We turned a final time. “I’d like to pay you back in my own way for your discretion,” the king said. “Wouldn’t want you to think me thankless.”

“You should be more concerned with the five bad portents you garnered than winning my esteem, King Castor.”

He laughed, bawdy and boyish.

I scowled.

“Oh, I’m not laughing at you—Six, isn’t it?” He grinned. “I admire your conviction. You’re wildly intimidating. I like that in my friends.”

He wasn’t my friend, and I would have told him so, but the song ended, and the king dropped my hands. “I’d like to pay you back,” he repeated. “If not for your esteem, then for Rory’s truly talented rudeness.” He winked conspiratorially. “How about a little game?”

King Castor swanned back to his knights, stealing a cup of ale and addressing them at a volume only the truly intoxicated can achieve. “Listen up, you ingrates. Before we return the Diviners to Aisling, it’s time for an age-old sport, practiced by even the most dignified knights of old.” He cleared his throat dramatically. “Rodrick Myndacious. Please step forward.”

The knights whistled, chided, and Rory came forward, laughing. It was a heartening sound. Deep and scraping and rich. He was smiling—sickeningly handsome.

His sneers, it seemed, he reserved only for me.

King Castor suddenly looked downright wicked. “Care for a little challenge, my friend?”

Rory’s shoulders were an atlas, every subtle shift a new course charted—annoyance, humor, pointed resignation. Meanwhile the knights, who were practically frothing with glee, began to slam their tin cups upon the table. “Challenge him at his craft,” they shouted. “Challenge him at his craft!”

The Diviners gathered. “What’s this nonsense?” Five asked, bemused.

“Don’t you know?” Maude was there, saddled up next to us, brow damp from dancing. “It’s a tenet of Traum. Every person in every hamlet has a craft. Be it combat or wits or handiness, a challenge to one’s craft is a kind of duel, a test of their skill—and more importantly, their honor. Only the gutless, bereft of honor or merit, deny a challenge.”

Maude rested an arm on my shoulder like we were old friends. “The virtues of knighthood are love, faith, or war. Rory must accept one of those challenges. If he doesn’t, the knights will chase him through the field. Naked.”

“Really.” My gaze sharpened. “And if he accepts the challenge?”

“If he loses, he does whatever Benji tells him to. If he wins”—she shook her head, smiling at the king—“Benji will have to strip and run naked instead.”

Three grinned. “Sounds like a happy ploy to get everyone’s clothes off.”

“Bless the knighthood.” Four cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted. “Challenge him at his craft!”

Rory folded his arms over his chest—said something I could not hear. The knighthood went wild with applause.

“Oh-ho! Challenge it is.” King Castor stepped farther into the field. “All right, Rodrick Myndacious. I challenge you to your knightly craft of war. I say you cannot keep your footing against three assaults. If you can, I’ll happily concede my loss, shed my clothes, and howl at the moon. But if you falter a step or are knocked from your feet”—the king’s blue gaze found me in the crowd—“you must return to Aisling and have your future Divined.”

Next to me, Maude was grinning. “This should be good.”

“He won’t do it,” I said, clipped. “The man has made no secret of his revulsion for Aisling, for the Omens, for Diviners.” For me.

“I don’t know,” Maude said. “He might surprise you yet.”

“Well?” King Castor drank heartily from his cup. “Will you be stripping, Myndacious?”

“Three assaults to knock me off my feet?” Rory came closer. Smacked the king’s ale out of his hand. “Fine, you git, I accept.” He crossed his arms and planted his feet wide. “So long as I choose from whom.”

Another cheer echoed across the field.

King Castor clapped, then rubbed his hands together. “I may be seeing double, but I can still knock you over.”

“Not you.” Rory turned toward the pyre. When his gaze landed on us, Diviners all in a row, it narrowed. “Them.”

All eyes turned our way. And I understood then why Rory had called me a spectacle the moment we’d met. The knights were looking at us exactly how they’d looked at me yesterday when I’d Divined for the king. Rapt. Anticipating amazement.

Wanting a good show.

“Marvelous,” King Castor called. “And to sweeten the deal—” He extracted a sash from a nearby knight, then moved behind Rory. “He’ll have his hands tied.”

Maude laughed, sauntering away to join the king. “Too bad you don’t have that hammer and chisel,” she said to me. “He’s a stone wall.”

Four was all business. “Gather, shrews.”

We huddled together, six hairlines pressing in a circle. “All right,” One said. “Who’s gonna knock him over?”

“Just to have to Divine for him later? Pfff.” Three shook her head. “Not worth it.”

I disagreed. Heartily. “I say we pummel him.”

“Absolutely. He was very mean to Six. Let’s flatten him.” Five pressed a reproachful hand to her chest. “But not me, mind. We all know my hands are my greatest beauty.”

“He was mean to you, Six?” One popped her knuckles. “I’ll take a shot at him. My blood’s up from dancing besides.”

“We don’t even know him,” Two complained. “Not very generous to knock him over.”

“Hey,” Four bit back, “don’t get sweet. You remember our pact? Knights are strictly for fun. Give ’em nothing—especially generosity. We swore it under the sacred smoke of idleweed!”

Provided by this particular knight, I noted.

“Fine,” Two muttered. “Go ahead and thrash him.”

Three chuckled. “I don’t think we’ve ever agreed on anything so fast without a short straw. One, Four, Six—you’re volunteering?”

We looked at one another. Nodded. “Let’s flatten him.”

Our circle broke, and the knighthood hollered their approval as One, Four, and I stepped closer. They beat their cups upon the tables again and again, a steady bang, bang, bang—a new drum, goading us forward.

Rory looked us up and down, then faced King Castor’s devilish grin. “Who first?”

The king leveled a finger. “The tallest.”

One rolled her shoulders.

“He’s got an injury,” I whispered into her ear. “Left ribs.”

“How on earth do you know that?”

“Trust me,” I murmured. “Left ribs. Hit him. Hard.”

She stepped away from the fire and into the field.

The knights hailed her with more animated banging. Rory straightened his back, black eyes narrowing. “Don’t hurt yourself, Diviner—”

One slammed her foot into the left side of his armor.

The resulting noise from the knights and their cups made it impossible to know if Rory cried out. His face twisted, eyes screwed shut, muscles in his jaw jumping.

But his feet stayed firmly on the ground.

“A hit,” the king called above the noise. “And what a hit it was! You got two more in you, Rory?”

He sucked in a breath. Shot it out his nose. “Hardly felt a thing.”

One shrugged and skipped back to my side. “That felt shockingly good.”

King Castor’s finger, slightly wobbly, pointed once more. “The pretty one.”

Rory’s eyes flitted to me. But the King’s finger, the knighthood’s collective gaze, was trained on Four.

She grinned. “Let’s try a new tactic.” Four walked up to Rory. Put both hands on his face.

And kissed him full on the mouth.

Breath lodged in my throat.

The knights had been raucous. Now, their noise was cataclysmic. Four deepened the kiss, pressing into Rory, who stood so still I wondered if he was even breathing.

He didn’t falter a step.

It took too long for Four to pull away. “Huh,” she said, patting her lips. “That usually works. You’re going to wish it had.” She turned with a knowing smile. “She’s next.”