They were wrapping up. Dalliance watched as Effluvia, without using lightning or any magic at all, ran circles around, tripped, and ultimately used her foot to press a slight boy’s face into the floor, using his own freezing mist against him.
Guy shouldn’t have worn heels to a duel.
"Veterans don’t go to battle in ballgowns," Effluvia said shortly. Thanks to the magic of the wards, the boys face wasn’t frozen in place, but Dalliance could see him massaging his cheeks and the back of his neck, staring at Effluvia with a degree of fixture Dalliance was sure would alarm Earnest, were he to mention it.
Yeah, that seems unsporting, Dalliance thought.
"I’m just maintaining information asymmetry," she said. "The more classes I can have before I have to show off my magic, the longer I maintain my advantage."
"And yet, it did look horrendously disrespectful," Mrs. Tempest commented after a second.
"For that, you have my regrets," Effluvia said to her erstwhile victim, who still had yet to stand up.
And then class was over, Effluvia marching quick-step on Dalliance’s right, a fingertip touch steering him towards the door for a moment, spots of pink on her cheeks. “That was not quite what I had in mind for setting first impressions,” she complained.
“Where are we—ah, that is, what is the problem?”
Dalliance’s prediction was still running, his adrenaline-amped mind circling at a mile a minute, though lacking a focus he long since began to feel merely unfocused. What was that. Could he make it happen again?
What were his new limits?
She’d have answered where they were going, not that it wasn’t perfectly obvious upon reflection: Divination. He wondered if his [Obscuration] had been a big an impediment to the odd girl from the Overlook as her bad manners had been to him.
"That was quite a showing, young warrior," said the [Spellsword], Ronan, walking up on Dalliance’s left, though not so close as to touch his arm, which Effluvia seemed to have taken claim of on his right. "A most impressive continuation of your family's mighty legacy, though I was shocked to see that where your father fights like a troll, you have taken after the goblins."
Dalliance wasn’t entirely certain what to say to this one, but it was too late to gently disengage, “Was a surprise to us all,” he suggested.
Ronan must have seen something in his expression, because he waved a hand. "I won't pry," he said easily. "But you dodge like a goblin—and we make counters specifically for goblins. Like that sword your friend Sterling has. No good being able to dodge anything if there's nowhere safe to dodge to." He took a bite of his ribs. "Me, against you? Good matchup, for you, if you'd had your little jar."
Effluvia’s fingers were tapping lightly on his forearm. He itched to take it back.
“It was a good bout. Sorry about the end there,”
Ronan shrugged, clearly unbothered. The dried blood on the young man’s ears was still visible, but he seemed truly unbothered, strolling along without a hitch in his step from the dizziness he’d suffered earlier.
"So, why did you leave the sword?" Effluvia volunteered.
The spellsword, who, as it turned out, had just tiered-up from [Imperial Scout] had many opinions about proper sparring, which after he’d spoken for the first several minutes Dalliance organized into ‘Practice the thing you’re hoping to improve’, and, as a swordsman, he simply hadn’t been seeking to improve his swordplay, and sought a harder challenge.
It stung a little, but after that display, Dalliance was willing to assume that, with the longer sword, the outcome would have been inevitable.
“Honorable of you,” said Effluvia vaguely. “Let’s us reconvene after Divination. For lunch, my treat. I’d like to discuss something with you.”
Ronan wasn’t in their divination class, but that wasn’t a shock—the D-tier had probably had his fundamentals covered in the Legion. He did, however, seem wise enough not to turn down free food, and promised to meet them later.
And then it was time for divination class.
“So, I know you’ve been itching to say something,” Dalliance commented, “but I should tell you about what I did over the weekend.”
Divination class was full when Penny-Ante Nonesuch bustled through the door, eyes red and deeply shadowed.
"You!" she accused, pointing directly at Dalliance.
"Me?" Dalliance looked up from his desk, wary. Effluvia had had thoughts about his conduct at the Overlook funeral.
She’d written him a list.
She’d pecked him with her quill to emphasize her points, even, when he’d failed to be visibly moved.
- One does not insinuate oneself into a funeral.
- Having been asked to leave a funeral, one does so gracefully.
- Having been placed in the hard place between a figure of power (e.g. teacher) and social impropriety, one seeks advice from one older and wiser than oneself.
- You do not manhandle women with magic!!!
And so on.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
“No, she shouldn’t have sent you, there’s probably a reason—I can think of several—but none are for your good, in particular! If King’s College wishes to throw its weight around at recalcitrant young heiresses, stay out of the way.”
Penny-Ante was clearly feeling similarly towards him. He braced himself for the inevitable.
"You—you humiliated me!" Her voice cracked slightly, exhaustion making her volume control slip. The entire class went silent, all eyes turning to watch. "At my family's funeral!"
