When the coach reached Oakheart, Ashley's farm lay on the outskirts, a modest spread with a house that had clearly seen better years. The fields were dim with dusk, but Dalliance could make out rows of crops, fences, and the usual detritus of a working industry.

  "Home sweet home," said Jasmine brightly.

  Ashley and her bird made no comment until they’d been dropped off, along with him, and the coach had departed.

  "You heard the lady," came the spellcaster's voice. "Make yourself right at home." She said that, but there was a pause afterward, like she doubted he would feel right at home. "I got to get down to the cellar and drop off our friend here."

  Jasmine followed right on her heels, through the door. "Gonna go have a word with my friend," she said over her shoulder.

  "Right," Dalliance said. He could take a hint.

  "Ashy," Jasmine said, following her sister? Friend? "You just don't say that to a . . . ." And then the door closed behind her.

  Dalliance looked around vaguely.

  So, this is where you get carrots.

  It was a fairly nice garden farm, regularly shaped, unlike his own—well, his dad’s. A place he’d never go to again. So, probably, he thought, at least comparable in size, but he couldn’t quite say. No heavy industrial plows, no barn for oxen. But that made sense; you couldn't plow carrots.

  Dalliance could only imagine the frustration of harvesting fields this big, plots this big, by hand. He’d harvested carrots, of course, from his mama's vegetable garden for the kitchen, but that was different. These carrots were larger, and the bits that poked above the soil looked a lot more like radishes.

  He wondered if they’d be sweeter. Sometimes red things were sweeter. But he wasn’t hungry, and as diverting as it was to see how other people did things, he felt a lot like he had at the Best estate at first: not his land, not his fence that he’d have to clear weeds out from under every time it rained, not his culvert he'd slipped into trying to catch a newborn calf, not his fields with his perspective on the reservoir. Except in Oakheart, he just couldn’t see it at all.

  Minutes passed, growing longer. Dalliance wondered what they were doing in the cellar, thought about the ingredients they might be utilizing, and felt sick.

  The cool of the wind against his face as he walked the field edge took a while to work through his maudlin mood, to remind him that the only place he ever felt nothing but joy was as the wind.

  It occurred to him that maybe that might help. He had to focus more than usual; he felt a little burnt out, tired in a deep-seated way. But at the end of the day, he had plenty of mana and could try again and again.

  And so, he rose up, until the farm was but one of many checkers, the nearby village sprawling along the edges of its own life-giving stream. As it branched off onto more roads than Tolbotton, he saw that the nicer buildings were nicer.

  It was like if a street from Galton’s middle district had been transplanted, and then slowly put out roots and seeds, sending up shoots into cottages and farm plots. Dalliance swept low, now a brisk wind, rushing over the city streets, taking in the sights. And then he passed a porch with the lady in red on it and felt eyes on him. His skin would have crawled if he had skin. Abruptly, flying around in a strange town didn’t seem so intelligent.

  Back to the farm he went.

  Jasmine was walking along the edge of the field, scanning around, looking for him, he supposed. He hadn’t said he was going anywhere. He wondered how old she thought he was. Short though he might be, he was old enough to take care of himself either way, right?

  He swept down, popped back into being as a human.

  "I’m never going to get used to that," she said. It was a lie. She hadn’t jumped.

  "You’re awfully composed for a [Maid]," Dalliance said.

  He had the vague idea that there was usually shrieking about mice and fanning of oneself to do with maids, though that might have just been the chapbooks.

  "You’re awfully short for a wizard," she said. "[Aeromancer], whatever."

  From the looks of it, she'd brought food. "I’m still not hungry," he said.

  She accepted this with a shrug. "Alright then. Do you need a place to stay? I live in town, not out here on the farm, but I’m sure I have room for you."

  "No," said Dalliance. "I can't. Propriety." As if anyone would think anything. They were all gods-fearing in these parts, surely.

  Jasmine's expression softened. "Let's sit, anyway. You look like you're two steps away from a dirt nap."

  They settled on the porch steps. Dalliance's hands were still shaking. "I think I have a spell for that," he confessed, "but it's not working."

  He set about casting it anyway, just in case today was the day.

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  "You know what the worst part of traveling is?" Jasmine said after a moment of watching him curiously.

  "What?" The non-sequitur threw him.

  "Corsets." She made a face. "Honestly. It's all whale bone and lacing, and by the end of the day you can't breathe and your ribs ache and you just want to throw the whole thing in a fire."

  Despite himself, Dalliance felt his face heat. "I, um—"

  "And don't even get me started on the layers," Jasmine continued, either oblivious to his embarrassment or deliberately ignoring it. "Chemise, corset, petticoat, skirt, bodice. By the time you're dressed, you're exhausted. And if you need to use the privy? Better hope your friend is a dab hand with laces or your [Maid] is nearby."

  Dalliance made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh.

  "Men have it so much easier," Jasmine said, shaking her head. "Trousers. Story over. Done."

