The warmth of the wine didn't last long.

  "THE FEAST IS CONCLUDED!" Desmus’s voice boomed, shattering the peaceful atmosphere like a hammer through a stained-glass window. The water-tables began to sink back into the floor. The vine-chairs retracted, gently dumping us onto our feet.

  "You have been Sorted," the Archbishop intoned, floating above us. "Now, you must dwell with your Kind. Capricorns to the Deep Spire. Sagittarius to the High Woods. Scorpios to the Shadow-Vault. Geminis... to the Mirror Hall."

  He pointed a bayonet at the exits.

  "Go. Meditate on your nature. Curfew is absolute. If you are found wandering, the Golems will use you for target practice."

  We huddled together one last time.

  "Don't die," Gerald said, gripping my shoulder. "If the Capricorns try to freeze Mary, she'll probably just freeze them back. But you, Wilhelm... try not to gamble away your soul."

  "No promises," I grinned weakly. "If I find a dice game, I’m doubling our treasury."

  Mary gave me a silent nod. Gerald turned and marched toward the archway marked with the Centaur. Mary faded into the crowd heading for the Sea-Goat door.

  And Astrid?

  Astrid was being herded by a group of older Scorpios toward a dark, ominous tunnel that smelled of venom and secrets. She looked back at me once. She looked small.

  I turned away. I hated goodbyes. Even short ones.

  "Right," I muttered, adjusting my bone mask. "Gemini. The Mirror Hall. Sounds... narcissistic. Perfect for me."

  I walked toward the door marked with the Twins. The hallway beyond was confusing shifting walls, staircases that led nowhere, whispers coming from the walls.

  I walked for five minutes.

  Then I stopped.

  I didn't turn around. I just sighed.

  "You’re terrible at sneaking, Wolf," I whispered to the empty air. "Your boots squeak."

  Silence.

  Then, from behind a tapestry of a two-headed dragon, a small figure stepped out.

  Astrid.

  She wasn't with the Scorpios. She had doubled back. She looked fierce, gripping her wooden sword, but her eyes were darting around nervously.

  "I don't squeak," she hissed defensively. "The floor is stupid. It betrayed me."

  "Why aren't you in the Shadow-Vault?" I asked, leaning against the wall. "You’re an Assassin now. Assassins follow rules. Mostly."

  "They were boring," Astrid scowled, kicking the floor. "They were talking about poisons and politics. I don't care about politics. I want to hit things."

  She looked at me. Pleading.

  "I want to go with you, Wilhelm. The Geminis are liars, right? You know secrets. You know how to cheat."

  I looked at the hallway. If a Golem found us, we were paste.

  "Come on," I whispered. "But if we get caught, I’m blaming you. I’m telling Desmus you kidnapped me."

  "Deal," she smirked.

  We walked together. But the hallway... changed.

  We must have taken a wrong turn. Or maybe the Schola sensed we didn't belong in our assigned boxes.

  The stone walls fell away. The floor became... nothing.

  We stepped into a room that shouldn't exist.

  It was vast. Limitless. The "Room of Shattered Reflections."

  Instead of walls, there were millions of floating shards of mirror. They drifted in the air like glass snow, spinning slowly. They reflected light that wasn't there blue, gold, violent violet.

  "Whoa," Astrid breathed. She reached out with her one hand to touch a floating shard.

  When her finger brushed it, the mirror rippled. It didn't show her reflection. It showed... a version of her. A version with two arms. Holding a steel greatsword. Standing over a dead dragon.

  She pulled her hand back as if burned.

  "It’s... it’s lying," she whispered, her voice trembling.

  "It’s showing potential," I corrected softly. "Or maybe just dreams. Dangerous things, dreams."

  We walked deeper into the glass nebula. The only sound was our breathing and the soft tink-tink of mirrors bumping into each other.

  We found a large, flat pane of glass floating horizontally, like a raft in an ocean of stars. We sat down on it.

  Astrid pulled her knees to her chest. She put her wooden sword down. She stared at her empty sleeve.

  "The System says I have zero Spirit Power," she said. Her voice was hollow. "Zero, Wilhelm. Even the rats have 5 SP."

