“So. Sterling owes his life to Dalliance, who owes his life to Charity, who owes her life to Dalliance, who owes his life to Effluvia, who owes her life to Earnest, who has honestly been coasting to this point—no offense—and Woebegone saved me!” reported Zenith. Her cheery voice wasn’t alone—spirits were high after a Hunt with no loss of life, and the one-room school was filled with the low murmur of hushed whispers between irrepressibly cheerful children. Mister Best, on the other hand, looked . . . haggard, but smiled cheerfully in greeting when the students began to file into the school. His manner had grown steadily closer to his usual good spirits with every life-debt Zenith described, however.

  Effie glanced at Dalliance, who tried to shrug it off. He didn’t even like Sterling, and now there was this.

  Mister Best stepped forward, prompting Zenith to sit without being prompted.

  “You all owe one another far too much to repay,” he opined. “Which is for the best—you are your own support network. Whether now, or in the years to come, school-aged friendships can endure, if one puts in the effort. I recommend it.”

  He looked sideways, to his daughter. “That is how I met your mother.”

  Morality colored like he’d said something embarrassing.

  “In any case, you all did very well. But another hideous fate awaits you, my students: midterms.”

  Dalliance had known intellectually that there had to be a benefit to the [Pupil] class. Every class was superlative at something; [Apprentices] learned disciplines, [Warriors] killed things, and [Pupils] took tests. But he hadn't realized until midway through the midterm exam just how big of a gap there was between those who could mentally pull up a flawless memory of something they had seen before, read it, and apply it to test answers, and those who couldn't.

  There were four people left in the class: Circe, Earnest, Zenith, and Dalliance. Mister Best was watching them patiently. All the [Pupils] had already long since finished. It was embarrassing.

  Earnest put his pen down, stood up, and jauntily whistled as he walked out of the room.

  I’m going to be last, thought Dalliance.

  He had glanced over discreetly. Circe had only one page left. He had half his test. Even [Hedge Witch] was a better class for tests. Or . . . she was just smarter in that way.

  How?!

  For this exam, Mister Best had made the students swap seats. Dalliance couldn't at first understand why, until Mister Best told him, "Good investment or no, I have to maintain standards."

  He was talking about Dalliance’s skill. He was preventing cheating.

  Dalliance couldn’t think how he’d use it to cheat. He could only see ten minutes into the future—not long enough to get a graded test back.

  Which means [Prediction] can do more than I think it can, he realized. The thought was a horrible distraction, but he began to prod at the skill with his other skill, [Introspection]. Ten minutes of prodding did nothing but increase his [Introspection] by one, but thinking about it . . . What could I do during a test that he doesn't want me to do?

  Look at other people's papers. That was the answer. But I can only predict what I'm going to do, he reasoned. The solution he eventually realized was obvious: pre-commit to looking over unless there was something good to see, in which case he would do something else.

  It worked. He was going to do it, and the mere act of predicting himself looking over shifted his field of view without him moving. It made him feel ill. Two minutes was more than enough to dissuade him from casually using his new power recklessly, but he could immediately see the possibilities. He could read something he hadn't read, as long as he was close enough to potentially read it. He could look around a corner. Mister Best had just given him the most powerful of boosts.

  As if to reflect that this was, in fact, what had happened, Dalliance received a notification:

  [Through the guidance of an expert, you have increased your Prediction skill to 90%.]

  Mister Best, who could clearly read the stunned expression on his face and understand what it meant, smirked at him from under his neat, waxed mustache. Dalliance didn’t feel even the slightest inclination to resent him for it.

  He was the last one to finish the test, but (other than geography) he suspected he had one of the best grades in the class. The math had been easy; when you’ve had a pixie mocking you mercilessly for not knowing your sums since you were seven, one tended to internalize that sort of thing.

  "What's the hold up, Rather?" came Knot's voice, pitched like a grinding gear but without any malice. His classmate wasn't always the best with people.

  "You know how it is," Earnest said, stepping forward smoothly and preempting Dalliance's response. "Twice nine is a real bugger for him. Had to take his other shoe off to get the last three."

  Dalliance looked down at his shoeless foot with some irritation. He'd found the sword, but he'd never found the shoe. It was down the river somewhere. Off down the river and far away. Missus Best had tutted and brought him a length of canvas bandaging, secured with twine. “It’ll have to do for now,” she’d told him.

  It was better than being barefoot, though as it happened that hadn’t been as bad as expected: a little Grit went a long way.

