Gallant stepped into the arena already looking green, having been curb-stomped mercilessly by Effluvia not once but twice in the last week. Dalliance couldn't really blame him.

  "Begin," said Professor Tempest.

  The air shrieked as Gallant drew the wind together into a sphere above his head—a powerful projectile attack which, Dalliance knew, moved too quickly to dodge once charged.

  [Locomotion].

  Dalliance crossed the space between them in a rush, borne along by his magic inches above the floor, sword leaping to his hand. [Locomotion] again, even as he slashed en passant—turned on his heel, pulled his opponent's now-freed tunic up over his head, trapping his arms, and held his blade through the thick wool against Gallant's neck.

  "Match to Rather," said Professor Tempest, sounding rather dry. "But a word, Mister Rather."

  Dalliance paused.

  "What you are doing is effective. Tactically sound. And I cannot, in good conscience, forbid it." She fixed him with a look that suggested good conscience had its limits. "However. You will find that in certain contexts outside this classroom—formal duels, exhibitions, situations involving nobility—these tactics will be perceived as grave insults regardless of their efficacy. I am not telling you to stop. I am telling you to be aware of the consequences when you choose to employ them."

  She glanced toward the arena. "As your next opponent is Miss Flounce, I trust you will comport yourself as a gentleman should."

  Dalliance nodded.

  "There is a lesson in restraint as well. When you have made it clear that you have the capability to do a thing someone would very much rather you did not—and choose not to—you introduce a barrier to escalation. Your whole fight with Miss Flounce, you will both be mindful of what you are not doing, and she will be, I am sure, appropriately gracious in response."

  She turned to address the room. "And the rest of you—if you cannot defend against an opponent manipulating your clothing, your hair, or your equipment, that is your failure to adapt. Find counters, or accept the losses. And when such tactics are not employed against you, adopt the appropriate degree of respect for your opponent's restraint."

  "It is for these reasons there are rules of conduct, in war. Blind escalation leads to savagery on both parts. Decorum has its place in any situation. Remember that."

  Flounce, standing on her side of the arena, looked at him nervously.

  As if she had anything to worry about.

  When Dalliance came to, class was nearly over.

  His head felt stuffed with cotton, his limbs heavy and uncooperative. The ceiling of the arena swam above him, and for a disorienting moment he couldn't remember where he was or why he was lying on his back.

  Then it came back: Flounce. The spores. Again.

  He groaned and pushed himself up on his elbows. Around him, the other students were collecting their things, the day's training winding down. How long had he been out? Five minutes? Ten?

  "I'll be blunt." Effluvia's voice, close by. Her hand steadied his shoulder as he sat up fully. "If we didn't all look that bad I'd think you were a patsy, set up to pad her growing reputation. You didn't even manage to touch her."

  "I guess holding your breath doesn't work, then?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

  "No."

  "Right." He rubbed his face, trying to clear the fog from his mind. "Ridiculous spell. Shoulda banned it."

  Effluvia crouched beside him, close enough that he could see the concern in her eyes. They'd been sparring partners for several months now—and both benefiting from it. But for all the falls he'd seen her take, this was the first time he'd seen her openly wearing her frustration on her face. She hadn't liked Mrs. Tempest's declaration either.

  "A warning should this young lady win the day again I shall start deducting points from those she defeats, starting next class: Were her spells so definitive that no one else on the field could challenge them I would have banned their use. This is merely a failure to think critically about the Rules of Engagement and we are not building habits leading to failure to think. Not in this class."

  "You lasted longer than Gallant," she offered. "Nearly the full twenty seconds."

  "Fantastic. As long as I'm better than Gallant." He accepted her hand and let her pull him to his feet. The world tilted slightly, then settled. "We've got to do something about Flounce Petite," he said darkly. His streak of viciousness was well and truly roused.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "Over breakfast with Ronan?"

  "I could eat."

  The blue-haired [Spellsword], however, demurred: "I've already worked out how to beat her," he said. "Just haven't had the chance to spar her yet. Besides, I have duties to see to." He emphasized the word, as he always did when his Ranger duties conflicted with his class, or their sparring afterwards.

  There was no arguing the point, and after glaring at his retreating back Effluvia turned back to Dalliance, watching patiently as he did up his coat buttons and gathered his sword, knife, and textbooks. Her own guardswoman, a relatively recent addition to their habitual gatherings, stood weighed down with Effluvia's books and longsuffering about it by the door, watching with her own deliberate patience.

  A throat cleared behind them. Not Effluvia's. The sound was pointed.

  Dalliance turned to find Penny-Ante standing a few paces away, her expression one of studied concern.

  "Pairing up again?" Penny-Ante said, her voice carrying just far enough for nearby students to hear.

  She glanced meaningfully toward Effluvia's chaperone, who pursed her lips but otherwise ignored the byplay.

  Effluvia straightened but didn't step away from Dalliance. "Miss Nonesuch, whose company I keep has been, and remains, none of your concern."