  "I never really thought about it," Dalliance admitted, his face still warm.

  "Of course you didn't. Why would you?" She grinned at him. "But now you are, and you're blushing, which is much better than moping."

  He couldn't help it: he laughed out loud. "That was your plan?"

  "Worked, didn't it?"

  Dalliance shook his head, but he was smiling. Just a little. It felt strange on his face.

  They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the night settling around them. The empty table in the granary felt very far away.

  The mana wasn't listening to him. Wasn't gathering for the spell.

  But it was still nice, just sitting and practicing, without worrying about anything for a moment.

  "Thank you," Dalliance said quietly.

  "Anytime," Jasmine said. He believed her.

  The door opened behind them, and Ashley stepped out.

  Watched him for a moment. And snickered.

  "That's a real grown-up spell you're tryin' to cast there, kid," she told him. "Not suitable for Air either. It's to do with vitae."

  Jasmine eyed him curiously. "Stallion's stamina," he said, defensive and not sure why his face was heating up.

  "I . . . don't think you'll need that for a while," she said carefully. Her eyes crinkled a bit.

  “Good that you’re learning,” Ashley said, tone neutral. “Early start’s best, in magic too.”

  Dalliance felt his ears flaming with his embarrassment.

  Like he didn’t know any good spells.

  [Whisper]: I like magic.

  Ashley regarded him seriously, eyes having followed the flickering of his fingers as he cast the simple spell. “Basic. But it does the job. Thanks for showing me that one.”

  Dalliance found himself looking out into the dimness rather than trying to maintain eye contact in the low light. Something about it made her eyes sparkle oddly.

  "Anywho."

  Ashley was apparently feeling single-minded. She gestured with her open hand.

  She had something in her palm: a ring, dark metal with a fiery opal, barely visible in the light from the windows. "Found this on your father," she said, holding it out to Dalliance. "It's an artifact. Says it's one of a family set, so you'd better have it. An' besides . . . ." She shrugged. "You did give me some good materials."

  Dalliance stared at the ring. He recognized it. His father had worn it every day, the band slightly worn from years of work and weather. It had probably been his great-grandfather's before that. A Rather family heirloom.

  He took it, the metal cool in his palm. "Probity should have this," he said, his voice hollow. "Or Industry. Not me."

  The guilt crashed back over him, heavier than before. This was a family ring. Something meant to be passed down on purpose, not stolen by the disinherited son who'd gotten its owner killed.

  "Why?" Jasmine asked, her voice sharp. "Why does what he would have wanted matter?"

  Dalliance looked at her, startled.

  "You suffered enough at his hand," Jasmine continued. "You told me yourself he was awful. So why do you care what he would have wanted? He's dead. You're not. That means you get to decide what matters now."

  Not a worshipper of Firth, I take it. But he didn't really disagree with her either.

  Dalliance turned the ring over in his fingers. The stone caught the lamplight, gleaming with subtle fire. Slowly, he slipped it onto his finger. The band shifted, contracting smoothly until it fit perfectly. He couldn't tell how much mana was in it, but . . . Serve you right, if your heirloom keeps me safer on the wall.

  He could feel it now: eating at his mana, just a little nibble at the edge of his perceptions. Filling itself from his mana, so as to be available when needed.

  Maybe he could keep it for just a little while.

  "It's just a mana siphon," Ashley said. "But it's a nice one. Good craftsmanship."

  Dalliance flexed his hand, watching the stone glint. He'd seen this ring in the firelight, at the dinner table. It looked wrong on his slimmer finger. It felt heavy, and good. He couldn't tell which sensation was stronger.

  "I should go," he said abruptly, standing. "Thank you for everything, but I—I can't stay."

  Jasmine's face fell. "Are you sure? You don't have to be alone—"

  "I need to be," Dalliance said. It came out harsher than he meant. "I just—thank you. Both of you. But I need to go home."

  Ashley studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Look me up later, maybe. We’ll look at those fingers.”

  He withdrew his left hand reflexively, hiding the stubs in his other hand. He promptly felt rude about it.

  “Sorry. Um, maybe.”

  She rolled her eyes, and it was simply too awkward to stay any longer.

  “Goodbye, Jasmine. Ashley.”

  His body dissolved into wind and thought, and he rose into the darkening sky.

  The flight home was long and silent. Dalliance didn't think. Couldn't think. He drank in the sights beneath him, the curve of trees and the glittering of night-time waters, letting the wind carry him across dark fields and sleeping towns, toward Galton and Penetence Hall.

  When he reformed on the doorstep, the ring was still on his finger. Heavy and warm, but still wrong.

  His Da's ring.

  He'd killed a man and stolen his ring and hidden the body and burned every bridge he'd ever had.

  Dalliance let himself inside, climbed the stairs to his room, and sat on the edge of the bed in the darkness.

  He'd decide what to do about it tomorrow.

  Sci-Fi ? Tragedy ? Short Story

  by Tequilama