Miss Thicket Wimple had outdone herself. While Dalliance wasn’t certain exactly which type of fowl was being served, he was happy to discover an entire half-breast on his plate, parted through the bone. He picked the skimpy wings and rib meat clean, tossing toothpick-sized bits of bone to the grass, his lips stained with a pleasant film of grease.

  "I'm going all the way to the top," he bragged. He wasn't really feeling it, but Earnest was being Earnest again.

  "Sure you are," said Effluvia. "And how are you gonna do that?"

  "First," he told her, "I'm going to be a [Wizard], and then I'm going to be an [Archmage]."

  "That's just A-Tier," she pointed out.

  "I know," he said, "but when I know what comes next, I'm gonna be that, too."

  She pursed her lips. "Then it's going to be two of us at the top."

  "And me at the bottom," proclaimed Earnest, "and wiser for it."

  "You can't," Charity said.

  "Yeah? [Philosopher]? I beg to differ. It's specifically in my class list," he said.

  Charity rolled her eyes. "It's not that you can't take the class. It's that you won't be able to eat. Who's gonna pay you to be a philosopher?"

  "I'll just be really good at it," he said, like it was that simple.

  Sterling shook his head. "You could be the greatest rhetorician alive, but without a foot in the door, you'll never find an audience to read your words, much less an opponent to debate your findings." The bigger boy had already gone back for seconds, and his bird was noticably plumper than Dalliance's.

  "Lucky I know you," Earnest said to Sterling, who just shook his head.

  "If I'm anything, I hope to be a [Magistrate]," Sterling said. "But that's not going to have the pull you would need. I'm not saying you ought to aim as ludicrously high as Dalliance, but possibly aim a little higher than [Philosopher], surely. There's nothing wrong with being a [Seer]. There's nothing wrong with having a vision of the future, not to mention," he added, "the stipend upon which to eat. In it."

  "I will just put my points in Spirit," Earnest said solidly. "Get all the thaums I need."

  Dalliance shrugged. While it was true that mages who recovered mana sufficiently fast could potentially live off of it, the rate of return per point was far lower than his friend was making it out to be.

  "I couldn't do that," said Effluvia, "and I'm Rank Four in Spirit." Dalliance looked at her with some surprise, and she shrugged. "Can't quite," she said. "Besides, who really wants to spend their life powerless but wealthy?"

  Prosperity's hand shot up in an instant. Beside him, still picking through his third breast of fowl, Woebegone raised his own piece in acknowledgment of the point. He, too, would be satisfied with the life of an idle rich man.

  "As to that," said Miss Thicket Wimple, "there are more than enough of our people on that path already, though the gods know it’s a common enough ambition; turning yourself into a mana battery for the Empire is at least contributing a bare minimum. Nonetheless, we do hope that you aspire to somewhat greater heights."

  "I'd rather go that path than throw it all away on a dead-end class," Dalliance told Earnest, more quietly now that Miss Wimple had interjected her piece.

  "Like our fathers?"

  A brief silence, at Earnest's candor. "Veterans start over, right? All the choices in the world. And they both chose farming. Makes you wonder what they know that we don't, is all. Say what you want about your Da, but my dad is cleverer than to make the choice for no reason."

  "You'll never know," said Effluvia dryly, piling her picked-apart bones fastidiously next to her breast-in-progress. She was even using a knife. "There's an oath sworn on tier-up. They can't tell you why they didn't want to be something more interesting, and when you make the same choice, you won't be able to tell your kids why either. That way we all grow up eager to throw ourselves at the wall like so many lemmings."

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "Not quite how lemmings work," muttered Earnest, but he looked mollified at the implied defense of his father's decision-making.

  "Don't think Da ever regretted his service," Dalliance said in weak counter-point.

  "No . . . he's fairly well known for doing his best to relive the old days even now. In public."

  The jab didn't land quite how she might have meant it to: he wasn't proud of Cadence's behavior either.

