Tibs noticed someone else with the leather case while looking for the metal essence user who had attacked him. No guards had been called—Tibs wasn’t about to involve them—since no one realized anything ‘wrong’ had been done. Shoddy workmanship, the owner had grumbled and promised to those around him the builder would repay him for this.

If the man hadn’t been a noble, and Tibs knew who his attacker was, he would have told them. One of the townsfolk wouldn’t question Tibs’s help. This noble would accuse Tibs of being in league with the other Runner and would demand every Runner be punished for daring to look at him, or something like that.

The man with the leather case entered the Long in the Tooth tavern while Tibs continued toward the archery field. He’d already checked out the metal sorcerers and while both were thin enough, they were too clumsy to have trailed him. He wanted to eliminate anyone who couldn’t have done it before he focused on those would might have. If he was lucky, the one who’d done it would give himself away and Tibs would find out why they wanted to kill him.

Harry was an option. No matter how little he liked Tibs, the guard leader would take the accusation seriously. With his ability to know the truth, it would be easy for him to find the right person.

It would be the right thing to do for the town.

But Tibs was Street. On his street, you didn’t pass on your problem to someone else, certainly not a guard. You might bring in friends, but not strangers. You dealt with the problem yourself.

The archer was with the other Upsilons, practicing. Mez was there too, a look of concentration as he pulled on the string of his bow without an arrow notched into it. He was still trying to get the fire arrow to form.

In contrast, the metal archer had an arrow to his bow and easily pulled it back. Something happened to the arrowhead. Tibs was too far to sense it, but it shimmered as if someone had just polished it. The archer released it and instead of embedding itself in the target, the arrow flew through the bale of hay it was attached to, leaving a feather to drift down from the hole it left behind.

Mez snapped at the woman next to him and immediately looked regretful. She smiled, and they exchanged a few words. She too pulled on her string without an arrow, but one shimmered into place, made of fire, as she reached the furthest she could. She glanced at Mez, who watched her intently and said something. Mez frowned and—

“Can I help you?” an old archer asked Tibs, looking him over. “If you wanted to be an archer, you should have come on the first day. Or at least go stand with the Omegas.” He jerked his head toward another group of people. Most were a few years older than him, but a few were adults. They were also shooting at targets attached to bales of hay, but mostly missing. Sometimes the entire bale.

“Shouldn’t there be more archers?” Tibs asked. There had been roughly as many archers as there had been rogues among the first group, with the fighters being the largest and the sorcerers the smallest. Now, there hardly seemed to be any.

The trainer sighed. “The nobles brought their own teachers, and they have a field outside the town’s limits. These are the ones who could pay for the privilege of running the dungeon, but nothing more. So I get them.” He looked in their direction and shook his head. “Normally I’m willing to bet good money my trainees will outshine any noble within a few months, but these…. Well, at least they’re enthusiastic.”

One woman fired her bow and nearly shot a younger man who had gone to collect the arrows.

“They haven’t been to the dungeon, have they?” Survivors didn’t have this level of energy after watching their teammates being killed.

“Indeed.” The man looked him over again. “You sound like you’ve been in.”

“I’m Upsilon,” Tibs replied. The trainer’s eyes narrowed, then he nodded.

“Then I have to ask what’s a rogue doing on my training field. I hope you aren’t thinking of trying for someone’s pockets.”

“Mez is on my team,” Tibs replied. “He’s having trouble, and I thought I’d come to encourage him.” He smiled at the man. “Rogues have more free time.”

“Which they should make better use of, instead of bothering my trainees.” He turned toward the Omegas. “If anyone complains something has gone missing, I will send the guards after you, Light Fingers.”

Tibs was going to kick Bardik somewhere painful. He had to be spreading the nickname around. It was the only way people Tibs had never talked to before knew it.

He glances at the metal archer as another arrow flew. This one made a hole much larger than the arrowhead and went in deep enough not even half the shaft was visible. He considered the man’s abilities and decided that if he was the one who wanted him dead, he’d use an arrow; it would be much more certain.

He joined Mez, who glanced at him, then the target again. He raised his bow, breathed as he pulled the string, and cursed as nothing happened.

“You must focus on the sense of the arrow,” the woman said in a tone that reminded Tibs of Alistair teaching him. “The heat of the shaft, the breath of the fire on your cheek. The sun of the tip.”

“I’m doing that,” Mez grumbled.

“No, you aren’t,” she replied and with a smooth motion had her bow up, pulled, arrow formed, and released. It hit the target and washed over it, leaving burned hay that boys and girls hurried to douse. No one shot while they performed their task. “Mezano, it isn’t enough for you to feel the heat. You must know it.”