  "The System is an accountant," I said, taking out my flask (still empty, sadly) and fiddling with the cap. "It counts beans. It doesn't count fire."

  "Alexander has 1.2 Million," she whispered. "Did you see him? In the solar? He looked at me like... like a puppy. 'Let her run,' he said. Like I’m harmless."

  She wiped her nose aggressively with her sleeve.

  "I want to be him, Wilhelm. Not the bad part. The strong part. I want to walk into a room and make everyone terrified just by existing. I want... I want to be 1.2 Million."

  She looked at me, her eyes wet and angry.

  "But I can't. I'm broken. Desmus says it. Volpert says it. The Church says God took my arm because I was unworthy."

  I felt a spike of cold rage in my chest. Hotter than the fire spells. Colder than the ice.

  I put the flask away. I turned to her.

  "Astrid," I said. My voice was serious. No jokes. No swaying. "Look at me."

  She looked up.

  "Alexander Shadowgrove is perfection," I said. "He has two arms. He has the best armor. He has a bloodline that goes back to the stars. He is a statue made of gold."

  I poked her chest.

  "You know what happens to statues when the earth shakes?"

  She blinked. "They... fall?"

  "They shatter," I whispered. "Perfection is brittle, Astrid. Alexander is terrified of making a mistake. He moves perfectly because if he messes up once, the illusion breaks. He is trapped in his own high score."

  I gestured to her empty sleeve.

  "You? You’re already broken. The worst thing that could happen to you already happened. And you’re still here. You’re still biting ankles and headbutting Princes."

  I leaned in closer.

  "The Church lies. Desmus lies. They tell you that you need two arms to channel magic? Bullshit. Magic comes from the Will. From the Soul. And your soul?"

  I tapped my Mana-Lens Monocle.

  "I see it, Astrid. It’s not zero. It’s infinite. Because you don't play by their rules. You are a Flaw in their perfect system."

  Astrid stared at me. The despair was fading, replaced by a spark.

  "A Flaw?" she asked.

  "A dangerous, violent Flaw," I grinned. "Alexander expects a knight to fight like a knight. Sword vs Sword. Stance vs Stance."

  I picked up her wooden sword. I held it awkwardly in my left hand.

  "He won't see you coming, Little Wolf. Because he's looking for a soldier. You need to be a ghost. You need to be the wind that carries the knife."

  "But the SP..." she argued weaky. "He has a million."

  "And a single pebble can kill a giant if it hits the right spot," I countered. "We aren't going to beat him with numbers, Astrid. We're going to beat him with Spite. Pure, concentrated Spite."

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  I handed the sword back to her.

  "Do you want to beat him?" I asked. "Do you want to see the Violet Eye look at you with fear?"

  She grabbed the sword. Her grip was iron.

  "Yes," she hissed. "More than anything."

  "Then stop trying to be a Knight," I said softly. "Knights die. Be the Scorpio. Be the poison in the cup. Be the thing that Alexander Shadowgrove can't calculate."

  Astrid stood up on the glass raft. The mirrors around us swirled, reflecting a thousand Astrids. Some had two arms. Some had none. Some were Queens. Some were monsters.

  She looked at her reflection. The one with one arm.

  She didn't look away this time. She bared her teeth at it.

  "I'm going to break him," Astrid promised. "I'm going to take his 1.2 Million and I'm going to spend it on lemon cakes."

  I laughed. A real, warm laugh that echoed in the magical room.

  "That's the spirit."

  I stood up beside her. We looked like a ridiculous pair. The Bastard in the dirty coat and the Cripple with the stick. Standing in a void of shattered dreams.

  "Come on," I said, putting an arm around her small shoulders. "Let's get out of here before the mirrors start showing us things we really don't want to see. Like my credit score."

  "Wilhelm?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Thanks," she mumbled, burying her face in my coat for a second. "For... lying to me. Making me feel better."

  "I never lie to family,Wolf" I said, squeezing her shoulder. "I only lie to the Imperial Revenue Shylocks and gods."

