"And so," Mister Best began, his voice cutting through the morning's quiet tension, his gaze sweeping over the five of them. "What did we learn from last time?"
The question hung in the air for an instant before Sterling answered, his voice heavy with self-disgust. "To scout."
A vindicated smile spread across Mister Best's face. "Precisely. And to that end, you may have the entirety of the morning for that very purpose, until we must leave for the Games. Prepare your routes. Study your maps. Unless, of course, any of you have other questions?" He leaned back against his desk, making a show of being available. "I shall remain here."
He let the silence stretch for a moment before continuing, his tone shifting from pedagogical to something more somber. "There is, however, an item of good news for those of you interested. Young Civility Matters has been found."
A collective gasp went through the room.
"He was discovered wandering the woods, in a state of confusion and fever," Mister Best explained. "For those of you who held out hope for your friend all this time, your faith has been rewarded."
As he spoke, his eyes settled directly on their group, a long, meaningful look that passed from Dalliance to Charity, then Effluvia, Circe, and Earnest.
Morality's quill paused mid-stroke. Her sharp gaze flicked from her father to the group, looking suddenly smug.
"It is always a joy," Mister Best continued, his voice softening, "to see that greatest, final voyage put off for a little longer, especially for one so young. Unfortunately, young Master Matters is in no fit state for today's hunt. As I am within my rights to do so, I have provided his parents with the necessary documentation for a merited pass. He will, however, be required to complete an additional hunt of his own at a later date. Without the experience so earned, he would be unlikely to attain his next Tier by semester's end."
A thought surfaced in Dalliance's mind: He wondered if the experience gained from the cultists might be enough to let him afford to miss a hunt. He’d probably tier up on time anyway, and it’d be so much safer to skive off than fight were-badgers or minotaurs or whatever else the Empire planned to throw at him.
Worth considering.
Though that begged the question: how badly would he have to be hurt to get out of the Hunt? Circe had simply mended his ankle, and Mister Best had remarked upon the poor timing, and that was that. He’d be going. Of course, he could walk; it wasn’t like there was a good reason not to.
It was one more uncertainty on top of the churning feeling in his gut he already carried—he’d sent out his sister like a message in a bottle, cast out into the world. He’d have no way to know if she’d made it safely, or if any of it had worked, until the long day was over and Miss Thicket Wimple’s cart rode back out from Galton with the schoolmarm in the morning. And then he was meant to meet up with her, which meant the long trip to Galton on his own part.
With the midterm, the rest of the Games, and the hunt still to come, it certainly would be a very long day.
“You know,” said Earnest thoughtfully, “I’m so worried about the midterms I almost forgot to ask what kind of monster we’re facing.”
Dalliance had too, if for unrelated reasons.
“You’re going to be a [Seer], remember? The temple will take you in anyway. I don’t know why you’re still studying.”
It wasn’t quite fair of him to say—learning was its own reward, in theory, but . . . .
“Aren’t you?”
His ankle hurt. He switched which foot he was sitting on with a wince. Pressure helped.
In truth, he wasn’t really worried—either way. A crow didn’t sound like nearly as dangerous an opponent as the serpent had been, and the midterms . . . well. The King’s Collegiate would only give the highest scores entry, true, but the combat contributions were weighted pretty highly. He’d been in the top five both times, so far, as far as he could tell. Midterm grades being posted would almost be a relief. He’d get to know where he stood.
After killing the crow.
“It can fly,” Sterling was saying to the group at large. “That’s the main thing that makes it dangerous. On the ground, it’ll be weaker than the goblins, not much stronger than any of us, but it’ll try strafing attacks—I asked father, and he chided me for not asking for advice from experienced fighters sooner, which was also on our list of things we could have been trying but weren’t. So I asked him how he would prepare, and he told me to limit the angles of approach, arm everyone with a stout shield, corner the beast, and ground it with spears, arrows, or pikes.”
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“Or spells,” said Effluvia.
“Or spells. I am sorry I didn’t ask him earlier.”
The knight’s son looked legitimately contrite. “I’d at first thought it would be cheating.”
