[For your hand in the slaying of the Wicked Bird, you have received seven (7) experience points. Meditate on the value of precipitous action.]

  That brought his banked experience to ten of ten. Any more and he’d have over-levelled and tiered up before hitting maximum Wit. He’d have lost [Wizard] for good.

  The rush of intelligence as he upgraded wit this time was dizzying. He began to realize how much he went about his day blithely ignoring. What did people think about him having only one shoe on? How had Charity gotten inside the mill? What about the fire?

  Embers and smoke. Fine then.

  "That," Earnest said, looking down at the broken form of the monstrous crow, "was cold-blooded, Charity."

  Charity looked at him in alarm. "Do you really think so?" she asked, her voice uncertain. Possibly the waver was from blood loss, though.

  "Murder most foul," Earnest said solemnly, "F-O-W-L."

  Her expression cleared at once. "Oh." She looked back at the dead creature, her shoulders slumping, and leaned back against the wall, then slid down to a seating posture. She took her head in her hands, crossbow left to lie on the now-snowy warehouse floor. "I’ve never killed anything before," she said. "Maybe. tease me later?"

  Earnest nodded like this was the most natural thing in the world to be asked. "Sensible," he agreed.

  His eyes locked with Dalliance’s as he said the word, an obvious prod.

  Why had he dropped Knot on his head?

  "So at the end there . . . that was a bit of a let-down," Earnest said, his gaze still fixed on Dalliance. Dalliance nodded. Sensibly had been stunned. He’d been depending on Dalliance, who’d let him down. Literally.

  "Let down?" Charity asked, looking up again. She looked a bit sleepy, sitting there, and pale. Dalliance hoped Circe hurried it up.

  "Oh, nothing, just—he’s up and about," Earnest said, before gesturing to Knot. "He being Sensible."

  “Sensibly,” Dalliance corrected automatically, and immediately regretted it as the boy himself walked over at the prompt.

  Knot looked a lot better, though there was still dried blood beneath his nostrils.

  “Circe almost done down there?” Dalliance asked.

  Knot nodded emphatically. "My nose almost doesn’t hurt anymore."

  She must still be feeling drained, Dalliance thought, but he nodded. "She’s very generous."

  "Yeah," Knot said vaguely. "She had to sit for a second, but she’ll be up here for Charity presently. You know, I must’ve really gotten thrown hard by that blast. I don’t really remember it."

  "It was probably the barrel," Dalliance suggested. "Being thrown like that must have hurt pretty bad."

  "They found me at the bottom of the stairs," Knot argued, "so I must’ve flown really far."

  "You looked epic in that fireball," Earnest said with utter conviction. "You did a whole two rotations as you were going down the stairs. Like an acrobat, really."

  Knot looked so excited by the fabrication that Dalliance decided to let it lie.

  Woebegone, as it turned out, had fallen into the raceway and ruined the mill wheel. The story didn't make sense the first few times Dalliance heard it, but the boy had broken off a set of spokes and bucket supports after being caught underneath. He’d been trapped much like Dalliance had, except apparently, he’d been putting all of his points into Might. He'd had no choice: break it or die.

  Charity fainted during the telling of it, and Circe, healing her, exhausted her mana and ended up collapsed beside her. Miss Wimple looked very concerned when the wagon pulled up minutes later, an exhausted Servility Immaculate having run to fetch it, straining his [Outrider] class skills to do it.

  "It's a funny thing," Earnest said later, once the wagon was underway, his voice taking on a dangerously aggrieved tone, as if it’d been his water-wheel. "The worst thing that happened to that mill wasn’t being set on fire, or the monster, or the lightning. It was that Woebegone didn’t think Dalliance knew what he was talking about and went and fell off a ledge like a moron."

  He didn’t bother hushing his voice, and the students were walking relatively close to the wagon in which the two were ensconced. Charity’s face had been bandaged, but Dalliance wished the cart would go faster. Earnest was apparently feeling the tension too, though his friend could probably have chosen a healthier outlet.

  "Say it to my face," Woebegone snarled. He had been walking in front of them, but now he stopped and turned, his face contorted with rage.

  "Gentlemen," Effluvia said calmly.

  "No," the taller boy said angrily. "I want to hear what he has to say."

