I laid there on the stone floor in the dark and wondered if the back of my head was going to end up flat and misshapen from resting on the hard surface. It was an idle, stupid thought, but it was better than any of the others bouncing around my skull. You won’t be in the school long enough for your head to go flat. One more night after this and then you get to fail the Melee and become a mop boy. Sure, you’ll live the rest of your life in shame and disappointment, but at least they’ll give you a cot and pillow in the staff quarters.

I’d tried everything. My bond beast viper was probably still waiting for me in the Beast Kin den, wandering around the grasses and terrorizing mice, but there was precisely zero chance he could help me win the Melee; the Hierophant Hestus had as much as admitted it. If I somehow miraculously reached fifth place – if every other Neophyte just laid down and died for me – then sure, I’d love to go scoop up that little snake and see what heights we could achieve together… but I was going to lose, and I didn’t want to see him again if I didn’t get to keep him. It would hurt too damned much. I’d barely been able to walk away the first time. Better to let him fade back into a latent construct in my mind, whatever that meant.

Sett wanted to help, and he’d convince Tamra and Aldric to go along with whatever scheme I cooked up, but I was out of ideas. No amount of sparring or mental preparation could save me now; I simply wasn’t fast enough or strong enough to compete any more. I’d prided myself on my fighting skills before entering the Tower; I’d known in my bones that I was the best fighter my age to walk the streets of Misfell. Now, the clumsiest, weakest Neophyte among the Warriors could literally kill me without breaking a sweat. On top of that, any Artisan-made weapon or trick that might turn the tide of battle for me was so ridiculously beyond my little bag of Tower teeth that I’d never be able to afford it. I could fleece the Summoners at chop for a year and not even come close.

I’m done for. This is where it ends. I might as well go find that servant fellow Steg and ask him to save me a good bunk. He’d known as soon as he saw me that I wouldn’t make it. I should have listened, but I’d been too proud. Too sure that I’d find a way to tweak Father’s nose and get what I wanted anyways. Stupid.

Father would expect me to return home instead of staying on the staff, but I hadn’t been lying when I’d told him we couldn’t live under the same roof anymore. He’d find his victory a hollow one; I’d rather serve as a drudge in the Tower than return to that house. Let him come to work every day and have to see me, give me tasks, and watch me climb the ranks among the servants. Maybe then he’d see what he cost me.

I rolled over on my side, sighing noisily. Those were the thoughts I was trying to avoid. The ones that ended with me watching Sett and the others become Acolytes, then Devout, then Deacon… growing ever stronger, ever more divine as I moldered behind a mop and bucket growing nothing but older, waiting until I turned thirty-five and was forced to climb the Tower unprepared, like the rankest of the gormek. I’d never make it. I knew myself; within three years at most I would either sneak up the Tower of my own volition or step out the highest window I could find. The result would be the same either way.

Feeling tears prick my closed eyes, I sat up, abandoning all pretense at sleep. It wasn’t supposed to be like this! Anger and injustice welled within me. I’d been the best of the students entering the Tower. Was a single mistake in judgment enough to condemn me? Wasn’t screwing up part of refining one’s virtues? How else was I supposed to learn?

I got on my knees. “O Seven Above… no.” That wasn’t the prayer I needed right now. I rose to my feet and went to the doorway of the empty classroom I’d chosen for tonight, letting the gentle light from the hallway invade my dark space as I opened the door and walked out. I knew my way around well enough at this point. The place was starting to feel like home, even if I didn’t have my own bed now. I would stay in the Tower, no matter what. But I needed to have a conversation with someone first.

Three minutes’ walk brought me to the doors of the Cathedral, and I pushed one of the great wooden portals just far enough to slip inside, grateful that the Deacons and Elders in charge didn’t feel the need to lock the worship space at night. I padded down the length of the nave, reveling in the pregnant silence of the space. Some other time I’d stop and stare at the stained-glass windows to nowhere and puzzle out the stories and meanings in each depiction, but right now I had eyes for only one thing: the Guardian. He hulked behind the altar like a human mountain wrapped in steel. I went around the altar and stepped right up to him, looking up into the T-shaped slit in his helm. I couldn’t see anything of his face. He crouched as if in prayer, one knee on the floor and the other tucked up against his breastplate, his enormous sword planted point-down into the stone before him like a deadly metal tree.

“I know I should pray to the Seven Aspects,” I said quietly, “but they never spoke to me and you did. So how about you tell me what the point of that was, will you? You told me to persist. I have, damn all the Saints! I have done everything, every last living thing I could, and it hasn’t helped at all. I can’t place in the Melee. You know I can’t. I’ll go in just like last time and get killed. They all know it. Why didn’t the Summoner Hierophant just hand me over to my father instead of playing this pointless game?”

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I bowed my head, my anger guttering out. “Help me,” I pled. “I don’t know what to do.”

