Whimsy was going to be a gambler, if Dalliance wasn’t careful. She had already picked up the shuffle, the riffle, how to cut, and how to deal from both the top and the bottom of the deck. When he asked why she would need to know how to deal from the bottom, Charity said that it was important to know what it looks like when someone else did it. But she smirked, and Dalliance wondered for a moment if she’d been winning on more than the strength of her cards. But no, Charity would never cheat at cards, right?

  It took him another fifteen minutes or so to catch her doing it.

  At his outraged inquisition, she burst into laughter. "We’re not playing for stakes," she said. "And besides . . . growing up, Dad always told me not to lie, but he played games with me where the whole point was to lie convincingly. He said if I didn’t know how, then I would be crippled and everyone would take advantage of me. He taught me how to play the shell game, let me try to cheat at cards, and barter at the market . . . "

  " . . . because you have to know how," Dalliance finished her sentence for her, "so you won't be taken advantage of."

  "Your dad sounds like a nice dad," said Whimsy.

  Dalliance hadn’t told Charity what Cadence had done to Whimsy, or himself, but from the look on Whimsy's face, she was considering it.

  They played several rounds before Charity worked up the courage to address her real purpose for coming by.

  "I want to tell you about my reading with Earnest," Charity said to the two of them. "What it meant."

  Dalliance hadn't had to tell Whimsy about Earnest's newfound ability; Earnest had been very pleased to do so himself.

  "So," she said, "I don't believe it's a secret at this point that I lost my mother, but you may not be aware of what 'The Map' card had to do with me, or my perspective."

  Dalliance listened politely.

  "The short version is: I don't trust the Temple's orthodoxy, so I can't trust their conclusions either."

  "I don't understand," Whimsy said. "Why wouldn't you trust the Temple?"

  "Well," Charity said, "your brother knows this, but I lost my mom when I was younger."

  Whimsy looked grief-stricken for her, her hazel eyes widening in sympathetic affront. "That's terrible," she said.

  Charity's explanation marched forward relentlessly, "She was a pilot, and something happened. Her airship never came back. But we know, from previous trips—because they did this for years—Daddy helped her chart out thirty-seven shards, thirty-seven gods that the Temple doesn’t list or have an altar for. And if they can't even tell me how many gods there are, well, it feels like I shouldn't take them at at their word on other things—not without checking for myself, anyway. I don’t trust them, just because they were arguing with my mom, and . . . how are you supposed to know what's right if you can't trust the people who are supposed to tell you?"

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  Dalliance hadn’t ever thought about it. Cadence’s views on what was right or wrong had always been grounded on pragmatism or Temple principles, both of which seemed like reasonable enough starting points, even if he thought the man himself a poor exemplar for his own beliefs.

  "So, I have to figure it out for myself. I’ll learn the same things they know, read the same books they read, and if they’re lying to me, I’ll see it. I’m going to be a [Theologian]—"

  Her voice cracked, and she seemed to be having difficulty with the next things she wanted to say.

  "—You’re doing it for your mom," Whimsy said. "I think that’s really brave of you, and I’m sure she’s proud of you." Dalliance had never heard his sister be that nice.

  Charity looked up at Whimsy, blinking through the tears beading on her lashes, and Whimsy threw her arms around the other girl. "I’ve always wanted a sister!" she squeaked. "You’re going to be okay.”

  “Miss Charity." The voice was from the auburn-haired armsman from before, gravelly and a little rushed, like what he had to say was urgent.

  "What is it, Forthrightly?" she asked.

  "The lad's father is here to take him home."

  Dalliance and Whimsy shared a sudden, frantic glance, Whimsy darting for the back room.

  The door opened seconds later to admit a scowling Cadence Rather. "I didn't ride all the way here," he growled, "to be left standing in the hall like a peasant." Cadence was one of the few people Dalliance knew who still used that word. He shrugged out of his dusty coat, swatting the dust off and setting it aside, then stared at Charity and Dalliance sitting on the bed. "She’s likely enough," he said curtly, "but what will people think of your virtue, lad?"

  Charity flushed angrily. "How dare you?" she asked. "It may have been a mistaken impression, having known your son, but I would’ve imagined you had manners; or did he get them from his mother?" She rose, scooting off the edge of the bed. The armsman, Forthrightly, held his weapon uncertainly, and Dalliance was struck by the fact that he didn’t speak up in her defense.

  "Do you forget, Dalliance?" his father said. "I have served alongside nobles. A man who cares about his master's honor would never leave his master's daughter alone on a boy's bed, unaccompanied. Who is the other chaperone?"

  “You don’t know her dad," Dalliance said. That was true; the man had done as much himself. Perhaps Potency trusted her more than most nobles trusted their daughters. That, or he trusted Dalliance’s failing health more than his intentions.

  "Nonsense," Cadence insisted. "Who is the other chaperone? Where is she?"

  Dalliance kept a straight face, activated his [Deflection] skill, and felt it fail.

  His father noticed, but made no comment. He collected the small pile of things Dalliance had been wearing when he left for the third hunt—what felt like a lifetime ago. They had changed him; he was now wearing a simple set of gray tunic and pants, and had been assured they did not want them back. As they were more comfortable than some of his existing wardrobe, Dalliance thought this was a fine trade.

  His legs were weak and shaky under him, and it hurt to walk, but with his father as a third point of support he managed to shamble towards the door with a semblance of dignity, nodding a wide-eyed Charity goodbye.

  They left, Dalliance limping, his father with a hand on his shoulder like a quiescent vice, as of yet disengaged. When they reached the courtyard, after getting Dalliance into the wagon, Cadence leaned over and murmured into Dalliance's ear: "I know you lied to me, son."