  "I’m sorry," Earnest said, sounding truly sincere. "I must have stuttered. I said that you were a moron. Someone told you something that was immediately proven to be true, and you almost died as a result of your foolishness. You could’ve gotten a lot of us hurt because of your ego. Also, you have a funny-looking face.”

  Dalliance wondered what his life would have been like if he had befriended someone else.

  "And you," Earnest said, rounding on Knot, who had wisely backed away from his tirade. "You knew better. I know you did, because you were there when Mister Best told the whole class that Dalliance could predict things."

  "Yes," the boy agreed immediately. "I almost died, and it was my fault because I didn’t listen to you. Next time, I will."

  Every word out of Knot's mouth seemed to make Woebegone angrier. For a moment, Dalliance thought the boy was going to lose his grip on his temper, but he was made of sterner stuff than that.

  "Watch your mouth," he said instead to Earnest. "See if I won't close it for you."

  "Seriously," Dalliance said later, after the boy and his friend had allowed more of the column of students to pass them by, "Watch your mouth, or somebody will have to close it for you. Maybe me."

  His foot hurt. He’d never tried walking barefoot in the snow before. His sword bumped at his hip, frozen in the scabbard. It was annoying. His grip on his temper was threadbare.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Dalliance didn’t try to hide his irritation. "If he hits you, are you going to expect me to, I don't know, show him up for you or something?"

  "No."His friend shot him a sly smile."I don't believe you could. I'll bet you could read every little move he's going to make, and that's fine. But I don't believe that you have the dexterity and footwork to avoid said moves."

  Dalliance scowled at him. It was perfectly true. "That just makes it worse," he muttered.

  "Don't worry. I can fight my own battles."

  He gestured, using that stupid [Dreamer] skill. [Inspire]. Dalliance hated that one.

  Much ahead of them, Woebegone, who had moved to the front of the pack, stalking angrily, stopped. He scratched his bottom, obviously and thoroughly, with apparent unawareness of his audience for a few seconds, until Effluvia, passing him, stared at him obviously enough for him to look back, and then down at his own hand.

  "Earnest," Dalliance said urgently, his voice low but urgent. "If you do that to the wrong people, they will kill you."

  "I’ve got a good read on him," he said, turning back to Dalliance. "He’s more in control than you’d think.”

  “A read? What’s his future?"

  "Not going to tell you his future."

  Dalliance gave him a look.

  "Okay, fine, fine. It starts on The Crystal and ends in The Deep. With The Candle in the middle."

  "What does that mean?"

  "What do you think it means? He’s going to burn out. Going to go out hot and fast, no matter what."

  .Dalliance watched Woebegone glared back at them, only speaking once he’d turned away:

  "And he’s the one you choose to pick on?! What were the other cards?"

  "I didn't draw them. I don't want to know people’s choices if I can’t tell them how I know."

  "Well, you could just set up a booth and—"

  "No. Can't. It's against the law. Prophecy is ‘Temple business’."

  Dalliance thought about telling him that was good news, since he’d be about their business pretty soon, but knew that would go over poorly even without a skill for it.

  He’d decided he shouldn’t use [Prediction] for little things: it didn’t feel right to be the only one with a copy of how a conversation could have gone. Knowledge could be a burden.

  Though, as it happened, he suspected the only reason he was going to pass the midterms was because he had started using it in Mister Best's class. His teacher had considered all sorts of different hints about what would be on the exam, and while he hadn't chosen to say them out loud, it did unnerve Dalliance that after the last considered hint, his teacher had given him a wink.

  They tripped into the classroom, tired and sore, but before Mister Best could do more than stand up to greet them, Sterling stepped forward into the center of the room and said loudly, "Everyone, can I please have your attention?"

  Mister Best looked at him tolerantly.

  "The crow," Sterling said, his voice ringing with formal gravity, "nearly killed us all, and I do not believe that it was a result of a failure on our part to perform. I shall ask my father, but I believe that this hunt likely merits a bounty, for killing a spellcasting creature. I have the authority to invite you to partake of the hospitality of my home in the wake of all this, seeing as some of you have saved my life, and are in need of healing. To that end, with your blessing," he said, turning to Mister Best with a gesture to continue, "I would have runners sent to your homes with the explanation for where you will be, and at the conclusion of class, I would host you myself."

