Keeping a secret from Tomas proved difficult. Not because he was suspicious by nature, but because Clara was terrible at it.
On Monday, while we were discussing barrier placement, she asked whether he preferred chocolate or fruit cake.
He looked up from his notes. "Why?"
"I'm hungry."
"Then eat something."
"I was asking you."
"Chocolate, probably."
"Probably?"
Tomas turned toward me. I continued reading. There were moments when friendship required courage, and others when it required refusing eye contact. This was firmly the second sort.
Clara leaned over his notes as though the question had been entirely ordinary. "What happens if something hits here instead?"
He began explaining. She nodded seriously, but under the table her shoe nudged mine. I assumed that meant I was supposed to remember chocolate. Given the circumstances, it seemed unlikely I would forget.
By Tuesday, our plan had acquired three complications. Clara wanted a proper cake. I had no idea what constituted a proper cake beyond being edible and larger than a biscuit. Neither of us wanted Tomas to feel as though we had assembled a charitable committee.
We discussed this in the library while he attended an additional session with his barrier instructor. Clara had borrowed a piece of paper and was making a list considerably neater than mine.
"He'll hate it if there's a crowd," she said.
"Agreed."
"And no announcements in the dining hall."
"I wasn't planning a procession."
She ignored that. "Just us. Milo too, if he wants."
"That sounds manageable."
Her pencil stopped over the paper. "What about the book?"
I had written the title down after our visit. We both remembered it correctly, which pleased me more than it should have.
"We should check whether someone else has bought it."
"And the price."
"We know the price."
"Yes, but you look like you're about to say it doesn't matter."
I closed my mouth. Clara pointed at me with the pencil, satisfied.
"We're sharing it," she said. "And we're not buying half the shop."
I agreed. I had no intention of turning his birthday into an inventory problem.
The book was still on its shelf when we returned. The woman behind the counter watched us carry it over, then glanced toward the door.
"For your friend?"
Clara stopped. "How did you know?"
"He looks at it every time he comes in."
That settled several things for me. We split the cost, Clara counting out her coins carefully and putting them down before I could offer more. The bookseller wrapped the volume in brown paper and tied it with string.
"Tell him I expect a report."
"On whether it's useful?" I asked.
"On whether he's stopped arguing with chapter four."
Clara laughed. We left carrying something that felt more personal than it had on the shelf.
Outside, she tucked the parcel beneath her arm. "What are you getting him?"
"That."
"That's from both of us."
"Yes."
She hesitated, then nodded. "Good. I wasn't sure whether you were going to buy something ridiculous as well."
"I considered a small castle."
"Dare."
"Poor location. Damp foundations."
She bumped my shoulder with hers. "You know what I mean."
I did. For once, I also knew when to stop.
Milo joined the conspiracy that evening. He listened while Clara explained the cake, the gathering, and the need to keep Tomas occupied until everything was ready. Then he asked where we intended to put it all.
Clara and I looked around my room.
Milo nodded as though we had answered. "I'll borrow a larger tray."
"I can help," Clara offered. At his surprised look, she added, "With carrying. Not the baking. Nobody should let me near that."
I looked up. "An interesting confession."
"My mother still mentions the biscuits."
"What happened?"
"They burned."
"That seems manageable."
"The cloth caught fire too."
Milo stared at her. Clara folded her arms and looked between us.
"It was a small fire."
"How small?" I asked.
"I'm not telling this story anymore."
She did, eventually. It involved a hot pan, a cloth left too close to the stove, and an older brother who apparently found the whole thing much funnier than necessary. By the time she finished, Milo was laughing quietly into his sleeve. Clara threatened to tell Tomas something embarrassing about all of us if the story escaped the room.
We agreed to her terms.
Thursday arrived without fanfare. Tomas sat beside me in morning theory and lent me a pencil after mine disappeared. Clara wished him a happy birthday at breakfast, which seemed to surprise him despite her suspicious questions.
"Thank you," he said.
She pushed the jam toward him. "That's all you're getting."
"Good. I was worried about the interrogation."
I concentrated on my breakfast. Clara kicked my foot beneath the table when she noticed my expression.
Later, during our free period, Tomas received a letter. He recognized the handwriting before opening it and sat at the edge of the practice yard while I checked a weapon configuration. When I looked over again, he was smiling at the last page.
"Home?" I asked.
He nodded, folding it carefully. "My little sister says I'm old now."