  We walked back toward the door, leaving the room of wonders behind.

  Astrid walked a little taller. And I... well, I swayed a little less.

  Because even a Bastard feels steady when he’s holding up the future.

  We stepped out of the Room of Shattered Reflections, leaving the magic and the hope behind. The door vanished into the stone wall, sealing away the mirrors and the dreams of two-armed warriors.

  The hallway was dark. Not the usual gloom of the Citadel, but a heavy, suffocating darkness that smelled of incense and impending violence.

  "I'm going to paint my sword," Astrid whispered, clutching her wooden stick like it was Excalibur. She was still smiling, a small, fragile thing. "Black. Like the night. And I'll name it"

  She stopped.

  The hallway wasn't empty.

  At the far end, blocking the exit to the dormitories, stood a wall of white and purple steel.

  Twenty men.

  They weren't the regular Angels. They wore the heavy, ornate armor of the Shadowgrove Purifiers. The religious fanatics. The ones who burned books and broke fingers for looking at a shrine the wrong way.

  Each of them radiated a Spirit Power that made my Monocle crackle with warning static.

  In front of them, sitting on a velvet stool that a servant must have carried all this way, was Prince Volpert.

  He was eating a lemon cake. He took a small, dainty bite, chewing slowly, his pale blue eyes fixed on Astrid. He didn't look angry. He looked... excited. Like a child about to pull the legs off a spider.

  "There she is," Volpert said. His voice was soft, high, and echoed perfectly in the silent hall. "The girl who likes to use her head."

  Astrid froze. Her grip on the wooden sword tightened until her knuckles turned white. She took half a step back, bumping into my leg.

  "Run," I whispered. My voice was a dry rasp. "Astrid. Run back to the room."

  She turned.

  Two more Purifiers stepped out of the shadows behind us. Blocking the retreat.

  We were trapped.

  "No running," Volpert giggled, wiping crumbs from his lip. "Running is for people with working legs. You're a cripple. You stumble."

  He pointed a finger at her.

  "You broke my nose, peasant. Do you know how much a royal nose is worth?"

  He stood up. He smoothed his silk tunic.

  "It's worth everything you have."

  "Get behind me," I snarled, pushing Astrid back. I drew my rapier. It felt like holding a needle against an avalanche.

  "Volpert!" I shouted, trying to summon the Master of Coin swagger, but my voice shook. "This is a mistake! We are students! The laws of the Schola forbid"

  "The law?" Volpert laughed. It was a wet, ugly sound. "My uncle owns the law. My mother owns the school. And I?"

  He gestured to the wall of armored giants.

  "I own the pain."

  He snapped his fingers.

  "Teach them," Volpert commanded. "But save the eyes. I want them to watch."

  The Purifiers moved.

  They didn't charge. They didn't shout. They just advanced. A tide of steel.

  I lunged. I had to.

  "Thermal Shock!" I screamed, aiming at the leader.

  Nothing happened. My hand sparked and died.

  The leader backhanded me.

  He didn't use a weapon. He used his gauntlet.

  CRACK.

  It felt like a carriage hit my face. My jaw dislocated instantly. I spun in the air, blood spraying from my mouth, and hit the stone wall with a sickening thud.

  I hit the floor. The world swam in grey and red.

  "Wilhelm!" Astrid screamed.

  She charged. She raised her wooden sword. She screamed her war cry, the sound of a wolf cub challenging a pack of bears.

  The first Purifier didn't even draw his sword. He caught her wooden blade in his armored hand.

  He looked at her. Faceless. Cold.

  He snapped the wood.

  Snap.

  Astrid stared at the broken handle in her hand. The symbol of her hope. The sword I told her was dangerous.

  "Trash," the Purifier rumbled.

  He kicked her.

  He kicked a one-armed, ninety-pound girl in the chest with a steel boot.

  Astrid flew. She didn't scream. The air left her lungs in a wet whoosh. She slammed into the floor, skidding across the stones until she hit Volpert’s velvet stool.

  She curled into a ball, wheezing, clutching her ribs.

  "Stop!" I tried to get up. My legs wouldn't work. "Stop it! She's a child!"