  They all waited outside while Mister Best tabulated the grades, and Dalliance barely minded the cold, now that he was finally dry. A small fire had been set by the side of the schoolhouse, in a metal basket, and the last of the wet had finally steamed away from his coat—there would be nothing he could do about the color, though. Once red with Charity’s blood, and Knot’s, it had dried to an unsettling yellow-brown.

  He wouldn’t even be allowed to run home, not that it would have helped. He’d have to get Ma to get a new pair for him.

  Mister Best had told them he wouldn’t keep them in suspense until the morrow because they had a lot more to do today. Dalliance hadn't found it particularly alarming at the time, but as the minutes passed he began to worry. Why wouldn’t they be allowed to go home?

  And then Mister Best was outside the schoolhouse, waving them in. The grades were already tacked to the wall, a simple list, test papers nowhere to be seen.

  Fifth place on the list: Dalliance Rather.

  This was disappointing. He'd expected better. But then, if he thought about it, he hadn't done any damage at all to the wicked bird. He hadn't even touched it with his own weapon. It had taken a classmate giving him a sword for Dalliance to be able to do anything at all. When viewed in that light, he supposed the grade wasn't completely unreasonable. Still, the perspective stung. He knew he had done quite a lot. He had saved Sterling. He had saved Sterling again.

  It felt insulting.

  Sterling Worth (95)

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Circuitous Mallow (94)

  Effluvia Early (93)

  Charity Troubles (90)

  Dalliance Rather (89)

  Sensibly Knot (85)

  Earnest Verity (83)

  Zenith Dawn (82)

  Woebegone Lackey (80)

  Fallowfield Scorn (72)

  Below Earnest, unless Dalliance completely misread the grades, people were no longer in the running, those who had been.

  On a separate sheet was another list:

  Honorary First Place: Morality Best (98)

  Honorary Fifth Place: Cordial Monteberry (91)

  Absent:

  Civility Matters (n/a)

  Prosperity Rotter (81)

  Deceased:

  Prudence Matters (n/a)

  Steadfastly Pants (n/a)

  That seemed unfair. It didn't sit right, seeing the boy they had attempted to save and the two they hadn't been able to save on the same list. But then, he supposed they hadn't really saved Civility either.

  It wasn’t a surprise that both girls whose parents could afford multi-year schooling were dominant, though. Just like Sterling, Charity, and Effluvia, they’d had years to learn what the rest of them had to learn in months.

  Circe was formidable.

  "I would remind you," said Mister Best, "that there are three positions open for the King's Collegiate. Your performance in the hunts will be reflected directly on your grade."

  "I have the highest grades in this class!" Woebegone Lackey protested.

  "After the hunt," said Mister Best, "no, you do not."

  "That's all anyone ever cares about," spat the youth, his voice shaking. "The stupid, gods-damned hunt. Why in the hells should I risk leaving my Ma and Mammy widowed and childless, huh?" His voice was harsh. "What do I have to do to make up?"

  Dalliance had written the Lackey boy off as a threat in the aftermath of the first hunt, at least in-as-far as the King’s Collegiate went. He’d pulled nearly no weight either time. Impressive scholarship, though, he admitted. Silently.

  "Land the killing blow on two creatures, without assistance," said Mister Best. "On paper, you will have made up for the previous two hunts. However," he added, "and this dovetails nicely, thank you, Mister Lackey—you will be fighting far more than two creatures in the next hunt. We will be facing: ants. We will proceed to the Hunt directly after class.”

  The class had varying reactions to the announcement. Sterling looked unsurprised, but then he’d probably been told by his father. Charity looked horrified.

  Most dramatic was Knot, who, it seemed, did not like ants. The boy was pale and shaking.

  “I don’t understand,” Dalliance said, his voice quiet.

  “Well, it’s perfectly simple,” Mr. Best began, his tone wry. “There was concern among the parents after Prudence’s incident—as there always is—that perhaps there had been mistakes in tutelage. It is better to err on the side of caution. So, after the Rather clan added their weight to the already popular request that I host a hunt for parental proctoring, there was nothing to do but arrange it, despite the lower net experience gain. And I was happy to do so, as the expected lethality is rather lo—.” His gaze landed on Dalliance, who had raised a hand. “Mister Rather. Make it quick.”