Dalliance flicked through her futures. Nope, she wasn’t going to calm down anytime soon.
Dalliance chose to play dumb. It would be over sooner. "I got your signature. That was the assignment."
He was right.
“Young lady, screeching in my classroom is utterly unbecoming! Sit down at once.”
She sat, in the seat right next to Dalliance. Behind him, Effluvia was scribbling furiously.
He wished he could be anywhere else.
“You weren’t anywhere to be found for the assignment, either. That’s cheating.”
Her voice was lower, now, within the bounds of propriety. She was regaining control of herself.
“You didn’t make yourself exactly available.”
Understatement.
"You invaded my family home—"
"Actually," Professor Rainy's dry voice cut through the building tension, "I was watching."
The entire class swiveled to look at the instructor, who stood at the front with arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"He was perfectly respectful," she continued, "until you flaunted your family’s refusal to adhere to your Kings College mandated assignment and tried to unlawfully eject a citizen from a public meeting place after the conclusion of your event—condolences, by the way—and he obtained your mark with minimal fuss and an impressively light touch, all things considered."
"My mark?!" Penny-Ante's voice went shrill.
“Your family manhandled him by main force. That’s battery, if you were curious. All in the service of doubling down on your foolish little letter saying you couldn’t possibly find time to complete your first assignment, and I would have to reschedule. King’s College does not reschedule. Students, and the adults in their lives who ought to know better, make it work. This is valuable practice for real life.”
Penny-Ante gaped like a fish.
"If you don't want people thinking you're illiterate, consider alternate phrasing when asked to sign something. 'No,' for example, rather than 'it's not possible.' Clearly, you confused your classmate, who, taking pity on you, assisted you in your first autographical endeavor!"
Someone in the back row definitely laughed that time.
Penny-Ante opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. Her hands clenched at her sides.
“I shall be speaking to Dalliance separately, as he had the decorum to contain his confusion about his event to a private congress with his companion rather than take it out on my aching head.”
“But. But he wouldn’t even let me complete my assignment!”
Rainy glanced at Dalliance, who shrugged. “I only cast [Obscure] twice this morning.”
The injustice of it seemed to hit Penny-Ante like a physical blow. "He was on top of the cathedral this morning!"
"I can fly," Dalliance said simply. "It's pretty."
"And then," Professor Rainy continued relentlessly, "despite classes having started, you didn't try a third time to scry your classmate, who was extremely clearly in a Practicals combat and could have been found easily. And . . . " She turned to Dalliance. "Would you have signed?"
Dalliance shrugged. "Don't have a pen, but if she did, sure. I'd have signed for it."
"But—but he—" Penny-Ante was on her feet now, clearly floundering, the exhaustion and the public nature of this clearly getting to her. "This isn't—"
“My blood is bluer than yours is, Miss Nonesuch.”
What? Dalliance wasn’t the only one in the room staring at Detective Rainy.
“My father would have made me black and blue to match if I’d considered telling the King’s College what it could do with its assignment via the written word. You are getting off lightly. Take your seat, Miss Nonesuch," Professor Rainy said, not unkindly but with finality. "You've had a difficult few days. We'll discuss your incomplete assignment after class."
Penny-Ante stood there for one more moment, trembling slightly with exhaustion and humiliation and something else Dalliance couldn't quite name. Then she slumped into her seat.
The class remained silent for a beat longer.
"Now then," Professor Rainy said briskly, "let's discuss what you all learned from this exercise about the practical applications and limitations of scrying magic. Who can tell me why Miss Nonesuch's attempt to locate Mr. Rather failed?"
A few hands went up hesitantly.
Dalliance kept his head down, focusing on his notes. He could feel eyes on him from multiple directions—curiosity, wariness, a few calculating looks from students he didn't know.
It was over. Assignment complete. Time to move on. But he couldn’t help but notice, from the corner of his eye, that Penny-Ante Nonesuch sat with her head bowed, fingers clenched over the crude X she'd been forced to make, and seemed trying very hard not to cry again.
"Needless to say, Mister Rather, that was extremely poorly handled. Were it not for the institution's desire to unilaterally dispense with the Nonesuch defiance, you yourself would likely be, eventually, brought to account for the unwanted touch of your magic upon a noble scion. You have scraped by under the noose--did you consider that what you were intended to do was lose, not of your own fault, and be the innocent I was being set up to protect from the depredations of the villainous upstart house? And now . . . what a mess. I told you people were poison."
Class was over. Effluvia would be waiting outside, having no doubt managed to track down Master Ronan, and lunch would be forthcoming. He just had to make it through the next few minutes.
"Lemon drop?"
Professor Rainy's bright eyes were entirely innocent and unreadable. The candy was a blank to his precognition.
He felt afraid.