With a growl of annoyance, Mez took an arrow from the quiver at his hip, strung it as he raised the bow and pulled the string. Tibs felt the essence course from the center of the archer’s chest, his arm, hand, then the arrow. He released it with his breath and the essence shifted in the arrow as it flew outside Tibs’s range. The explosion as it hit the target left a hole in the bale where it, and the targets on either side, had been.

“That,” he said through gritted teeth, “is heat.”

“And it’s one less arrow for you to use when you are out of essence,” she replied calmly.

“I can buy more arrows, Amelia. What I can’t do is make one.” He looked at Tibs. “Tell me how she did it.” Tibs raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t be silly, Mezano. He isn’t a fire user. How would he know anything?”

“He’s—” Mez began.

“Water,” Tibs cut him off, his tone forceful enough the archer had to get the message.

The woman was momentarily surprised. “You must be Tibs. I’m Amelia of the family of the Light Heart.”

“I don’t remember seeing you before,” he said cautiously. He couldn’t know everyone who was still alive, but he thought he’d at least seen them all.

“I arrived when the dungeon reopened.” She smiled. “My mother felt this would benefit me more than simply studying under old Barnabus.”

“You’re a noble?” Tibs exclaimed in surprise. Her armor was clean, her bow in good condition, but nothing that a Runner couldn’t have at this point.

“Tibs,” Mez warned.

“She’s a noble,” Tibs replied, glaring at his friend. How could Mez be talking with her?

Mez sighed. “You have to forgive him,” he told her, and Tibs stared in shock. “He’s Street, and where he’s from, the nobles are…” He trailed off and his shoulders slumped. “Well, I’m sure you’ve seen how some of them are here.”

“Some?” Tibs demanded. Where was the Mez who’d cursed all nobles in the town? Rejoiced at the idea of letting them be the only ones to give coins to the guild?

“Tibs,” Mez chided him.

He considered reminding the archer what he’s said in their room. See how well she took that.

“It’s all right, Mezano,” she said, tone apologetic. “I am a noble, and I am well aware that in places, that word is uttered as a curse.” She offered Tibs a smile. “I’m sorry you had to experience that kind of nobility, Tibs.”

He eyed her suspiciously. There was no such thing as a nice noble. Only a scheming one. “How do you know I’m Tibs?”

“According to the stories told, there is only one water user whose eyes are still brown. If I understood correctly, it’s because of your age.”

Tibs fixed his gaze on Mez. “Yes, it’s my age.” The archer looked away.

“I am pleased to meet you, Tibs. Did you need Mezano for something team related?”

“What do you want?” he demanded of her.

“I’m afraid I—”

“You’re being nice, so you want something.” He didn’t feel like letting her take advantage of his friend.

“Tibs,” Mez said, sounding tired.

She shook her head. “I’m not here wanting anything. In fact, I should ask what you need from me. Within the limits of my duties to my training and the dungeon, I am here to serve.”

Tibs was left speechless because of the lack of words to express how full of shit she was. After a few attempts, he turned and walked off. A noble, serve? Mez called after him, but Tibs ignored him. Let him get used by nobles if that was what the archer wanted. Tibs had warned him. Mez had seen what they did. Any misery was on him now.

As he stepped off the archery field and onto the street, he saw Tandy. When she was sure he’d noticed her, she nodded to an alley. He considered ignoring her; he wasn’t in a mood to be social. What he wanted was a roof and running. Some noble’s home with a window to open, even if it was daylight. She nodded to the alley with more insistence and he sighed. He could still run a roof after he had listened to her.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He clamped his mouth shut and did his best not to glare. She might not be on his team, but she was Carina’s friend, a fellow rogue who was helping him learn how to throw knives.

“I had a run-in with a noble,” he said, once he had his temper under control.

“Is it something the guards are going to hear about?”

He shook his head. Even if he did something, they wouldn’t know. “What do you need?”

She studied him before speaking. “Our team talked it over and Pyan wanted me to tell you we agree with Jackal. We’ll pass the word on to the teams we know. In a few days, every Runner will know not to bother trying to climb the schedule.”

Tibs nodded. He didn’t want to ask the next part. He hadn’t mentioned it when he’d told the plan to Tandy because it didn’t matter if they didn’t go along with it, but now, if it didn’t happen, it would turn bad at some point.

“Do you know anyone who gets along with Don enough to inform him of what we’re doing?”