  A boot slammed onto my back. Right on the whip wounds.

  "AHHHH!"

  The pain blinded me. I clawed at the floor, my fingernails breaking on the stone.

  "Hold him," Volpert ordered. "Make him look."

  Two Purifiers grabbed my arms. They hauled me up. They forced my head up. They forced my eyes open.

  "Look, Bastard," Volpert whispered, walking over to Astrid.

  Astrid was trying to crawl away. She was gasping, blood bubbling on her lips. She looked at me. Her eyes... her fierce, Scorpio eyes... were filled with absolute, crushing terror.

  "Help me," she mouthed. No sound.

  Volpert stood over her. He looked down at her empty sleeve.

  "You think you're a knight?" Volpert mocked. He kicked her in the stomach.

  Astrid gagged. She curled tighter.

  "You're a mistake," Volpert said. Kick. "You're a Dog." Kick. "You should have died in the womb."

  He turned to the Purifiers.

  "Break the other one."

  I screamed. "NO! VOLPERT! I'LL KILL YOU! I SWEAR TO THE GODS I'LL"

  A gauntlet smashed into my mouth. Teeth shattered. I choked on my own blood.

  One of the massive knights stepped onto Astrid’s good arm. Her only arm.

  He applied pressure. Slowly.

  Astrid shrieked. It was a high, thin sound that tore through my soul. It wasn't a warrior's scream. It was the scream of a little girl who was hurting.

  "Please!" she sobbed. "Please stop! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

  Volpert smiled. He leaned down, his face inches from hers.

  "Apology accepted," he whispered. "Break it."

  CRUNCH.

  The sound of the bone snapping echoed louder than any bell.

  Astrid’s scream cut off. She went limp. She passed out from the agony.

  The knight stepped back. Her arm... her good arm... lay at a wrong angle. Twisted. Useless.

  Now she had nothing.

  "NOOOOO!" I howled through my ruined mouth. I thrashed against the guards, weeping, bleeding, useless. "ASTRID! ASTRID!"

  Volpert stood up. He looked at his handiwork. He looked bored again.

  He walked over to me. I was hanging in the guards' grip, sobbing, snot and blood dripping onto my coat.

  Volpert reached out and patted my cheek. His hand was soft. Perfumed.

  "See?" Volpert said softly. "This is what happens when dirt tries to touch gold."

  He looked at the broken girl on the floor.

  "She won't be fighting in the tournament, Wilhelm. She won't be holding a sword. She won't be holding anything."

  He laughed.

  "Because now she's symmetrical."

  He turned to his guards.

  "Leave them. They smell like failure."

  The knights dropped me. I hit the floor, landing in a pool of my own blood.

  They marched away. The sound of their boots retreating was rhythmic, disciplined, holy.

  Volpert followed them, taking another bite of his cake.

  I crawled.

  I dragged my body across the cold stone. Inch by inch. My vision was tunneling. My back was on fire. My mouth was a ruin.

  "Astrid," I rasped. "Astrid..."

  I reached her.

  She was so small.

  I touched her face. It was cold. Her breathing was shallow, ragged bubbles of blood. Her good armher writing arm, her eating arm, her sword armwas a mangled mess of purple bruising and shattered bone.

  And next to her hand... the pieces of the wooden sword.

  I pulled her into my lap. I wrapped my coat around her, hugging her broken body against my chest.

  I didn't cast a spell. I didn't check the system. I didn't make a joke.

  I rocked back and forth in the dark hallway, holding the little wolf who wanted to be a knight.

  And I cried.

  I cried until my throat bled. I cried hot, hateful tears that burned my face.

  "I promise," I whispered into her hair, my voice broken, a sound from the deepest pit of hell. "I promise you."

  I looked down the empty hallway where the Prince had gone.

  "I'm not going to beat him," I whispered. "I'm not going to defeat him."

  I clutched her tighter.

  "I am going to peel him. I am going to peel him until there is nothing left but the scream."

  And in the silence of the Schola, with the stars watching indifferently from the ceiling... the Bastard died.

  And something else woke up.