breakfast.

“So, Rebecca,” Talia said, squeezing in next to Raisa. “Do you like any of these, then?” She pointed her spoon toward the cadets at the next table. “What about that one on the end? With the red hair. Barrett. I hear he’s a lively one.”

Barrett was in her History of Warfare class. Raisa surveyed him appraisingly, chewed, and swallowed. “Not my type,” she said, shaking her head.

“How about Sanborn, then,” Talia said, pointing at a well-built boy with straight black hair and skin that was close to Raisa’s own bronze color. “He’s from the down-realms—We’enhaven, I think. They say they’re calm and steady.”

Raisa yawned hugely. “I don’t know how you have the energy for romance.”

“You’re too bloody picky,” Talia said. “It’s not like you have to marry them.”

“Leave her alone, Talia,” Hallie said. “Maybe there’s someone back home she’s pining for. Some young lord or a rich merchant. She comes from quality, you know. She may be aiming higher than Barrett or Sanborn.”

“That doesn’t mean she can’t have a sweetheart at school,” Talia persisted.