"You are a strange individual."

  Cal did not let that comment dissuade him, gripping his shovel with firm intent.

  "Let me have this," he said, hushing the man as he perched his boot on the back of the blade. He pressed down, letting it sink into the pile. The smell of grass and earth intensified as he rotated the wooden shaft.

  The shit had been stirred.

  "Alright, I'm done," Cal offered, pulling the shovel free and stepping away from the manure. "What do I do with this?"

  He held the shovel out, waving it in Romero's direction.

  "Leave it be," the core dealer said, waving to the side of the iron cage they were in. "One of the stable's keepers will collect it."

  Cal lined it up against the bars and then exited the pen. He took a moment to glance around, inspecting the grounds. The cage he left was one of many, forming a ring around a courtyard where students milled about. Some tended beasts; others scurried to and fro, busy with errands unknown.

  A breeze carried in from the open gap where an enclosed building would have had a full wall. It allowed easy access to the pastures, and there was constant movement through it as beasts were led around.

  It was the same place he'd officially met Romero last week, and the only difference he noticed was the uptick in activity. Spying the young faces of those present, Cal concluded it was due to the influx of the junior class letting out for the day.

  "So do you guys not clean the pens?" Cal asked, referencing the man's previous comment.

  Romero motioned him to follow, and they fell into step together, slowly traversing the club area.

  "That depends," he explained, the words slipping off his tongue with practiced ease. "Certain breeds require extra attention, and examining their excrement reveals more than you'd think. The task itself is." His face tightened, becoming slightly uncomfortable. "Undesirable. Most believe it is below their station and relegate it to servants."

  Cal felt silly for asking now. If cooking wasn't good enough for them, how could shoveling shit be?

  They didn't get far before a student came flying out of a cage, cutting off Cal's next question.

  The boy was young, baby fat still present in a face colored by shock. A dimming blue shine coated him, indicating the activation of a shield badge.

  Cal tracked the boy's flight, judging his speed and trajectory. Any thought of intervention was halted when an older student leaped into the boy's path, catching him with a grunt of exertion.

  With the immediate danger gone, Cal searched for the culprit. The swinging cage door and retreating students made it fairly easy. What was beyond those warded bars gave him pause. It wasn't out of caution or any perceived threat, but because he was staring at a bed of feathers.

  It rose to his mid?chest and was wider than his arm span. If he focused his vision, he could just make out the mound's rhythmic rise and fall—a sign of breathing.

  Romero moved, his pace steady and expression cool. He waved off several other students, those who Cal realized weren't fleeing but forming a perimeter. It was a level of organization he hadn't expected.

  Cal trailed in his guide's wake, feeling more out of place than usual. He looked over his shoulder, seeing a group fuss over the kid while others returned to their work.

  Steadying the door as he entered the cage, Cal heard Romero mutter a swear. The core dealer reached down, picking up a fallen brush. His fingers picked at the bristles, a deep frown settling over him.

  "This is wrong," Romero lamented in a hushed voice, tossing the brush out of the pen. "The fibers are too hard. It would have stripped oils and plucked feathers. Sorry about that, girl."

  He patted the creature's side, eliciting nothing but a twitch. It was incredibly docile for having recently attacked a student.

  "Are you going to share that with the rest of the class?" Cal asked, gesturing to the kid. "Seems to be a pretty big mistake."

  Cal would argue the greater mistake was letting the kid tend the beast alone, but baby steps.

  "I will not," Romero said briskly.

  Rather than expound on that, Romero busied himself by combing through the creature's plumage, delicately pushing against feathers.

  "Can I ask why?" He could and did. "Because next time, there might not be someone around to catch him."

  If the question offended him, Romero hid it well, responding in that same soft cadence.

  "The mishandling of beasts pains me, but I can't correct every error I see. Corrections, however well-mannered, incur a cost," he said, delivering the last word with a tilt to his voice. "There are those watching who would see it as arrogance—an overstep on my part. It may be because they disagree with my assessment, or they find my constant opinions irritating to their ears."

  That line of thinking meshed annoyingly well with noble etiquette. Was it too much to hope that they'd use some common sense when dealing with deadly predators? Maybe they'd change their minds after enough accidents.

  Although… their reactions were telling. It wasn't just their in-the-moment actions either, but how they handled themselves after.

  "That aside, there really is no need to concern yourself over it," Romero said, a faint look of amusement on him. His head nodded toward one of the stairways leading to the second-floor terraces.

  A man came down, his steps louder than they should be. He marched up to the younger student, who went from being coddled by their companions to being marched away. If there were fewer people around, Cal was certain he would have been led by his ear.

