by Shelby Bach
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Chase said, like he was ticked off. He had no right.
“How? No one could find you.” I couldn’t keep the anger out of my voice this time. I could feel Kyle, Conner, and Daisy staring at me. So much for convincing them that I wasn’t upset.
Chase’s face paled even more. I didn’t know that was possible. “I left my M3 in my room. I just ran up to get it.”
I wanted to lay into him. I wanted to tell him that he’d been as flaky and self-centered as his girlfriend. I wanted to say that we were depending on him and that he kept letting us down.
The others would back me up. That was the problem. The rest of the rising ninth graders were losing patience with these two. If I let loose on them, the others would do the same. It would break our whole grade apart, and we couldn’t afford that.
Chase was part of the Triumvirate. He, Lena, and I were stronger together, just like Rikard, Madame Benne, and Maerwynne—the first Triumvirate, the one that had founded the Canon—had been.
We needed him, or otherwise, the Snow Queen really would win.
I took a deep breath. The knot in my chest didn’t loosen, but I forced my voice to be as neutral as possible. “Well, at least no one was hurt. Your group has a session soon, right? Did you still want to go through that drill before then?”
That was all I needed to say. Conner and Kyle moved off with their boxes, but before Daisy followed them, she shot me an irritated glare, like I’d disappointed her by letting Chase off the hook.
I didn’t wait for Chase to answer. “I’m going to the training courts to set up,” I said. I walked away, pretending I didn’t care if he followed me or not.
Behind me, I could hear him struggling to his feet, cursing in Fey like he only does when he’s really rattled.
“Chase, it’s fine,” Adelaide said. “At least finish your breakfast.”
Heavy footfalls thumped toward me. Then Chase’s hand fell on my arm. It was probably wrong to feel glad that he’d come after me, but I did. I looked up. He’d grown more than a couple inches since spring. It still made me feel like my best friend had been replaced with a stranger.
He was standing too close, his eyes as green as they had been when we were dancing at Queen Titania’s pavilion. “Are you really okay?”
“Yeah.” I resisted the urge to add, No thanks to you. Kenneth and Bryan were passing, carrying an unconscious, bound witch on a stretcher toward the dungeon.
Some fifth graders had clustered outside the iron-studded door to the training courts, waiting for their lessons and chatting with huge, eager smiles. The younger kids treated these classes just like summer camp. “Excuse me, please,” I told them. They skittered away, watching us, wide-eyed and awed. I broke out of Chase’s grasp, opened the door, and went inside.
He followed me down the hall that separated the courtyard and the training courts. I slammed through the second door.
The training courts had grown, just as the courtyard had. The entire army of metal dummies stood guard along the walls. The Director wanted them out at all times, in case of an attack.
Frowning, Chase beckoned three ice griffins forward. Lena had made them for EAS’s standing army. They couldn’t fly or freeze water with their breath, but their claws and beaks were plenty sharp—last week, they’d ruined my favorite blue top.
I barely even glanced at them.
Chase had his time with his girlfriend, and he had his time with me. I’d accepted that, but I couldn’t stand the way it had changed him.
This used to be my favorite part of the day. Once, it had been easy to pretend that nothing had changed. Except for the dummies, it could still be spring. We could still be training for the Tournament. I could forget about my Tale and my destiny and Miriam’s Tale—
I stopped myself. I refused to think too hard about the quest in the Arctic Circle, especially when Chase was around.
“Rory.” Chase planted himself right in front of me, but I didn’t want to look at him. “On a scale of one to ten, how mad are you?”
I didn’t answer. “Mad” didn’t cover what I felt, but I didn’t know what you called it when you were standing right beside your best friend and still felt like you’d lost him. I didn’t know how to explain that I fully expected the Snow Queen to send people after me again, and I fully expected him not to be there.
“Rory, I didn’t know you were in trouble.” His mouth twisted, frustrated and unsure. “I’m sorry. I wish I’d been there.”
He meant it. I knew he did. But he’d also meant what he’d said in the Arctic Circle, and that hadn’t stopped today from happening.
“Outside, you said no one had been hurt . . .” Chase said slowly. “But we had to jump off a train to get away from the Wolfsbane clan last time. How close was it, really?”
“I thought I wouldn’t be able to get Amy out of there.” My hands began to shake. “I thought I was going to have to surrender to keep her safe. I almost did.”
“Rory . . .” He took a step closer to me, arms outstretched, like he was going to hug me. That set off little warning bells in my head.
I wasn’t sure what I would have done if he’d actually put his arms around me, if I would have pushed him away or just started crying on his chest. I never got to find out.
The door on the far side of the room creaked open. “You two ready?” Hansel asked, and for the first time all morning, I smiled.
If you had told me this spring that I would be happier to see the sword master than I was to see Chase, I wouldn’t have believed you. Funny how things change.
Making me an assistant teacher had been Hansel’s idea.