  “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, sir,” Dalliance said, choosing his words carefully. “But I don’t understand what ‘proctoring’ means in this context. And my father is a . . . .” He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

  A hand landed on his back in a gesture of solidarity. “We all know he’s a monster,” Immaculate whispered, though several students nearby still heard.

  “You’re worried you won’t get any experience points,” Mr. Best concluded, picking up Dalliance’s unspoken thread. “And you would be correct, under normal circumstances. In the presence of so many adults, any one of whom could intervene to save you from a single opponent, experience gain is nullified for the group. It has happened before that a parent has chosen to take the field and protect their progeny. When this occurs, no one benefits.” He fixed his gaze on Sterling. “Stop looking so smug, Sterling. You ought to have explained this already.”

  Sterling’s self-satisfied grin vanished.

  “However,” Mr. Best continued, “since the next hunt shall be against giant ants, you will each have no shortage of individual opponents. Thus, if one of you is individually saved, the rest should still be able to gain experience. Does that answer your question, Dalliance?”

  It did.

  “You shall be proceeding directly from class, after the schoolhouse is cleaned. I apologize in advance, as I fear you must continue on in your current wardrobe.”

  Earnest met Dalliance’s eyes, looked down at his own clothes, streaked with cow turds. Dalliance smirked. As one of the few who had remained completely clean, he'd been about to stand before the town’s parents—including Sterling’s father, the knight—as the only truly presentable student. Well, no longer.

  A long streak of drying gore down the side of Charity’s practical hunting outfit drew both her glare and Dalliance’s gaze, and he was uncomfortably aware of the stiffening of the material on his own shirt from the same source. She shrugged uncomfortably, and he gave one in return.

  But at least she wasn’t missing a shoe.

  “Further questions?” Mr. Best asked.

  A sea of hands shot up. They wanted to know everything there was to know about giant ants. Their weak points. Their diet.

  The second question seemed to surprise Mr. Best, but he answered in good humor. “Primarily, on this shard, humans . . . and deer. But they will eat cattle.”

  What weapon? Mallets. “Thoughtfully provided by the Matters,” commented Mister Best.

  This was not met with popular approval: the weapons were clumsy, and heavy.

  “Why must the second hunt happen so soon after the first?” The question came from Morality. Her father looked fondly on her for a moment.

  “They are deciding whether they’re going to be replacing me,” he chirped.

  “You don’t seem worried,” Zenith noted.

  “They won’t be,” he stated simply.

  Dalliance wasn’t sure if that was born from confidence in his students, confidence in his own teaching, or pure pessimism about the quality of any potential replacement. Feeling a little maudlin, he decided it was probably all three.

  The news, of course, was terrible. Dalliance found himself wondering if his father had been aware he held the swing vote on the parent council, or if he knew they would be facing a swarm of individual opponents. He suspected the man knew both. It was a perfect trap.

  The only defense against the ants was high Grit or body armor. They were giants for ants, but still only six to nine inches long. Their stingers, however, were a full inch of chitin that could jut out, sink deep, and be used again and again. Their toxin debilitated Stamina, a crippling blow that meant only those with high Might could remain standing for long if stung. Might and Grit, his father’s favorites. A man like Cadence would be fine facing this threat. Dalliance?

  He had been outmaneuvered again. Dalliance knew the man was either smarter than he let on, more charismatic than he appeared, or far more spiritual than anyone believed. Otherwise, he could never have stacked his own Grit so high. But it didn't matter how his father had done it. The result was the same: a hundred stings from a hundred directions were going to find their mark, and every one would be a piece of evidence he could point to: look what you could have avoided. It was a matter of when, not if.

  And then there was the matter of their durability. You couldn’t just crush them; they were like walnuts underfoot. One on a rock was easy enough, but on the soft forest floor, a dozen could scurry beneath your boot unharmed.

  Effie, at least, was going to be an absolute menace. According to Mr. Best, her lightning spell barely needed to touch them before their tiny muscles would pop internally. It sounded strange to Dalliance—yet another thing to investigate, if he ever made it to the Academy.

  “Look alive, Rather!” a voice cut through his thoughts. It was Earnest. “Look, everybody! I’m gonna be a hero!”

  His friend held up two comedically oversized wooden mallets, striking an akimbo pose. A giggle escaped Zenith, and Dalliance was grateful he wasn’t the only one.

  Knot didn’t look any better. Earnest had given him one of the mallets, but the pallor on his face was unchanging. Dalliance didn't need to ask Earnest to know that Knot thought he was going to die.