"Gods, son, you look more sour than curdled milk. Are you no longer the bard's favourite?"

She could tip an ox with a single look. Percy scowled as he sat on the floor of their room, and grudgingly accepted the hunk of bread she handed him. This, he thought, was how he knew that deep down she liked him; he had never seen her feed someone she disliked.

"Well, if it's Tombert causing all this while unaware of their own power, they're not keen to admit it" he reported, chewing his bread and his words together in a display of inelegance that earned him a grimace from Valeria. He kept at it just for the sake of annoying her. Everyone needed a little honey on their bread from time to time. "They're giving another concert tonight, though. We ought to go, just to look it over again – although, when there's no curse to break in the first place... what are we even supposed to do?"

All the while, Evans had been listening with his hands held up in a conch shape, because he did not wish to carelessly drop the crumbs of his breakfast on the carpeted floor. He sat pensive for a moment, holding up the breadcrumbs in his palms like an offering to the gods, but said nothing.

In the hours that followed, Percy did not know what to do with himself. Of all the miserable states to be in, that was perhaps the one he loathed the most. When he suffered, he could convince himself that he did so for a cause. When he was insulted or betrayed, he could at least enjoy the peculiar pleasure of being wronged. But not knowing what to do was a matter he was not equipped to deal with. In the past, when he had been unable to decide how he should be busy, others had done it for him.

To his frustration, his friends seemed to have their own purposes for the day. Evans vanished soon after breakfast, Percy knew not where. Valeria sauntered off to see her antique dealer, offering no excuses, no justifications, and no hint of embarrassment, which was, in Percy's eyes, her most impressive display of strength he had so far witnessed. As for Myrtle, she gathered the rest of the pamphlets she had been handing out in the party, tucked them neatly under her arm, and declared it was best to strike when the iron was hot.

Percy decided to follow her. He joined her as she spoke to people in packed hallways, low-lit lounges and shops filled with trinkets and incense. At times, between a laugh heard in the distance and a blond head turning a corner, he would remember his encounter with Leo, and he would blush for no one's eyes.

They sat at a table in a mess hall that soon became crowded with festival-goers. They all carried their hangovers from the previous night, some in obvious misery, others with a haughty pride for how they spent their time: living so fully that they could not remember three thirds of their night, why their left shoe smelled of sick, and who exactly had drawn a dandelion on their forehead. Much of their pride could have been undone by anyone asking to pass the salt a little too loudly; but, for now, the mess hall was nothing but gentle murmurs.

As Percy sat at the table, bemused by Myrtle and her savagely unyielding persuasion, a few strange words crawled up to him like snakes. They came from a group of men behind him, gathered around mugs of ale. One of them vaguely reminded Percy of a well-polished brass doorknob, with a tan that tried too hard and golden hair that looked offensively shiny and soft. Percy took a breath-quick dislike to him. He recognized him as the man Evans had been talking to the night before, at the party.

"And then we talked about some bullshit like... gods, I can't remember, I think it was horticulture or some mind-numbing crap like that. I don't know, I was bored out of my mind by then."

"Yeah, but I saw you smiling your best smile" joined another voice, dripping grease.

"Well, yeah, how else was I supposed to get my prey?"

There was a nauseating bout of rotten laughter.

"That's our Jack" said yet another voice with a well-oiled grin. "Always on the hunt. Remember that bit of skirt you scored back at the last town? She had quite a mouth on her when you left."

"Really? Don't recall" Jack said with a little pleased smirk that delighted his friends and soured the world. "Sometimes you just have to pawn them, you know, reassert your worth. But you didn't let me finish. I told him his hair was nice, and then I asked if he ever combed it. That's when I got him, mate. It's crazy how easy it can be with these methods."

Their conversation strayed into meandering remarks and boasts, each reaching the same sickening dead-end. Percy heard tale after tale of their exploits in this town, that town. He had read once that hyenas and other carrion-feeders were pack animals; here was proof.

"Hey, didn't you have a list of your trophies at some point?"

"How much do you think last night's win should count for? It can't just be one. It should count as three, at least."

"What do you think of that one over there?" one of them glanced at a tall redhead by the bar's counter. "Bet you a week of ale I could hook them in five minutes. They look ripe and easy. Sweet little lamb for the wolf."

"Maybe, but not as easy as he was last night" Jack smiled his smile with too many teeth. "I could barely believe it. Almost took the fun out of it."

"You say that, but I think we'll be hearing you brag for a long time about getting your hands on the chosen dic – "

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In a red-hot flash, Percy stood and turned to the pack, sending his stool tumbling down along with two others. He might be small and slim, but his anger took up space.

"You're talking about my friend" he said, his voice flat and honed as a blade.

They slowly swivelled around to face him. As many beasts did when threatened, they bloated and swelled: they splayed their arms on the back of their chairs and spread their legs wide, laughably, piteously wide, until the entire table was puffed up and ready to bite.

"Yeah? So?" Jack smirked, a glint of polished cruelty shining off his teeth.

"So, what you're saying is... pretty disrespectful" Percy swallowed.

He was becoming aware of other stares focusing on them, the attention of the crowd anchoring itself to that scene and the entertainment it promised. He suddenly grew convinced he was made of a dozen scurrying mice. He could almost feel their panicked crawling under his tunic.