“Why the fuck do you want to let that asshole in on the plan?” she demanded, showing more fire than Tibs thought the meek woman was capable of. “He’s just going to tell the guild to make himself look better in their eyes.”

“We’re not breaking rules, so it doesn’t matter if he tells them. They’re going to work it out on their own, anyway. They just had Harry word it the way he did to make us think it was a good idea.” Tibs didn’t doubt Jackal that Harry had known what he was telling them wasn’t needed, but after the few interactions he’d had with the man, he couldn’t imagine him deciding to do this. It was more something Tirania would want. “If we don’t tell Don, he’s going to find a way to cause trouble when he realizes we didn’t include him. Maybe he’s going to tell the nobles and they’ll stop paying too. If no one plays the guild’s game, then they’re going to change the rules.”

She thought about it, then sighed unhappily. “I don’t know anyone who gets along with that man. They all either kiss his boots because they’re afraid of his essence, or they hate him because he’s already done something to them. But I do know someone who’s cozy with his rogue. It’s the only way I can think to get him to message.”

Tibs nodded. “Don’t tell him my team came up with the idea. He might do something stupid just to make our lives difficult.”

“Is it about taking Mezano from him?”

Tibs shook his head. “It started before that. The man’s an asshole. He’s easy to hate and to piss off.”

“I’m happy I managed to avoid him.” She took a folded piece of paper and handed it to him. “This is the list of teams Pyan thinks would be good to train with. She wants Jackal to check if there’s anyone there your team can’t work with.”

He stared at the paper. “Did you pay for that?”

She chuckled. “I’m a rogue, Tibs. Why pay when I can take? A quick distraction and I have a page. Amid and Geoff know how to read and write.”

Tibs took it and unfolded it. The letters were scribbled in lines of charcoal and the paper’s edges were unevenly frayed. “You broke it?”

“Paper’s valuable. This is all you needed for the information. I’m keeping the rest.”

He nodded and folded it along the crease. “How many can you get before a merchant notices?” he asked, really hating the idea that was forming.

“Not a lot, why?”

He bit his lower lip. “I need to think it over and check something. We might not need much.” Not if they were very careful.

“If you’re asking me to steal for you, Tibs; I’m going to have to be paid.”

He smiled. “If my idea works, that might be payment enough.”

* * * * *

Khumdar was the last to join them in their room. Tibs was tired. It had taken longer to get his team together than he’d expected, and now all he wanted to do was sleep. Jackal pushed the stool to the cleric with a foot since his bed was the furthest away from Tibs.

“We’re all here, Tibs,” Jackal said. “What’s this important idea you have?”

“First, I need to check something.” He yawned. “When Harry told us the rules, he said we can’t talk about the dungeon outside of it, right? I mean, that is how he said it.” He looked at the other expectantly.

“It’s how I remember it,” Jackal said.

“I think it is,” Carina agrees.

Tibs looked at Mez.

“Oh, now my opinion matters?”

“Mez,” Jackal warned.

“Fine. Yes, that’s how I remember he told it.”

Tibs nodded. “Then I think I have an idea how we can learn about how the other teams did on their runs.”

Jackal leaned forward. “This should be good.”

Tibs took a slow breath. “We use the letters to pass the information among the teams.”

Jackal blinked. “Say that again?”

“We write the information down.”

Jackal shook his head and rubbed an ear. “There’s no way I heard you right. It sounded like you said we read something.” He stared at Tibs. “I barely know my letters and you know less than I do. It’ll never work.”

“And the guards will punish us when they find out,” Mez stated.

Tibs shook his head. “They can’t. We won’t be breaking the rules.”

“Everyone knows that when they said ‘we can’t talk about it’, they meant passing information along in any way,” the archer replied with a roll of the eyes.

“How do we know that?” Carina asked, pensive. “How many Runners know their letters?” She looked at them. “The guild isn’t teaching them. I don’t think they care if anyone other than sorcerers knows how to read and write; are probably counting on it.” She looked at Tibs. “You do understand what that means, right?”

He nodded. “I’m no more happy about my idea than Jackal is.”

“Forgive me, but I fail to understand why you would be unhappy about an idea you had, Tibs.” Khumdar looked around. “Unless I misunderstood, it is an excellent idea. We use the definition of the rule rather than its intent.”

Tibs sighed. “But it means I have to learn my letters now. Me and Jack—”

“No!” the fighter was on his feet. “I am not learning those atrocious things.”

“Jackal, we have to,” Tibs said. “We can’t ask Carina and Khumdar to be the only ones doing this. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“It’s okay, Tibs,” Carina said, and he stared at her. “I’ll start teaching you. I’m certain that once Jackal sees how useful it is, he’ll change his mind.”