  "They are loosely related, but their houses are on good terms," Romero said, waving a finger forward to stop Cal from staring at the procession. "I knew their elder was watching, and if he wasn't, I would have slipped him a word later. Things are not always so simple, but we've curated our membership to create a… harmonious environment."

  That was tactful. It was the sort of approach Alice might have appreciated.

  Cal could have said more about Romero's roundabout reply, but he sensed an opportunity he was loath to miss.

  "I guess that's better than grabbing anyone with a pulse," Cal said, pulling on the frustration he felt when having to avoid those hunter patrols. "That's what drove me to my current club. Joining was a pretty informal process, but the worst we'd have to deal with is touching a hot stove. I can see why you guys would need to be more choosy."

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  Cal left it open, hoping Romero wouldn't miss a chance to boast about the criteria needed for membership. He was destined for disappointment.

  "There, there, Brighteye," the man almost murmured. "Let me see the rest of you."

  The name triggered a reaction, and the living bed of feathers shifted. Like a rope being pulled, it uncoiled, revealing a neck that didn't end. A pair of stark white pupils stared at him, matched in color only by its plumage. Hard ridges curved over its eyes, continuing all the way to its flared nostrils. A forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air.

  "We are selective," Romero said while smoothing out feathers on the creature's chin. "But as you saw, that offers no guarantees on experience or knowledge. Especially when dealing with an aberration like Brighteye."

  The beast's attention shifted to the boy who called its name, as if waiting for something.

  "Hold," he instructed in a firmer voice. He ducked under the beast's head to check over her other side. "Aberrations are what we call beasts from stable lines who develop against our expectations. We usually rear them for research purposes, as reducing their occurrence is paramount to our field of study. However, Brighteye's appearance is problematic."

  From its midsection, a pair of wings unfurled, flapping lightly.

  Cal could see why a red-blooded Empire scion would take issue with what was, in essence, a flying serpent—a snake was a snake.

  "You don't seem to have an issue with it," Cal pointed out. "And you can't be the only one if no one is calling for her head after that."

  Romero smiled, but it wasn't directed at Cal. Brighteye mimicked the action, displaying two rows of curved fangs.

  "I've been told my tolerance for beasts is greater than for man," Romero said, clearly distracted by surveying the beast's teeth. "Most here share similar sentiments, but it's an economics issue. We need funds to further our rearing capabilities, and selling beasts is our most profitable endeavor."

  His voice took on a note of dissatisfaction toward the end, betraying his thoughts on the issue.

  "Did you get many new signups?" Cal asked, hoping he didn't sound too eager. "That would have given you a healthier budget to work with."

  Cal had their roster for this year, but unlike other reports, it didn't extend to years prior.

  "We welcomed a few," Romero answered after a brief moment. "The majority are legacies, like the junior class student from before. Some years we welcome transfers from other clubs, but that's been put on hold. We wouldn't want to ruffle any feathers during a purge year."

  It was phrased like a joke, and Cal offered a polite laugh, his mind elsewhere. He already knew there was underhandedness afoot, but their club's close-knit approach implied it wouldn't end at just one or two bad apples.

  "Have you given any further thought to what type of beast would suit your needs?" Romero questioned, still facing the beast. "I believe there was a debate over whether an aquatic or a flier would be your preference?"

  Alice had suggested the former, while Sebby the latter. Cal was glad their prince didn't tag along today. This place was not kid-safe.

  "I was wondering about upkeep," Cal said, lying as smoothly as he could. "You mentioned something about modified cores last time? That sounds expensive."

  Romero fished in his blazer, producing a milky marble in his palm. Brighteye focused on it, snout inching closer.

  "Modified cores are more relevant for earlier phases in life," Romero said, tossing the core to the beast, who snapped it up greedily. "There are growth plans that call for them. They help prevent mutations in less stable breeds but can also be used to increase certain attributes in beasts. We've had success increasing hide thickness, bone density, and, of course, reserves of magic."

  That was far more developed than Cal had predicted.

  "Can I see one?" he asked, his curiosity both genuine and professional. "I'm in magical engineering, so I have an interest in them as power sources."

  Romero shook his head, an apologetic look on his face.

  "I'm afraid that was the last I had on me," Romero said, patting his jacket's pockets. "There's a shortage at the moment. It's causing us a number of headaches."

  That couldn't be a coincidence.

  Cal eyed the creature's throat, wondering if it was too late to recover the core. Brighteye copied him, and he got the sense it was considering what he tasted like.

  An intriguing proposition was formed.

  "A shortage?" Cal parroted, a sly smile sliding onto his face. "What if I could help with that?"

  He had the stash he'd collected on his way back from the Waste. Some had been used in class, but others sat waiting for a purpose.