He’d called me into his office back in April. I’d never been there before, so naturally, I assumed I was in trouble. Hansel’s office was a third of the size of the weapon’s closet, but I only spotted one weapon in the whole room—his sword, leaning against his knee. Books and papers covered the rest of the shelves. Volumes on troll cultures, encyclopedias on ice griffins and dragons, histories on old Fey wars, guides to learning medieval fighting techniques, and even instructions on teaching. He’d moved some lesson plans off the only other chair in the room. “Take a seat, Rory.”
I’d sat, bracing myself for some monstrously unfair punishment. I’d already started composing the rant I would unload on Lena and Chase later about how Hansel always picked on me. I mean, he’d started messing with me during my very first sword class.
Hansel had propped his elbows on his knees, his eyes hard on my face.
Way too intense. My gaze drifted to the shelf behind his head and the framed picture resting on top of it. In the photo, Hansel had a real smile and a lot less gray in his hair. His arm was around a pretty, laughing woman. Three little girls—blonde and tanned like their mother—were piled like puppies in front of them.
Hansel had a family. Who knew?
“Rory, I need to ask you a favor. A big one,” Hansel said. That got my attention. “You can say no if you aren’t comfortable, but I want you to really think about it.”
I nodded so he knew I was listening. I’d never heard him sound so serious without also sounding kind of . . . mean. Or at least stern. It made me even more nervous.
“Tomorrow, the Director will announce mandatory weapons training for everyone inside our walls, not just Characters,” Hansel had explained. “We’re creating more classes. I want your help with a class that teaches defensive techniques with a staff.”
I stared at him. The rant I’d been composing fell to pieces. “Me?” Two years ago, I’d been his worst student.
“There’s one kid in particular I know you’ll help,” Hansel said. “The Character we discovered among the kidnapped children from Portland.”
I knew exactly who he was talking about. I remembered her scowl and the cartoon unicorns on her nightgown perfectly. I’d asked Ellie what the new Character’s name was. “Priya?”
“I put her in the staff class. A weapon with a longer reach w
ill keep her safe, but she doesn’t want to learn,” Hansel told me. “She says EAS already has enough fighters without her.”
That sounded like her. She did have an attitude.
“I’ve never been any good at motivating kids like Priya and Lena,” Hansel continued. “Kids like Chase are easy. A couple well-timed insults and a few scary stories about villains, and they pay attention. Now, girls—well, you’re one of the few girls that worked on. Kids like Priya and Lena attend the required classes and just go through the motions. I’m not saying that they wait around to be rescued, but most of them assume that they won’t save themselves with a weapon.”
I continued to stare. I knew the scary stories had been on purpose, but the insults . . . “You don’t think girls can’t fight?”
Hansel snorted. “I spar with Gretel every morning. She beats me seven times out of ten. It’s her metal foot. She lands one good kick, and it’s all over for me.”
Well, my mind was blown. “Why don’t you ask her to be your assistant instead of me?”
“She is going to be teaching a class,” Hansel said, “but she’s not patient. Especially not with students who don’t want to learn.”
“You could ask Chase.”
“Chase is a fine teacher for a boy of his age,” Hansel said. “He taught you, an easy, talented pupil, but you taught Lena. She used to let you and Chase cover for her. Now she’s a competent fighter on her own.”
He’d been paying attention. All this time.
I never expected to say yes. I’d asked for some time to think about it and then scurried straight to the infirmary, where Rapunzel spent most of her time as Gretel’s assistant nurse. I’d found her in the back, past the curtain that hid her from the sleeping patients and their visitors.
The whole story gushed out of me before she’d even had a chance to say hello. Excuses tumbled out too: The staff wasn’t even my best weapon. I’d just taught Lena for a few weeks. She’d only gone along with it because she was my best friend.
Rapunzel listened, rolling bandage after bandage and stacking them in the cabinet. We needed them now. The Director had restricted the use of the Water of Life only to fatal or critical injuries. Nothing convinces you to start rationing a magical life-saving cure-all like a war. When I was done, Rapunzel offered no advice. She just lifted her gaze over my left shoulder.
Gretel stood there, scowling. I felt instantly awkward. I’d been talking about her brother right beside her. “Has Hansel ever told you why he became sword master?” she asked.
“Knowing would make little difference for some young Characters,” Rapunzel told Gretel quietly, “but Rory should understand why Hansel chose his position.”
“Know what?” I could already tell it wouldn’t be a happy story.
Gretel’s face was stone. “Hansel’s daughters weren’t warriors. They weren’t even interested. He didn’t push it. My nieces always joked that they had their father to fight for them. He liked that. Then, during the last war, the previous Hansel and Gretel were killed, and the two of us joined the Canon. During our first meeting as official Tale representatives, the Snow Queen sent Ripper to Hansel’s home. There were no survivors.”
The damage the Snow Queen caused should have stopped surprising me. Most Characters carried around griefs like secrets, the same way Chase did.