Jackal snorted. “You will wither away from old age before I ever change my opinion on letters.” He looked at Tibs. “I really thought we were allies against them, Tibs. I can’t express to you how disappointed I am that you are joining the ‘letters are good’ side.”

Tibs squared his shoulder and looked at the fighter. “It’s what’s best for the team,” he said resolutely, then yawned so wide his jaw cracked.

* * * * *

Mez stepped up to his bed, looking as unhappy as Tibs felt with not being allowed to sleep yet.

“You have no right speaking to Amelia that way.”

“Did you tell her?” Tibs countered in the same angry tone.

“Tell her what?”

“You know exactly what, Mez. You were going to tell her I have fire before I stopped you.”

“I’m sorry,” Mez replied through clenched teeth. “I shouldn’t have, but I was—”

“A child.”

The archer glared at Tibs, who demanded. “Tell me that’s what a man would do.”

Mez’s lips became lines as he took slow breaths. “It isn’t,” he finally said. “I am sorry.”

Tibs nodded. “Are you going to listen to me now, or are you going to get angry defending that noble?”

“I will listen.” The words were calm, but the archer’s hands were clenched into trembling fists.

“I’ve seen nobles walk my street with smiles and sweets. They offer both and take anyone accepting either away. I’ve watched kids go with some. Not a lot come back alive. Their bodies are found days later. Those who come back breathing aren’t really alive either. Whatever those nobles do, it takes something out of them. Some don’t even bother going back to their home. They’ll have the guards clear an alley and do it right there and we can all hear the kid scream, plead for them to stop. We all have to listen to the sickeningly sweet reassurances from that noble that the kid’s going to be better for letting this happen. How special it makes them. And it’s not just what you’re thinking. Some will take blades, glass, fired to them. Sometimes they won’t even bother with that and use fists and kicks. I have never seen a noble step onto my street and have something good happen because of it.”

The archer’s red eyes were bright. Heat radiated from him as he shook, as if he was trying to keep himself from erupting. But when he spoke, his voice was ice. “Amelia isn’t like that.”

“How do you know?” Tibs snarled. “Have you followed her? Have you seen her when she doesn’t have to worry about what others can do to her? This town is ours only so long as we don’t let them take it from us. If they do, they’re going to find a street to hem us in and they’ll never let us escape it.”

“We’re Runners,” Mez replied, and the heat increased. “We face the dungeon. There’s nothing they can do that’s worse than that.”

“Except make you think they’re nice,” Tibs replied.

Mez closed his eyes and breathed as the heat settled at very hot. Tibs glanced about, surprised nothing was on fire. The archer let out a breath, unclenched his hands and the room was suddenly cool.

“I am sorry, Tibs. I am sorry that you have seen the horrors you have at the hands of nobles. I believe you when you say they can be horrible. I believe that now. But I refused to believe all nobles are like that. I refuse to believe it, because one day, I will bear the title of noble. And I will never be like that.”

“That’s you, not—”

“No, Tibs.” Mez opened his eyes and the intensity in them gave Tibs pause. “If I can be like that. Others can too. Others are. People can’t be better if you refuse to give them the chance.”

“If I give one of them the chance,” Tibs said, trying to cool his anger, “I know what they’ll do with it.”

Mez looked sad and determined at the same time. “Then I hope I will be able to show you differently, because I owe you much, Tibs.”

Tibs narrowed his eyes. “Why do you owe me?”

“I finally understand what you told me. I am not the fire, the fire isn’t me. I am its essence.” He extended a hand, and a flame appeared at the tip of a finger, moved up his arm, shoulder down the other one, and vanished at the tip of another finger. He lowered the arm. “All I ask Tibs is that you don’t cause Amelia any trouble. I’d ask that you give all nobles a chance, but too many have abused the privilege. Just give Amelia the chance to prove you wrong.”

“Is she your special girl?”

The archer shook his head. “She’s just a noble I can look up to. One who, back home, would make everyone proud. The kind of noble I’d stopped believing existed outside of my kingdom.”

Tibs took a breath and let it out. What his friend asked for was reasonable, even if he was going to be disappointed. “If she doesn’t do anything to my town to hurt us, I won’t do anything to her either.”

Mez nodded. “Sleep well, Tibs.”

“Have fun shooting fire arrows,” Tibs replied before yawning. He’d been awake far too long.

Mez looked at his hand in surprise, then smiled. “I guess I’ll go find out.”