  Romero's eyes sharpened, evaluating Cal in a new light. He backed up to where the bars were and placed his hand on them. Wards lit up, and Cal knew enough to know a sound barrier had been formed. He could see that other students noticed the change, but their attention didn't linger. They simply acknowledged it and then looked elsewhere.

  "It's not customary for students to have access to cores," he said, a hint of suspicion in his voice. "Where did you come across them?"

  The truth was less believable than the fiction he could weave.

  "It pays to know royals," Cal said vaguely, letting the implication fester for a moment. "Though I can't exactly give them away for free."

  At that, Romero's scrutinizing gaze softened. Asking for something in return transformed the deal from 'too good to be true' to 'sound business.'

  He didn't love the idea of advertising his relationship with Sebby and the others, but Romero had seen him with the Third Prince already.

  "What type of quantity and quality can you produce?" he asked in a hard voice.

  Quality was all over the place. The cores he'd taken from beasts closer to the center of the Waste stored far more than the ones he'd retrieved from the outskirts. Quantity, however, he had an answer for.

  "I can get you ten for the first batch," Cal said, keeping his total count a mystery. "You'll have to test them yourselves. I'd want a few modified in return for experimentation purposes and the remaining payment in… do you know what club I'm in?"

  Cal was hesitant with his second request, being unsure of how Romero would take it. That didn't change its necessity.

  "Cooking club, was it?" Romero answered, his tone uncertain.

  Despite the name being incorrect, he nodded. It was a common mistake.

  "We do raise beasts for consumption, but it's with feeding other beasts in mind," he said, not sounding too disturbed by the idea. "I can't say whether they would make a fitting meal on a noble's table."

  They didn't have to.

  "My experimentation isn't limited to cores," Cal said, projecting confidence. He'd cooked some creative cuts of meat in his time. "So? Is it doable?"

  Romero fell into thought, his gaze straying out to the rest of the courtyard. He turned back to Cal, his brow creased.

  "Can I presume this would be a trade between our clubs?"

  That would defeat the purpose of this play.

  "I'd prefer to keep it off book." Cal smiled, intentionally doing a bad job of feigning innocence. "It's easier on my side of things."

  Cal was advertising that he was dirty. He just hoped it wouldn't read as too obvious of a trap.

  While he waited for a reply, he reached forward, attempting to pet the creature. It hissed at him, lowering its head in challenge. Cal's left hand darted forward in a feint, and while the creature snapped at the distraction, his other hand tapped its side. He fell back before it could retaliate.

  Top snake status has been achieved.

  "With connections as deep as yours," Romero said, conflict marring his face. "Why would you treat with us?"

  A valid question, and one Cal had already thought of.

  "It's not worth bothering them over," Cal replied, knowing the conclusions Romero might draw.

  People who said that type of thing generally didn't want the group in question to know what they were up to. And if he was doing this behind the royal's back, then the 'what' mattered less than the action itself. It offered leverage and a degree of authenticity to Romero.

  "And the cores themselves?"

  Greed really was a useful trait.

  "I have a man in the city that can get them to you."

  Lennard should be free. Unless he was busy with Miss Justiciar, but then he could just get the captain or Cassey to do the drop.

  From the way his jaw turned rigid, Cal could tell his answer didn't please Romero.

  "They're not on campus?" he asked tersely.

  Cal raised an eyebrow, conveying his mock confusion.

  "No, is that a problem?"

  Romero stuck his hand in his pocket, retrieving his phone. He tapped on it for a few minutes before responding.

  "It's an inconvenience," he said in a neutral tone. "We'd have to factor that into your remuneration."

  Cal felt like he was about to be cheated. That would be fine, if not for the suspicion it would draw.

  "Fair enough, but if I feel I'm being shorted, there's no second batch."

  It was a naive move on his part. The type of person conducting business on their own for the first time might make.

  A greedy bastard—that's all he had to be.

  "I'll have to ponder this," Romero said, not committing to anything. "There are other factors I must consider."

  And Cal would love to hear all about them.

  "For now, why not return to the matter at hand? Since you were considering an aerial beast, would you consider taking Brighteye up today? She needs her exercise, and it would further inform your decision. Flying is not for everyone."

  Cal had never had the reins, only ever flying as a passenger. He couldn't deny being a little curious about it, and while he had no need to be ferried around atop a beast… when in Rome.

  Brighteye flapped its wings, kicking up a minor gust. It was enough to slap him in the face with straw and dirt, or what he hoped was dirt. He wiped it, staring at the creature with narrowed eyes.

  It matched him, and before the day was done, he'd resolved to look up recipes involving snakes.