The guards have already brought Brendan and Nyx to their knees. Blood begins to pool under Charles. His mouth opens, but he doesn’t manage to form any words. He takes one final strangled breath, his eyelids closing and his chest deflating. My own chest heaves, like it’s trying to breathe for him, and my eyes fill.
“No,” I say barely above a whisper. “No. No. No.” Because now I understand. That whistle…that thud? It was an arrow, and it must have hit an artery, and now he’s…
I look up at the platform, where Blackwood lowers her bow, giving it back to the guard on her right. “As I said, there will be no trial.”
Nyx wails helplessly and struggles against the guard, who drags her out of the room. Brendan follows, also restrained. The metallic smell of blood fills the air, and I can’t seem to get my bearings.
“With the guilty party dealt with, your schedules will resume as per usual,” Blackwood says. “Go to your classes, everyone.”
Still in a daze, I turn toward Ash, who is holding his injured arm up, blood dripping down his elbow. Conner and the armed guards are next to us in a flash, retrieving the knife.
“Let’s get you to the infirmary,” Conner says to Ash without sparing me a glance.
I want to thank Ash for saving my life. I want to sob and scream and throw up. But I just stand there frozen, unable to utter a word.
I SIT ON my bed, where I’ve been ever since dinner, trying to read by candlelight, except the words swim in front of my eyes and I can’t make sense of them. But sleeping is out of the question. Every time I close my eyes, I see Ash’s blood dripping on my lap and Charles taking his last breath.
“So Layla’s got you studying deception and sparring, huh?” Ash asks, and I jump.
He comes into my room and closes the door behind him. I quickly put the book down on my nightstand and move my legs so that he has room to sit. His arm is all bandaged up, but he seems in good spirits.
Ash lowers himself onto my bed and grins. “Your mouth is hanging open.”
I can’t help it, I lean forward and throw my arms around his neck in a hug. For just a second, he tenses. Then he relaxes and puts his arms around my back. He holds me carefully, like this is the first time in years that someone’s hugged him. Maybe it is.
“Thank you,” I say into his neck. “Thank you so much. I should have said something right away. I just didn’t know how to process what you did.” I give him a squeeze and let go. “All day I’ve been thinking about how to repay you.”
“It was no problem,” he says quickly, formally, like he’s not sure what to do with my outpouring of emotion.
“Ash, you took a knife through the arm for me,” I say. “It’s a big deal. I can’t even tell you how…I would be dead if you hadn’t been there.”
He looks more uncomfortable. “Need help?” He nods at my book, changing the subject. “Eighty percent of fighting is being able to predict which way and when someone will move or attack. Twenty percent is knowing how to combat that move effectively.”
“Wait, hold on,” I say. “I mean, yes, I do want your help. But what the heck was that chaos today? Layla’s barely talked to me since.”
“Well, Layla goes quiet when she’s thinking,” he says, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s reconsidering her friendship with me after what happened in the dining hall.
“Blackwood didn’t even explain how she knew Charles was guilty,” I say, and the image of the arrow hitting him replays in my thoughts, making me shudder.
“Technically, she doesn’t have to explain,” Ash says. “His reaction made it clear he was the guilty one, not you. But also, she may have chosen not to explain his motives in detail because she doesn’t want to emphasize the divide between the Bears and the Lions. Everyone assumes that Charles killed Stefano because of politics—that’s the obvious reason. As you may have noticed, everything comes down to politics and alliances when you’re Strategia. And I’m sure a handful of people figured out that he tried to pin the murder on you, with the intention of taking out two Bears at once. It could have been three if Matteo had reacted to you differently and dropped you out of that tree. The bottom line is, Charles was trying to weaken your Family, which is nothing new.”
“But Blackwood”—I can barely get the words out—“executed him in front of the whole school.”
Ash nods slowly and gives me a thoughtful look. “Yes. But it was a fast death, and she could have lost another of her students if she hadn’t reacted quickly. Almost did.” He watches me. “That really shook you, didn’t it?”
“I…Yes,” I say, but I don’t explain further. What’s there to add when you’ve just seen someone killed in cold blood?
We’re both silent for an awkward beat.
“So then is it over?” I ask. “Now that Charles is…now that Blackwood caught the murderer.”
“Weeell,” Ash says. “Layla’s worried that we haven’t been given our punishments for those marks.”
“Wait, we? Meaning me and you? For being out past curfew?” It seems like such a small worry in comparison to what I witnessed today.
“Me and you,” he repeats, and I can tell by his voice that something’s wrong. “We should have been assigned a punishment by now. Charles was accused and proven guilty; everything’s supposed to go back to normal. Except it hasn’t.”
I readjust the pillow behind my back. “Okay. What does that mean?”
“I don’t know yet,” he says, although I get the sense that there’s something he’s not telling me. He takes his cloak off. “I need you to tell me more about your father.”
My uneasiness increases. “What do you want to know?”
“Did he grow up in a major city? Do you remember which countries he traveled to?”