  Mister Best clapped his hands three times in a vaguely polite fashion, and at the sound, Sterling ceded the floor. Mister Best took it as his due, without more than a glance at the boy. "Very well done," he said. "Graciousness in the face of indebtedness is one of the traits I hoped to see from you today. We are nearly at the midterms. I am at the halfway point with each of you, and in my view, in each of you, there are the seeds of prodigious talent, success, and growth. Mister Worth, you have grown, and I’m sure your father is very proud of you."

  He turned to the class. "I certainly encourage every one of you to take him up on his offer. Now, the after-action. We shall be brief: there are two young ladies in the wagon for whom this is already going to have been an uncomfortable afternoon. So, quickly: Who wants to be the first to disclose your investment? Those of you who are [Pupils], I do hope to hear someone invested in Wit this time."

  Dalliance didn't know why they couldn't leave now, but raised his hand reluctantly. It would probably get back to his father that he had invested in Wit, but at this point, Whimsy was beyond Cadence’s reach. As if it wouldn't be obvious enough next time he got hit that he hadn't become any stronger.

  "Very good, Mister Rather. I rather suspected you had," Mister Best nodded, writing "+1 Wit" on the board.

  Charity raised her hand. "Wit for Charity as well. Excellent."

  Earnest raised his hand next. "Wit for you too, Earnest?"

  "No. Charm," said Earnest. "Just wanted to mix things up."

  "Might," said Woebegone gruffly.

  "Again?" said Mister Best. "Twice in a row?"

  "I know I’m not the only one who’s been out in the forest," Woebegone grumbled, fixing his gaze on Dalliance and Earnest. "Why don’t you ask them where they put their points when they were in Sableton? And don’t play dumb. Civility said he saw you leaving."

  "Sableton?" asked Mister Best, his tone sharp with interest.

  You've been talking to Civility? Dalliance wondered.

  "Farming experience," said Earnest cheerfully. "It was a misunderstanding, that’s all."

  "And what did you hunt?" Dalliance said quickly, activating his [Deflection] ability, trying to pull the taller boy's attention away from Earnest, who had clearly pissed him off. It took hold.

  "Deer."

  "Deer?" Earnest began, his voice dripping with mock incredulity. "You're a limping, stinky boy, why wouldn’t they run—"

  "I threw rocks at them," Woebegone cut in, his voice flat.

  Dalliance thought about the amount of strength Woebegone probably had, and the amount of force needed to kill a deer with a rock. The boy was becoming dangerous.

  "Why didn’t we see any of that against the crow?" demanded Earnest.

  "Boys!" The interjection this time was from Mister Best, and he did not look amused. "In my class, you do not fight. You do not argue. You do not raise your voice. You do not call one another 'stinky.' Is that quite clear?"

  "Yes, Mister Best," chorused the class.

  "Earnest. Come sit on this chair." Mister Best gave up his favorite spot, where he’d been propping his feet on the dunce stool, and retrieved the folded, conical hat made from stiff, waxed paper from beneath his desk. "Sit and wear this dunce cap."

  Something about the way Earnest sat made Dalliance sure that he didn’t see this as much of a punishment. Something about the way Mister Best always used the stool for his feet made Dalliance suspect Mister Best didn’t see it as much of a punishment either. He was merely separating the two quarreling boys.

  Sterling raised his hand. "Mister Worth?" inquired Mister Best.

  "Suppose my father says that the wicked bird wasn’t an appropriate challenge. That’d make two in a row, even leaving out how many goblins there were. Who chooses where we go next?"

  "The Imperial Auditor."

  Dalliance froze. In addition to his duties as court mage, Parsimony Pleasant had duties to the Empire as the local head of taxes, due to his natural advantage in dealing with the mana the tax contributions to the war effort were composed from. Dalliance had had no idea he was also involved in the selection of their hunt targets.

  Then again, he thought grimly, who else could be trusted?

  He'd be the one, then, who found the monsters. Cordoned them off, designated for use as practice dummies for the Empire's next generation of best and brightest.

  He'd be the one who came for the parents if the child failed to tier up, who checked for interference.

  Dalliance suspected he outsourced the head-lopping, lacking a sword.