This is my last day of freedom until the end of term, Dalliance reminded himself. He tried not to think of how soon summer was. Months, only. It would be here soon.

  What would Earnest do? he wondered. The answer was obvious: have an adventure.

  The Best estate had something his father's did not: a peculiar landscape near the back pasture. A series of low, grass-topped islands, spaced five or ten feet apart, rose from the earth. He wasn't sure if they were columns sunk into the ground or the remnants of water-carved drainage from floodwater runoff. Their stone-and-grit sides sloped down to gravel channels, where crystal-clear water seeped through,, filtered by the sand and rocks. The Bests' cattle loved the spot, drawn to the young thistles and wild onions.

  Dalliance had been eyeing the spot for another reason.

  He gave himself ten foot's run-up and leaped, arms flailing, and landed solidly atop the closest island. The long grass on top was almost blue, it was so dark and healthy. The jump was just six feet, but it felt majestic, and that wasn't even the real challenge he’d set himself.

  He’d picked up Circe, flown her to safety. His friend had gotten to fly, using his magic, before he ever had.

  That was an imbalance in need of correction.

  Dalliance cast [Locomotion], gesturing first upward, then toward the furthest island he could see. And he was airborne.

  Fifty feet sounded didn't sound very far until he was flying across it. Wind whipped against his face as he sped up, going faster than he’d ever moved, but after only an instant, he slowed, wind blowing him from the other direction as it slowed his fall. The grass zoomed up at him, and he felt a split second’s panic before his feet landed lightly on the loam.

  He landed in a crouch, looked around, and whooped with joy. He had done something impossible! For fun. And the best part? He could do it whenever he wanted, now.

  His heart was still racing, his legs trembling from the flight, but already his mind was looking forward at the next island, the next challenge. The next adventure. He could fly up a tree or travel the rooftops. He'd never get mugged, in the city. He wouldn’t have to climb his cousin’s stairs.

  He giggled, completely abandoning his dignity, and hopped lightly to the next island, bringing him to the edge of the little islands, after which the whole plateau dropped in elevation by five feet or so. The stream widened out a little, and this, he discovered, was where the women did laundry.

  Dalliance had only seen the two Lackey women in passing: the older, a rather vacant but pleasant woman; the younger, perpetually worried and fussing, usually nitpicking Woebegone's outfit at the edge of their homestead before he joined the wagon train. But now, he found Missus Best ankle-deep in the rill, scrubbing a canvas sheet against a washboard alongside them.

  Soap floated in the river, going downstream in a sudsy foam from where the younger Lackey woman was vigorously scrubbing.

  "It does my heart good," Missus Best said, seeing him. "That you're smiling. Do you know, you've been my student for most of this year, and I had never seen that smile."

  "Boys," scoffed the older Lackey woman. "Their smiles are just private." The old woman was perched on a rock, feet in the water, and messing about with a large basket of clothes—but not, he noted, to any great effect. Perhaps her job was to stop them from washing away.

  "No, I think it's done him some good," said the other Lackey woman. Woebegone’s mother. Constance, perhaps? Dalliance wasn’t the best with names for adults. ‘Sir’ and ‘Ma’am’ had been firmly impressed upon him as the correct modes of address, and though he’d tiered up, and was a mage, and thus a higher social class, he still found it foreign to think of them by anything but their last names. As for Missus Best, calling her ‘Golightly’ was frankly unthinkable.

  “Besides, Morality needed a child her age, or near enough. Too much book learning’s not natural, for a young one. Wastes her youth. Same goes for the boy.”

  Dalliance mistrusted her opinion, given that he didn't know anything about her, and the inverse was probably true as well.

  Still, it didn't hurt to be polite. "Taking me in was very kind," he said.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "Oh, I don't know about kind," said Woebegone's mother. "Having a strong man around the house is invaluable. Now they've got two!"

  Missus Best rolled her eyes. "He earns his keep, I'll say that for him."

  Dalliance felt a flush of pride. It was simple praise, but unexpected, and hit the harder for it.