I clamp my lips together and start to fidget. “Look—”
“I know,” he says, and I stop.
“You know what?”
“You’re rubbing your hands together in a self-soothing motion, which tells me that my questions made you nervous. And your lips are pressed together, indicating you’re physically trying to resist giving me any information. I know you can’t tell me details. Keep it as vague as you need to, but find a way to answer, and think about your body language,” he says. “It says more than you realize and to more people than just me.”
“Hmmm.” I shift my position, trying hard to just act normal. “I know he lived in New York very briefly, but he always said he preferred a quiet life,” I say slowly, thinking through my answer so that I don’t give away anything traceable. “And he never travels or even talks about other countries or having distant relatives.” I would say that he has an American accent, but having met a language virtuoso like Aarya, I now know a person’s accent doesn’t necessarily mean anything.
“What about his immediate family?” Ash asks.
“Well, his parents are dead and he’s an only child. He claims to have some second cousins or something, but I’ve never met them.” I frown, despite myself. How did I not find any of this suspicious before?
Ash nods. “If we figure out who his Family is, we might be able to figure out who has a vendetta against you and why they set you up. Right now, the only person who seems to know about you is Matteo. And I’ve already tried that. It’s a dead end.”
I blink at him for a second. “You spoke to Matteo?”
He looks at me curiously. “That upsets you?”
I know it shouldn’t, but it kind of does. “Well, I’m obviously not his biggest fan after he punched me in the face for no reason. I’m half his size!”
“There are many, many reasons one of us might take a swing at someone here,” Ash counters. “And your size doesn’t mean a thing. If you think it does, then you’re a fool. Nyx and all of her five feet can take down ninety percent of the biggest guys in this school, and she frequently does.�
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I open my mouth to argue, but he’s right. This system is completely different from what I’m used to. People act differently, retaliate differently.
“As of this moment, Matteo seems to be the only person who knows who you are. Don’t you want to figure this out?”
“I do. I do want to figure this out,” I say, and tuck a loose piece of hair behind my ear.
Ash grins.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing,” he says, but he doesn’t mean it.
“Spit it out, Ash. Why are you grinning at me like that?”
“I just find it curious that you got all bent out of shape that I talked to Matteo. If it wasn’t for a logical reason, then it had to be an emotional one,” he says, and scans my face. “You feel some ownership over me.”
My eyes widen. “Wrong. I do not want to own you. You’re more trouble than you’re worth.”
“Uh-huh,” he says. “I buy that. That’s why you said ‘do not want to own’ when I merely said ‘feel some ownership.’ Sounds like a classic Freudian slip, if you ask me.” He’s enjoying this way too much, and if I thought I could push him off my bed without hurting his arm, I would.
Instead I settle for giving him a withering look.
He laughs. “It’s been a crazy day, and we could all stand to get out of our heads for a minute. How about I show you some moves before I have to go back to my room? We really don’t need a repeat of this morning.”
“I really am sorry about that knife,” I say, looking at the bandage on his arm.
“The knife is only part of a bigger problem—the message. This isn’t ending with Charles. Nyx named you as an enemy. And if you’re Nyx’s enemy, you’re also Brendan’s, and thus the Lions in general, plus everyone who has an alliance with them. You need to prove that you have a place here and establish yourself or they’ll crush you. Like Layla said, you can’t let them think you have weaknesses.”
“I’ll work for it,” I say, and I mean it. If things get any worse, I worry he and Layla will abandon me. “I’ve got a lot of energy. I’ll read about history and deception in my downtime and do tutoring with Layla, if you can teach me sparring, poisons, mind games, and anything else you think I’m missing. I can practice as much as you’re willing to teach me. I’m great with knives, trees, and fencing…although I’ve only ever used a wooden sword.”
He looks at me in a way that tells me I said something odd again.
“What?”
“You’re just so…trusting, I guess would be the word. So open,” he says, and he almost looks sad about it.
I shrug. “But you’re you. You’re my friend. How are you supposed to help me if I don’t tell you what I need help with? I’m not going to advertise my weaknesses to the rest of the school…just to you.”
He smiles a small smile. “It’s not that. It’s just…” He shakes his head. “Never mind.”
He almost looks emotional. “Tell me,” I say, and put my hand on his and squeeze it. The moment I do, I’m aware that it’s not a normal gesture. But before I can pull my hand away, he takes it in his. He holds it carefully, looking at it like it matters, and rubs his thumb over my fingers. Goose bumps run up my arm.
“I just wish we weren’t all in this mess,” he says, and looks up at me. “That you could have come here and we could have met…I don’t know what I wish. I’m just sorry, I guess, that all this is happening to you. You’re probably the happiest person in this place, and even though every time you turn around someone is attacking you, you still trust people. I’m not sure I’ll ever understand. But there is something beautiful about it.”
I smile at him. Did Ash just let his guard down with me? His eyes are as intense as ever, but in a very different way. My stomach flutters, and despite myself, I feel my cheeks get hot.