That ineffable sigh I’d heard the last time echoed through me, but so quietly that I almost doubted I’d heard it. Maphen… persist.

“I…!” I threw my hands up. “How?”

Nothing.

I screwed up my courage and laid my hand against the Guardian’s greave. It was warm to the touch. Comforting. “Tell me,” I said. “Please.”

Persist. It was barely an echo.

My anger billowed up again, and I hit the metal of his greave with an open palm. It rang like a bell. “Is that all you can say? Are you even there, or is persist just the dumb echo of some poor sap that got himself killed forever ago?”

Nothing. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything else. Losing my temper with an Ascended Knight wasn’t the best idea I’d ever had. I sat there for another hour at least, waiting for something, anything. The Guardian sat silent. I was wasting my time. With a sigh, I walked out of the Cathedral. I couldn’t be mad at the Heavens. It was my job to Ascend, not theirs. If I’d botched it beyond all repair, well, then that was on me. Not every bored boy turned into a hero. Not every story had a happy ending.

Still, when I got back to my empty classroom and saw in the narrow slice of hallway light that my imp tormenter had eaten the food I’d smuggled out of the Mess Hall despite me covering it with a metal serving cover, I couldn’t avoid a moment of feeling like the whole world had turned against me. Propping the door open, I crossed to the mess he’d left behind. He’d shat in the middle of the plate, of course; he was nothing if not consistent. But he’d done this often enough that I’d specifically gotten the most boring, least flavorful foods at the table – the ones he always left behind on his little raids. The beets were still there, as were the stewed greens, the leeks, and the cup of prune mash, all mixed and fouled beyond saving.

The only thing he’d taken this time was the cornbread. He took that every time, come to think of it. He liked meat just fine, and beans, of course – more ammunition for his anal warfare against me – but the honey-sweet, buttery cornmeal cakes got gobbled without fail. In fact… yes, the one night I’d forgotten to take any, he’d left the plate alone.

I was back out the door at a run before I even realized I’d had the idea. I pelted down the hallway, hoping not to run into any insomniac Elders to whom I’d have to explain myself. There was no time to waste. I took the turns in a haze, already thinking five steps ahead.

When I reached the Summoner Hall, my reflection greeted me in the entryway mirror. “You know I can’t let you in,” it said smugly.

Do I really look like such an ass when I’m feeling superior? I should never make that face again. I want to punch myself just to watch it flinch. “I answered your stupid conundrum last time. Open up.”

“Ah, but things have changed, haven’t they?” it sneered. “You’re persona non grata. Denied entry until further notice. So sad.”

I ground my teeth. “I’m not here to talk to you, and I’m not going in, either.” Reaching out, I knocked on the mirror with a knuckle as if rapping on a wooden door. The whole thing rang like a chime. I hoped someone inside was a light sleeper. It was well past midnight. I counted to a hundred and knocked again. I’d do it straight through ‘til morning if I had to.

My fist was raised a third time when the mirror shimmered clear and Zoaelia stood in the gap wearing a silken nightie. My mouth went dry. Even irritated, she looked like something out of the best dreams I’d ever had.

“New Boy, if you woke me up to beg for a spot to sleep, I’m going to freeze your balls off. You know I can’t let you in.”

“I’m not asking you to,” I said hurriedly. “I know the rules.”

“Well, if you’re looking for someone to chat with, you picked the wrong end of the day. Get lost. Go snuggle with the Beast Fuckers if you’re lonely.”

I gaped, shocked and offended. “They’re not…! They don’t do that.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know that. But you should hear what we get called. It’s all in fun. Mostly.” She waved a flawless hand in annoyance. “I want to go back to bed, New Boy. Get to the point or go away.”

“I need to borrow a book.”

Her eyes narrowed. “We’re not supposed to give you any assistance. The Hierophant said so.”

“Right, but what if I paid?” I said, holding up my little cloth bag of teeth and rattling it. “Then it’s not help, it’s a deal.”

The sly smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth told me this was exactly the right thing to say. Contracts and deals were like catnip to Summoners, and a deal that was also a loophole through a rule? Perfection. “How many teeth are we talking?”

“Five,” I said promptly.

She sucked at her teeth and shook her head. “Hardly worth getting out of bed for. Thirty.”

My heart sank. I’d hoped she’d start at fifteen. “I only have twelve.”

She bobbed her head back and forth as if thinking about it. “It’s on the low side, but… we’ve got a deal. I’m not a fan of how they’re playing you, and you’re cute. Or you would be if you had the mantle, at least.”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that, so I held out the bag. She leaned forward, which did very interesting things to her silk nightgown, and snatched it with a look of satisfaction. “Pleasure doing business, New Boy. What’s this book that you’ve got to read in the middle of the night?”

For the first time in days, I felt a glimmer of hope. “I saw it when I was here the first time. Basic Demon Contracts and Covenants.”