“I’d have thought so too,” admitted Charity. At the beginning of the semester, she’d probably have been chewing him out or at least thinking about it. “Now, though . . . we may be competing for points, but we’re also sharing resources.”
If that’s true, I’d like a set of ring mail. Dalliance didn’t say it out loud.
“Just so. And that’s why I borrowed shields for everyone from the armory, with his permission.”
This was good news. Dalliance felt a tiny bit guilty. Just a tiny bit.
Sterling was full of good news today.
The knight’s son unrolled a worn map on the classroom table, his finger tracing a path along the river, near the mill. “We’ve been hoping for a pest control assignment," he was saying, his voice growing confident again. "And we finally have something simple. It’s a monster, yes, but it’s mostly a priority because it’s been roosting in the attic of the cold storage. So . . . that’s good news. There are only two entrances. Dalliance, do you think . . . ?"
Dalliance nodded, “I can figure out which one it’s nearer, probably.”
It was nice being listened to.
Miss Thicket Wimple offered to let Dalliance walk to the games or ride with her. After some consideration, he decided to walk. His ankle hurt, but his nerves were on edge with every little bump of the wagon. He could feel it: Whimsy was still in the box. She would stay in the box for another several hours.
He didn't envy her that.
He wondered how long she could hold it before she had to open up and take her chances. He wondered if she'd be able to get back in if she had to do that and he wasn't around.
And without the ability to actually change anything, he wanted desperately to stop thinking about it.
So he walked in the snow-dusted clover beside the wagon path, his breath misting in the air, and tried not to think.
Which was hard going for a Wit build.
Dalliance found a spot on the sidelines where he could keep weight off it—a fence post near the practice rings where the older students were already warming up.
The Games had seemed exciting the first time he'd participated. The banners snapping in the cold wind, the mock-serious pageantry of it all, the way even the instructors got caught up in the spirit of friendly competition.
But that was before he'd understood what it was really for.
"You look cold," said Earnest. "Forgot your gloves, didn't you?"
"Shut up."
Dalliance was shivering. Earnest, on the other hand, looked like someone had taken a cheerful red blanket and wrapped it around his upper torso for want of a scarf.
"You look ridiculous, Earnest," Dalliance said.
"I'm warm, aren't I?" Mitten-clad hands rearranged the sword and sheath on his belt.
"You won't be able to use the sword with those on," Dalliance told him.
"Then I'll walk there warm, fight, and then put my mittens back on."
Dalliance didn't deign to reply, just stood there shivering.
"Going in for some points, Rather?"
"Afraid not," Dalliance admitted. "I have to either get eight points here in the Games or risk an overflow next time something big happens."
"Eight points?" yelped Earnest. "Eight points at the Games? You just have to win eight archery tournaments. Take first place in every challenge."
"I know, that's why I'm sitting it out," Dalliance admitted, "I think Sableton really threw me off." The image of the woman, her spine wrenching backward from Circe's magic, ran through his head.
"I think it messed us all up a bit," said Earnest. "I've had dreams of snuggling Sterling in that cell, and he weren't even there. Dreadful. But you need to focus on the positives, right? You got Whimsy into the box.”
"Bet you're glad I didn't need a hand," Dalliance offered.
"She'd have bit it off."
Dalliance laughed at that. The memory: the incredulity on his face, the viciousness in her eyes. Twin crescents of tooth marks.
“Thank you,” he said presently. “I needed that."
And he had.
"Now she's just got to sit there, warm as a bug," Earnest continued. "Warmest one of us, really. Get inside Galton, nip into the Temple, and she’s safe. You did it. You did a really, really big, really good thing."
"Don't tell me how big it is, please," said Dalliance. "So much can still go wrong."
"Nah, you got this . . . Daddy Rather," Earnest said.
"What?" Dalliance asked, horrified.
"Well, you kind of stepped into the patriarchal role. You're going to be raising her. Got to teach her not to bite your friends. So, Daddy Rather. It's got a ring to it."
"Don't ever call me that again."
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