  "That reminds me!" said Circe, suddenly.

  "Mmm?"

  "I'll ask about it later."

  And she did.

  "Mister Best, you know how the Rather brothers were fighting during festival?"

  "Yes, I heard something about that," Mister Best said dryly. "What were you asking, Circe?"

  "I've been doing the math," she said.

  "I always appreciate it when someone does," he quipped.

  "I don't understand. How do you get just one or two physical stats up so high without raising everything else?"

  Mister Best popped the knuckles on one long-fingered hand with the other. "It's not commonly speculated on, but . . . I shall attempt to answer your question within the bounds of what I am permitted," Mister Best said, leaning back. "Your thought is that the Rather brothers, having remarkably developed physical abilities, must have a very high experience intake, and therefore would rapidly overflow and undergo Tier advancement before they've had time to put their points where they wanted—so how in the world did they get them up so high to begin with. Is that right?"

  She nodded.

  "A natural question," he said. "But my suspicion is that one part of your supposition is wrong: that they do not have higher stats elsewhere. I cannot speak to Cadence, but his oldest brother, Solidarity, is known to be quite the charmer and horse trader, and a very spiritual man besides."

  He held up a hand. "Don't look at me like that. Spirit is used for a great many class skills, including the mainstays of a [Commander], such as Solidarity. Mathematically—no, you cannot build up the physical side in a pyramid fashion. The system was not designed to allow us to advance freely to godhood, a fact which is readily implicit in its very design. But you can . . . find workarounds, if you balance your approach." He paused, letting the implication sink in. "The trick is, you start stacking the mental and social stats first."

  "That doesn't seem fair," Dalliance grumbled.

  "Why?" asked Mister Best.

  "Because he's telling me to stick to Grit?" Dalliance admitted.

  Mister Best's gaze shifted to Dalliance. "We are verging on topics I cannot discuss with students, but would you say he expects you to simply do as you were told?"

  If I had, I would've Tiered up early and wasted my potential, Dalliance thought, but did not say. He just set his face, but he had probably been thinking quite loudly enough anyway. Was he banking on my defiance?

  "That is as far as I am willing to speculate on the matter of the brothers Rather," Mister Best concluded. "I'd rather be on friendly terms." He smirked at his own joke.

  "That would probably be for the best," said Dalliance, rallying enough for a return volley. His chest felt hollow. His Da had been counting on him disobeying. Not that Da had been wrong, but he wasn't sure he wanted the man to have such a good read on who he was. For some reason, his instinct told him that was not a good idea.

  When Topaz landed on his chest that evening, she was met with a pensive expression. "You seem tense," she said by way of greeting. She could always tell.

  "I'm just starting to realize how reckless my Da is with my life," he admitted. "He's been manipulating me."

  The fairy shrugged easily. "I am sure he has."

  "What kind of father does that?"

  She walked a tiny circle. "As to that . . . I don't have a good answer, beyond that we do not pick our family." A pause. "By correction, we do not pick our family excepting for marriage. What I mean, though: we pick our friends. And I think that you are shaping up—a far cry from the little, lonely boy I knew—to have your pick of the crop. If you feel mistreated in this relationship, foster new ones elsewhere. Invest there instead."

  He stared at her with a gimlet eye, sure he was about to be embarrassed.

  "Consider the lovely Effie," she preened. "The proud and honorable Charity. Circe Mallow. Even little Miss Morality has her eye on you. And of course, we can't be forgetting Earnest."

  "It sounds like you're trying to build me a harem, plus Earnest." Dalliance complained.

  "This group is dependable," she said simply, and seemed to have no more to say. She cocked her head at him in that infuriating way she had, as if to say, I'm done talking. Now it's your turn.

  "I hate when you do that," he said to her ancient, patient eyes. "Okay, fine, fine," he growled. "I really like having people who want to hear what I have to say."

  "They're called 'friends'," remarked the fairy.