"She's correct."
"She also wants to know whether I've met any princesses."
"Tell her dozens. Makes the letters more interesting."
He laughed. I dismissed the carbine and sat beside him, leaving enough space that he could put the letter away without feeling observed.
After a while, he said, "I thought I'd miss it more."
"Being home?"
He nodded. "I do. Just not all the time."
Students crossed the yard in small groups, some hurrying toward their next lesson, others making the most of the break. I watched them for a moment before answering.
"I don't think you're supposed to be miserable every time you leave somewhere you like."
"I know." He glanced at me. "It just feels strange."
That I understood better than I could comfortably explain. We stayed there until the bell, talking about his sister and her apparently unreasonable expectations.
Getting Tomas to my room should have been easy. Instead, he decided he needed to return a library book.
I accompanied him through two corridors, down a staircase, and into a queue behind a student arguing about a damaged cover. My faith in a small celebration began to suffer.
"Are you in a hurry?" Tomas asked.
"No."
"You keep looking at the clock."
"A personal interest."
His eyes narrowed. Thankfully, the librarian called him forward before he could investigate further. By the time we reached my corridor, Clara was waiting outside my door with the expression of someone considering whether to send out a search party.
"Where have you been?"
"The library," Tomas said.
"Oh." Her eyes moved to me. I gave her the smallest possible shrug.
From inside came the scrape of a chair. Tomas looked at the door, then at Clara.
"You've done something."
She grinned. "Maybe."
Milo opened the door before anybody could make it worse.
The room had been tidied. A chocolate cake sat in the middle of the desk with four plates, cups, and a knife. The wrapped book rested beside it. There was no crowd and no shouting, just three of us watching Tomas stop in the doorway.
Clara suddenly looked nervous. "It's only small."
His gaze moved from the cake to the parcel. "You didn't have to."
"I know. Come in anyway."
He did. Milo closed the door and wished him a happy birthday. Tomas thanked him, then turned back toward us, looking as though he had forgotten what to do with his hands.
I passed him the parcel. "From Clara and me."
"You can open it," she added.
"I know how presents work."
"Then stop looking at it."
His smile returned. He pulled the paper apart carefully, preserving most of the wrapping. When the title appeared, he went still, then ran his thumb along the edge of the cover.
"I went back for it yesterday."
My stomach dropped.
Then he smiled. "She told me it had sold."
Clara made a triumphant sound. "Oh, good. I thought for a second—"
"So did I," I admitted.
Tomas laughed, and the room relaxed around him.
Milo's gift was tucked beneath the wrapping paper: a narrow cloth bookmark, stitched along the edge with a small geometric pattern.
"It's supposed to be a barrier," he explained as Tomas examined it.
"I thought it was."
"You don't have to use it."
Tomas opened the book and placed it between the first two pages. "There."
Milo smiled down at the plates. Clara immediately insisted that the cake needed cutting before I found a way to delay it. Tomas took the knife, and his first slice was noticeably larger than the others.
Clara pointed. "Birthday privilege?"
"Yes."
He sounded very certain. She accepted that answer and claimed the next piece.
We ate with the book open between us. Tomas tried not to discuss it, but failed before we finished our first slices. Clara asked him to explain the overlapping sections again, and Milo leaned closer to see the diagram.
Soon Tomas was using crumbs to demonstrate how separate barriers could support one another. I moved my plate before advanced defensive theory consumed the remaining cake.
Clara noticed and slid hers away too. "Use Dare's."
"Why mine?"
"You wanted practical demonstrations."
Tomas grinned and arranged three crumbs beside my fork. For the next ten minutes, we learned considerably more about barriers than the academy had intended to teach us that afternoon. He stopped apologizing for talking. Clara kept asking questions, and Milo asked one that made Tomas turn back three pages to find the answer.
Later, with the plates empty, he closed the book around the new bookmark.
"Thank you," he said. There was no embarrassed shrug this time.
Clara smiled. "You can thank us by losing at the ring game next time."
"No."
"At least let me win the duck."
Tomas reached into his pocket and set the little wooden prize on my desk. "You'll have to earn it."
She leaned forward immediately. "What are the rules?"
I settled back while they argued about suitable obstacles. Milo rescued the cups, then stayed to watch. When Tomas asked me to judge the first attempt, Clara objected on the grounds that I had already demonstrated a complete misunderstanding of throwing games.
I told her that was a fair concern and took another piece of cake.