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envelopes and came back three weeks later. The loser had broken a leg.”
    Camille leaned in towards me to emphasize her point.
    “Broken. Leg.”
    “I’m sure that’s a rare exception,” I said with false bravado, my voice breezy. “I won’t break my leg.”
    Camille huffed.
    “Or not an exception at all. What do you think Leda? Does she have a chance?”
    A change in Camille’s tone caught my attention, but I didn’t have time to analyze it before Leda spoke up, restored to her normal, moody self.
    “I think it could go either way.”
    “What do you mean?” I asked. Leda didn’t seem like the sort to give an idle opinion and I needed all the information I could get.
    “We have to go, Camille,” she said instead, opening the door a crack and peering into the hallway. “Miss Celia is on her way up. If she catches us, we’ll get kitchen duty again. I just found a new book on the formation of the Council during the early days of the Networks. I don’t feel like washing dishes.”
    With that delightful book waiting, who would want to wash dishes? I almost quipped, but had a hunch that Leda would take me at my word.
    Camille stood and straightened out her skirt.
    “Look, Bianca, I think you’re a bit mad,” she said, with more warmth in her tone than I would have expected. “But you’re also new. I know how that feels. We’ll come by for you in the morning and show you to class.”
    “Thanks,” I managed my first smile, a little humbled by her quick friendship. I didn’t blame her opinion. I felt a bit mad myself most days. “I’d appreciate that.”
    After they left, I stared at the envelope in my hand and saw it tremble.
    •••
     
Dearest Bianca,
The Competition you entered is no ordinary game. As a Competitor, you cannot afford to be anything as boring as ordinary.
This year, there are six Competitors, meaning there are three matches in the first round. The three winners will advance to the second round from which only two may go on. These two winners will compete in the final match. The result decides my next pupil and Assistant.
The first round will begin in three days, as the moon rises. Because of the delightfully diverse selection of participants this year, I have decided that the whole school will be able to attend to watch you compete. Won’t it be wonderful?
Bring a cloak, nothing else. Oh, and keep this in mind: a winner is by no means a winner, who does not win it all.
Good luck, my darling.
Miss Mabel

A Reliable Weakness
    T he next morning dawned bright but cold.
    Frost coated the windowpanes with spirals of ice. Outside, the grass had become a field of thousands of little white spears. I sat on top of my desk and stared out, my forehead pressed against the cold window frame. My eyes burned from lack of sleep. The candle had sunk to the holder in a pool of wax before the sun rose. Beneath it rested the letter from Miss Mabel.
    I stared past the frozen world, as if by looking I would see through the miles that separated me from my mother and grandmother. A low ache radiated from my chest, making my throat thick. I wanted to tell them about my first day, about Camille and Leda, and the frightening experience of volunteering for the Competition.
    Later, I resolved, straightening my shoulders and banishing the morose thoughts. Don’t think about it. No time for pity.
    The sound of a couple pairs of feet approaching my door brought me out of the reverie, and I slid off the desk just as Camille tapped on my door and called through it.
    “Bianca, are you awake?”
    “Yes,” I said. “Come in.”
    Both Leda and Camille stepped inside. An old ratted bag with fraying seams sat on Leda’s shoulder, strained by the books bulging inside. She took one look at me and lifted her eyebrow.
    “Did you even go to sleep?”
    It was her first display of any emotion outside the range of annoyance and obligation. I was so surprised I didn’t know how to respond.
    “Rough night?” Camille asked,