  "Oh, of course." Penny-Ante's smile didn't reach her eyes. "I was merely concerned for your reputation."

  None of the students milling around reacted to her statement, eyes averted and the majority of them funnelling out the door. As she usually did during Penny-Ante's little jabs, Mrs. Tempest busied herself elsewhere, face unreadable.

  Dalliance blinked at her, still trying to shake off the lingering effects of the spores. "Are you stupid?"

  Penny-Ante turned her attention to him fully, as if noticing him for the first time. "I'm sure it's quite over your thuggish little head, Dalliance. Nothing to concern yourself with." Her eyes flickered to Effluvia, then back.

  Behind her, Effluvia's guardswoman rolled her eyes so hard she tilted her head back and rested it against the wall.

  "I'm quite certain that between the two of you, everyone here knows where the brains lie."

  "He's an uncultured oaf." Penny-Ante's tone had dropped the false kindness. "I can't even imagine why you'd be slumming it with him. It's one thing, only two mages in a hick town--even understandable. Pitiable, even. But you made it out." She gestured. "You are arrived in this magical place of possibility and remain . . . so familiar."

  The way she said 'familiar' made it sound like something illicit.

  "People notice these things. The way you walk together after class, the conversations in the corridors—" She leaned in conspiratorially, her voice dropping to something that still somehow carried. "Even your parents--or was the chaperone your idea? Perhaps you should formalize things properly? Take him somewhere respectable? The theater, perhaps?"

  Dalliance felt Effluvia stiffen beside him. "We are no—"

  "Oh! But Dalliance—" Penny-Ante spoke over her, turning to him with sudden, bright interest. "You do attend the theater, right? Even a brute like yourself . . . unless." Like she'd been struck by a sudden thought: "You are housebroken, right?"

  Heat crept up the back of his neck. Around them, he could feel other students still, their attention caught by Penny-Ante's performance.

  "Turnabout is fair play," commented Mrs. Tempest from across the room, idly, as though discussing the weather. "But a neighborly concern rooted in propriety can only stretch so far."

  Penny-Ante's lips compressed, but she seemed to accept the implicit command.

  She straightened, clasped her hands before her, and gave him what would otherwise have been a pretty smile. "Have a pleasant day," she said.

  Dalliance thought about the rat jar, waiting in the cupboard. "Come on," he said to Effluvia, his voice coming out rougher than intended. "I'll deal with her later. See you in the ring, Miss Nonesuch."

  The girl had the candor to look spooked as Dalliance strode stiffly past her.

  Effluvia walked beside him in silence. A dozen paces after they'd hit the main street, she stopped him quietly, a hand on his arm. "Dalliance—"

  "Don't."

  "I just—"

  "I said don't." He stopped, turned to face her. "We've been doing this for months, Effie. Months. And I didn't even notice. I thought—" He laughed, sharp and bitter. "I didn't even think it meant anything when your parents sent Miss Benefit here."

  He turned to wave at her chaperone, who waved back with strained friendliness. "How stupid is that?"

  "You're not stupid."

  "I didn't think about what I was making you look like. I knew I'd screwed up with Penny-Ante, I knew she was being mean, but I thought it was just between her, and maybe her family, and I . . . I've never even been to a theater. It'd be so much easier to ignore her if she were entirely wrong."

  "That's not—" Effluvia's voice rose, then caught. She took a breath, started again more quietly. "That's not stupidity. That's just . . . a different background. Different experiences."

  "You didn't answer the question. Am I hurting you, by association?"

  "Not to anyone whose opinions have weight."

  "Then why? Miss Benefit is here because we were spending too much time together, and people were talking, and it looked bad." He met Effluvia's eyes. "They saw it too."

  Effluvia opened her mouth. Closed it. Her expression flickered through several emotions before settling on something resigned.

  "You spend all of your time with a group of girls, and plenty of time in their sole company," she said finally. "If you were any older, you'd be thought a rake. As it is, you're just incautious. Our reputations are our business, and we are already taking precautions."

  It shouldn't have hurt. Nothing had changed.

  Except everything had changed, apparently. And he'd been the only one who hadn't noticed.

  "Right," he said. "Okay. I guess I can still spend time with Whimsy."

  "Dalliance—"

  "I'm going to go. I need to figure out how to be less of an embarrassment." He was already backing away, putting distance between them. "I'll see you tomorrow. Or whenever. At training. With Ronan. And your guardswoman. All proper and appropriate."

  "You're being ridiculous."

  "Am I?" He spread his hands.

  He looked towards Miss Benefit for confirmation, but the woman seemed to have lost her patience with the nonsense entirely and was carefully regarding her fingernails as though her charge no longer existed.

  He turned and marched away, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridor. Behind him, he heard Effluvia swear under her breath, but he didn't stop.

  His head still ached from the spores. His pride ached worse. And somewhere under all of it was a creeping sense of humiliation that he couldn't quite shake, the knowledge that he'd been walking around for months completely oblivious to what everyone else apparently saw clearly.

  He really was that stupid.