  "He's sprouting like a weed," Missus Best continued, eyeing Dalliance's frame thoughtfully. "I wonder if my husband's cast-offs would fit him in a year or so."

  Before Dalliance could even unpack that statement, a shadow fell over them.

  Woebegone Lackey walked up from around the large rock that marked the edge of the washing area. He saw Dalliance, and his eyes, which had been sullen, went weirdly flat. The easy chatter of the women trailed off as Woebegone’s mother saw his face, and turned a worried look on Dalliance. His grandmother, lost in the fog of her dotage, continued to hum, oblivious to the sudden tension.

  Dalliance misliked the bigger boy’s look. "My apologies, ladies," he said, his voice polite. "I just remembered a chore Mister Best set for me." The excuse was thin, but he had to go. Without turning his back completely, Dalliance began to walk away, the good-natured farewells fading into irrelevancy.

  Woebegone strode after him as Dalliance rounded the nearest island and bolted for the relative cover of the nearby windbreak, taking shelter among the strands of young pine.

  Once out of sight of the adults, Lackey's footsteps changed from quick strides to a pounding run. The older boy reached the area in seconds.

  "You," Lackey snarled, "are not to talk to my mother. Stay away from my Grammy!"

  Woebegone's back was to him, his fury directed at the area at large. The boy wasn't that fast, though.

  Dalliance cast [Locomotion] again, feet leaving the ground as he launched himself in the direction of the Best farmhouse.

  A grip of iron closed around his ankle, vice-like and flaring into immediate agony. His flight dipped downward, the spell accommodating the additional weight of a second body as Woebegone followed Dalliance into airborne motion for just a second's time before it ended, the other boy's feet touching first. And then he was upon Dalliance.

  He gripped the hair on the back of Dalliance's head and ground his face into the dirt. Dalliance's arms and legs were flailing. He pulled them in close, trying to find purchase against the ground for all the good it did him. Grit forced its way into his mouth, grinding between his teeth. It stung his eyes where the friction scraped an eyelid open.

  Lackey's voice was a hiss, right by his ear, like a kettle coming to a boil. "NEVER."

  “'Fraid I'll tell them what you did?” Dalliance taunted, defiant even as his face was pressed into the soil. This was a mistake.

  Dalliance was flying for a third time that day—this time unexpectedly, and briefly. The sapling that broke his flight slammed into him with breath-taking force, spinning him around dizzyingly. He didn't even realize he was falling until he'd landed face down once again, the world a painful, spinning blur.

  "You tried to kill me," Woebegone growled, his shadow falling over Dalliance. "Mister Best's take on it was that you were just 'reacting to danger,' like we all were." He spat on the ground near Dalliance's head. "Don't think so."

  He loomed closer, his voice still toned low, conscious of the adults within earshot, but spittle flying from sheer venom.

  "You want my scholarship."

  “You afraid I’ll get it?”

  “Not likely,” growled Woebegone. His eyes were empty of humanity. Dalliance had never seen such a scary face.

  Da would have at least been in control of himself.

  The kick landed in the ribs on Dalliance's right, lifting him off the ground with the force of it, flipping him over.

  He hated to do it. Hated it. But he had only one point of constitution remaining. It would be an embarrassing way to go, being kicked to death by a classmate after all he’d been through.

  Dalliance spent his banked points on a single rank of Grit.

  Sixteen now. Much better.

  Dalliance felt the soreness fade away to nearly nothing. He was stronger, now, than he’d ever been. Tiering up really made a difference, he reflected.

  He rolled to his feet. Woebegone, who had been staring at him in open contempt, tensed.

  “I think,” Dalliance admitted, “you may be one of the only people I’ve ever properly hated.”

  Woebegone made it two steps before the [Locomotion] caught him, whisking him up into the air, to the thinnest branches the spell could reach.

  Dalliance hooked a thumb in his own direction. “Mage, asshole,” he said. His mouth was full of grit, so he spat it out on the ground before spinning on his heel and limping away.