“My best friend always says that even when I’m down, I’m happy,” I tell him, and smile. “You never know how much time you have, so screw it—I’m going to live in every way I can. And the one thing I’ll never agree with is how you guys seem to push each other away. I don’t know what my life would be like without my best friend or my friends in general. I hope I have a thousand over my lifetime.”
“Best friend,” he repeats quietly to himself like I’ve just named some mythical creature. And I can’t help but wonder if he’s lonely under all his jokes and confidence. I want to pull him close and wrap my arms around him. But he gently lets go of my hand.
As he smiles at me, I can tell that something between us has changed, like he just made a decision to let me in a little. “Stand up,” he says, and I do.
“Now, get in the position you would use if you wanted to hit me.”
I smile. From heartfelt conversation to sparring in one beat. I step back with my right leg, put up my fists, and tuck my chin.
He nods at me, assessing my form. “You’ll notice that most people step back with their dominant leg and lead with their dominant arm when they hit you. Your stance isn’t bad. You’re protecting your organs by positioning yourself sideways, and your neck by keeping your chin tucked. But you’re too tense. And when you’re too tense, you can’t move fast enough. You need to be alert, but not so stiff that you can’t maneuver.”
“Makes sense,” I say, and loosen my shoulders and knees a bit. “It’s the same for fencing.”
“Exactly,” he says. “Now go ahead and take a swing.”
I lead with my left and he blocks me before my arm even gets halfway to him.
“Blocking is going to be your friend in the beginning. Even if you can’t win a fight, you can keep yourself from getting seriously hurt if you pay attention to people’s eyes and movements,” he says. “Go ahead and think about where you want to punch me next.”
I picture hitting him in the stomach with my right hand, and for a split second my gaze shifts to his stomach. “Ahhh!” I laugh. “You’re right. Eyes give you away. That’s so helpful.”
“Do it once more, only pay attention to the arm you plan to hit me with.”
He’s correct again—my left arm pulls slightly backward as I’m thinking about a jab. It’s an involuntary tell.
I look up at him, happy to be learning something useful. “You do it. Think about hitting me and let me see if I can pick it out.”
He glances at my face, and his left shoulder twitches ever so slightly.
“Face shot with your left arm,” I say, and he nods.
“Charles looked at your chest before he threw the knife. People with weapons will always look exactly where they’re aiming,” he says. “But every once in a while…”
He looks at my face and his right arm twitches.
“Face shot, right—”
“This happens.” He sends his left fist toward my gut instead, barely touching it. He doesn’t take his hand back right away, and I can feel my blood pulsing under his touch.
“Every once in a while you’ll run into someone who’ll intentionally mislead you by looking somewhere they’re not going to hit,” he says. “But that only really happens in a relaxed environment. If someone’s moving quickly and is in the moment, they will almost always give themselves away. Of course, if they’re moving fast enough, the tells are also much harder to pick out. But the whole idea is similar to the way people look at your lips when they want to kiss you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Or want to punch you in the mouth.”
“Or that,” he says, and smirks. “I’m going to walk you through blocking in slow motion and then we’ll do it at proper speed.” He throws a punch at my face and I put up my left arm.
“Not bad, but you’re still too stiff,” he says. “A punch or a chop or anything directed at your face is going to come with force. But that doesn’t mean you need to use a great deal of force to repel it. Use their momentum against them by redirecting it.”
&n
bsp; He takes my arm in his hands and bends it. “When I take a swing, you move my arm away from you. Like this. Tensing will never help you when you’re fighting. But that said, feel free to flex your muscles if you take a hit to the abdomen. It can shield you from injury.”
We’re standing so close that my heart speeds up and I actually do look at his lips.
“I saw that, you know,” he says.
I smile. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Uh-huh. Well, let’s try this again. And be ready for the second punch, which you can also block, but it would be easier to lean out of the way.” He throws a right at me and I block. He throws a left and I lean, his fist soaring past my cheek.
He nods approvingly. “Now, be careful to keep your distance. If you get trapped in close-range fighting, you’ll be overpowered quickly. I’m showing you basic boxing, but a lot of us are skilled in multiple forms of martial arts, and can cause a great deal of pain with very little—”
I glance at his stomach but then lightly smack him on the cheek. He looks so shocked that I start laughing. “Gotcha.”
He looks at my lips.
“I saw that, you know,” I say.
“I know exactly what you’re talking about,” he says with a grin, and my stomach drops in a good way. For a second, I think he’s going to lean forward, but then he steps away.
I return to my fighting stance. “What’s with this no-dating rule, anyway?” I say, aiming for nonchalance. “Is it a boarding school thing? ’Cause they obviously can’t keep you guys from sneaking out of your rooms even with all these guards.”
He shakes his head. “Our Families have approval over marriages. Especially those of us whose immediate families are in higher positions of power. A marriage can signify a major alliance, so they’re arranged with care.”
Killing November Page 20
