Dawn found him wide awake.

  He had been up all night thinking about it. Now that he knew where his sister was, there was time to plot. When you’re plotting, the fairy Topaz had told him, keep it simple. When you lie, try to tell only one.

  "I thought fairies didn’t tell lies," Dalliance had said.

  "Oh," she had replied noncommittally, “there are lies, and then there are lies. But I am a great student of human nature, and that is more than sufficient."

  What was the lesson? Keep it simple, he thought. It had worked for Whimsy. Now he had a slightly more complicated problem: making sure that he made it into the King's Collegiate. And Charity, with her desire to be a [Theologian] and the extremely convincing demonstrations she had given . . . well, it would just be unfair if she didn’t get to study and attain her dreams. And it had nothing to do with the way she kept looking at him in class, at all.

  When she had said that they were rivals, it had grated at the time, but now he knew they weren't. She just didn't know it yet. When they were both accepted, she would see. He had a plan. She was going to see that they weren't rivals. Now he needed a plan for implementing that plan. A plot.

  At first, he thought, I can only leave one rival on the field who isn’t Charity, who obviously doesn’t count anymore. But then he thought, Someone is going to do better than I expect, or even if they don’t, there’s a risk that they will. I can’t have that. So, everyone else has to lose so that we two can win.

  It had been the first thought that sprang to mind, and he hadn’t been able to reason around it.

  So now: how to make everyone else lose? Sterling would be fine even if he failed. Sensibly Knot and Woebegone Lackey would neither of them be fine, but Dalliance couldn’t see any way forward that was acceptably safe without their failing. Woebegone in particular. So, he would have to fail. It was unfortunate.

  He respected Servility, but the boy was barely scraping by in maths. He’d sort himself out. Zenith, Morality, and Cordy . . . it was for the best they weren’t competing. Especially Morality.

  Earnest didn’t need the scholarship if he was going to join the Temple; it was honestly selfish of him to be in the running, or would be if he had a choice.

  When Dalliance had asked why she was even in the running, Effluvia had explained to him that, among nobles—members of the gentry, that is—there was a vast gulf between those who were gentry and wealthy, and those who were merely of the gentry. "You can become a member of the gentry," she had explained, "as simply as being knighted. It doesn’t happen to everyone, but that doesn’t make it complicated either. By contrast, becoming wealthy requires either the production of goods that people will spend their thaums upon, or the production of thaums directly, neither of which is as simple as it sounds."

  Dalliance heard what she wasn’t directly saying: they were noble, but they were, if not destitute, at least overextended. Perhaps they were only extended as far as they could support themselves. I understand, he had told her. If she didn’t win, she didn’t get in. Which created a difficult decision: did he dare let Effluvia compete fairly? If he did, she’d get in.

  Stolen story; please report.

  But she was nice to him.

  And then there was Circe, and he didn’t even know how he felt about that question, but she had said that healers were in high demand, so they would take her anyway, right? In the end, there could only be two. It was just too much of a risk. Though she was outperforming him by a wide margin. And said she liked him.

  That night, Dalliance Rather began plotting to control the outcome of the final exams.

  I can, he thought, either prevent people from attending the exam, which, now that I've thought about it, would not be particularly doable, or the worst possible option: outperform everyone and carry Charity to the finish line. Of course, there was always the possibility that she would score well on her own, but could he take that risk? It occurred to him dimly that it wasn’t his risk to take, but only dimly. I have no choice, he realized after wrestling with the problem a little more. I have to intervene in the hunt. If Effluvia simply missed, then she would be marked low. Charity would have to hit every shot and get plenty of opportunities to shoot to do well. Sterling would have to . . . I don't even know, fail the test, probably. Keeping him from excelling on the battlefield would be . . . difficult.

  In the end, Dalliance thought bitterly, it's like they designed this to be difficult to cheat.

  He couldn’t come up with a one-step plan. The two steps he decided upon instead became: take out the monster by myself with Charity’s help, and get everyone else super drunk before the final exam.

  It wasn’t a great plan.

  When Charity and her father came through the door the next day, it was to the sight of Whimsy sitting on his bed, a cloth checkers board set out between them. Deep in thought, she didn't notice their entrance until Charity had nearly reached the bed, whereupon she looked up and, to Dalliance's everlasting embarrassment, greeted Charity for the first time with the words, "Oh, you're pretty."

  Her father had taken it in good humor when she doubled down, observing his reaction, and in feigned innocence asked him if they were going to get married someday.

  “Springtime, I’m told,” he said, eyes twinkling.

  Charity had colored and had to walk back to her father, where she pounded her head into his chest before he gently pushed her back toward the bed.

  Whimsy grinned in delight at the effect her words had on the young Miss Troubles. Dalliance, not amused, pivoted quickly. "Not that it isn’t nice to see you, but what can I do for you, Lord Troubles?"

  "Once again," he said, "I am merely in town accompanying my daughter to visit her various injured comrades. It may interest you to know that the young Miss Effluvia Early is out of bed, although, without a chaperone of her own, she finds herself unable to do more than send her regards."

  Dalliance nodded. "Thank you," and found that he meant it.

  “Ask him, child.”

  “I think I’m actually too young for marriage,” he denied.

  “Do you want me to keep you up-to-date on classwork or not?” she asked, a faint edge of irritation in her voice.

  He hadn’t meant to overstep.

  “That . . . you’d be a life saver. My apologies.”

  Charity stiffly began to arrange the maths book and worksheets on the quilt in front of him without saying whether she would or wouldn’t forgive him for poking fun. Whimsy took one look at the schoolwork and hopped off the edge of the bed. “I live here now!” she said hastily, “I’ll stop by later.”

  Lord Troubles watched her exit with a bemused expression. “I see maths has remained as popular as ever it was in my day.”