But he did not regret his fury, or his display. Something truthful drove him.

"Pity, I can say whatever I like" Jack bit his grin a little deeper.

Percy nodded and fidgeted, teetering nervously between the tip and the heels of his feet. The mice, no doubt.

"Yes, of course, you can say whatever you like. So can I. And I say you're a nasty little weasel that's only fit to burrow up its own arse."

His outrage was not in the least out of place, he thought. After all, it was not pleasant to put himself in those shoes. To think that his few lovers in the past had only been interested in him so that they may claim as trophy the chosen di –

"You little prick!"

Jack's expression, distorted by fury, suddenly focused into something far more ordered, and far more terrifying.

"I recognize your anger, your bitterness" he said. "I was there before. You're not getting any, are you? In our guild, we could coach you."

Percy allowed his silence to speak for him. But, when that did not seem eloquent enough, he repeated:

"Coach me?"

"Yes!" Jack simmered, enlivened by the smell of his own shit. "Show you how to train your mind until you can prime others to your will. To get yourself any target you set your sights on."

"I don't need coaching" an incredulous chuckle escaped Percy's lips.

"Yeah, that's what we all said at first. But ask yourself: how strong is your game right now? Are you getting the reward and the respect a male of your standing ought to get? Are you asserting your social value?"

"My... what?"

It occurred to him now, flustered as he was by the stare of onlookers, that he had perhaps made a dreadful mistake, and they had not in fact been talking about what he feared at all. He wondered whether they spoke of a tournament, or of cattle herding, or of cheap backdoor sorcery. But no – some of the things they had said left no room for mistakes.

In the three seconds of strained silence that passed as Percy struggled to understand what strange cult sat there, Jack decided that this short, brittle young man facing him was hardly worth his contempt, much less his notice.

"On second thought, little man, you're not the stuff we're looking for for our guild. You don't have what it takes to really improve your game. You're just not up there in the hierarchy with the rest of us, you know? Although, if you prime them right, you might get one or two to settle for you anyway."

Jack, for all his stellar leadership virtues, could not quite prime his own hearing to pick up much beyond the sound of his own voice. He failed to notice the approach of Tombert, who had paraded up behind him, escorted by reverential hushing and shushing.

"Hello. What's all this?" they asked, fresh and resplendent among hungover revellers. "I listened in for a bit, hope you don't mind. I too, like all other mere humans" the bard sent a pointed glance at Percy, who duly withered in place, "have a morbid fascination for watching dreadful accidents unfold."

Jack turned a quivering look at Tombert – who, Percy supposed, was no doubt also worth "at least a three" in his list. But his pack was watching, and now that he had worked up his own worth to a stratospheric plane, Jack could hardly be seen to be afraid of heights.

"We were just discussing a few things between mates. Nothing that concerns anyone else" he rasped.

"Truly? And yet, I seem to have overheard you mention many others. Though of course, you seem to consider them more as anythings than anyones."

Tombert, more than anyone Percy had ever met, had the gift of transmuting onlookers into audience. The bard did it now as they leaned forward, their palms flat on the table, their body curved like a hissing cat.

"I will now tell you to go fuck yourself. Life has an abundance of pleasures, but I fear this may be one of the few left to you, and I am not so vile as to wish you to miss out on it."

Tombert stood upright again, shaking their shoulders lightly with uncommon grace.

"Either that, or I could just take my lute and make you pirouette out of here. That would be fun."

A sliver of fear flashed in the man's eyes. Upon reflecting that he was perhaps, at the present moment, more akin to the kicked dog than the wolf, Jack and the others rose from the table and left the mess hall. They did it slowly, deliberately, indulging in all kinds of ferocious grunts and glares that no one truly unafraid would ever resort to.

As he watched them leave, a grin tilting his lips, Percy's eyes stumbled on Evans. He stood by the door, faded and fading, seeking any shadows that might hide him. As soon as he met Percy's stare, he turned his back and left the room.

Robbed of any other thought, Percy chased after him along the entrails of the monstrous tent, tripping on singers and lute players and early drinkers and incense burners.

Evans came to a stop at last in an outside balcony that overlooked the lake, not unlike the one Percy had stood in the previous night. For a brief moment, Evans looked almost cross to see he had been followed. But his expression quickly softened, and he returned to that oak-like stillness that was so very his: rooted, steady, patient, home to a thousand small things.

Percy was awed by it. He had always been awed by it, but so far, he had managed to pretend he was not. Now that he admitted it to himself at last, it struck him dumb.

When he recovered enough to speak, all he had left were platitudes.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that."

Evans could easily have lied; easily have claimed he had heard nothing, and did not know what Percy meant; and Percy could then just as easily – gladly – have cast the matter aside. But instead, Evans said:

"That's alright. I didn't think it was that hard to hear. I did get a feeling, when I was with him last night, that he and his friends might say things like that about me."

Percy looked at him, dumbfounded. The world tipped to the side and teetered in precarious balance.

"I meant – what that idiot was telling the others, about... well, I suppose, it was you..."

"Yes, it was me."

And the world tipped over.

"How can you admit that so... so readily?" he babbled, steadying a hand on the balcony's railing.

"Why should I not?"

Because it was your back I was leaning against last night, Percy thought.