Sadness etched deep lines around Gretel’s mouth and under her eyes. “Hansel asked the Canon to let him develop Ever After School’s mandatory training program only a few months later. It’s the only thing he still wants, the only thing that gets him out of bed in the morning. Teaching kids how to keep themselves safe.”
Because his family hadn’t been. I wondered how old his daughters would be if they were still alive.
“He would not ask you to teach if he didn’t truly believe you would be the best help for the students,” Rapunzel added.
So I agreed.
Hansel ducked into the weapons closet and returned, rolling a rack of staffs in front of him. “Two minutes before your group arrives, Chase.”
“Are we going to practice or not?” I asked, extremely pleased that my voice was cool and unemotional.
Chase sighed and gestured the dummies forward. He must have given them detailed instructions before we’d come in. They knew exactly how to attack.
The griffin on the far right tried to bite Chase, but Chase rolled forward and popped up again further down the line. The middle ice griffin lashed out—he dodged that swipe too, and the talons aimed at his face scraped across the metal feathers of the griffin on the left. That one reared, beak open, like it was shrieking in pain, and Chase thrust his sword at its metal heart. The blade didn’t pierce the metal hide, but the griffin on the left dropped anyway. Chase planted his foot on the dead one’s shoulder and sprang up, way too high for a human, his blade flashing in a huge, fancy circle. When he came down, he struck a blow on the middle of the griffin’s neck—it would have beheaded the statue if it weren’t metal. That ice griffin fell on the last one, trapping it. It squirmed piteously as Chase slid his blade in its eye, like he was stabbing its metal brain.
Even at half speed, it all happened in less than a minute.
“Don’t jump so high. You’re showing them what to imitate. You’re not trying to impress them,” Hansel said. “And cut that flourish you do while you’re in the air.”
“That’s exactly how Rory does it in the recording,” Chase said, a little resentfully.
“She has a Fey sword. They’re needlessly showy, and a smart opponent could get inside your guard,” Hansel said. “Cut it before you teach it. Let’s see you, Rory.”
I stepped forward, ready to go. After all, the lesson plan came from the moves of my magic sword. Most of the drills were already in my muscle memory. All I needed was for my mind to catch up.
The metal griffins stood back up on their four feet. I unsheathed my weapon. They attacked at full speed. I rolled. I ducked. I stabbed. I leapt off one’s shoulder, beheaded the other without the flourish, and then swiftly dispatched the one that got pinned.
“Good,” Hansel said. “Chase, you see how Rory was just a fraction faster? That’s exactly what I mean. These maneuvers need to be as efficient as possible.”
The door opened, and the first members of Chase’s group started to trickle in. For a second, Chase looked deeply annoyed that his students were watching his lesson get tweaked right before the start of class. Then he smacked his hands together. The clap rang out in the huge chamber. “Ready? This new technique is awesome.”
Kenneth rolled his eyes. “According to you, they’re all awesome.” He was slightly out of breath. He must have had to run from witch duty.
“That’s because they all are,” Chase said. “But this one is especially epic.”
Chase’s group gathered in front of the dummies. It wasn’t a real class, but it could have been. They’d all found out that Chase was teaching himself how to fight a bunch of opponents at once, and they’d asked to learn too. George had been the first. He took his usual spot in front, between his two best friends, Thomas and Keon. Three guys in Miriam’s grade hung out awkwardly in the back, but their female classmate stood near the front too. I was pretty sure she had a crush on one of the older Characters. They came in, shoving each other and laughing. They’d graduated EAS before I got there, and they said they were studying with Chase to brush up on their skills before they actually went into battle. Strolling in quietly, like they were pretending they had better things to do, were the two youngest members of the Canon, the Aladdin representative and the Boy Who Cried Wolf representative. They had refused to let any of their classmates call them by their real names. Ben ran in last, panting as hard as Kenneth had a few minutes before.
These were just the regulars. Our whole grade had joined in the day Chase held a giant-slaying seminar.
Was Chase ridiculously proud that all of his students were older than he was? Absolutely. But that wasn’t what he bragged about.
He’d been the one who’d figured out that my sword’s magic specialized in defeating multiple enemies at the same time. “We’re outnumbered, right?” he’d told me. “With a little practice, this squadron could take out a force ten times its size.”
He raised his hands, ready to begin. Older or not, his students listened. No one else could do what Chase could do. I’d seen those guys in Miriam’s grade watching the mirrorcordings, trying to understand the way my sword worked, but none of them could break it down into steps.
I used to feel proud of him at the beginning of every lesson. I used to feel extremely awkward with all these warriors scrutinizing my every move.
Now, I mostly wanted to get class over with.
Chase had me demonstrate at half speed, then at full speed. He pointed out how many times you needed to roll, how many feet away from ice griffins you should be when you pop up, how long to wait before you dodged, where to step on the ice griffin’s shoulder when you leapt for the killing bow, where to slice, and where to land.
“Any questions?” Chase asked when I was done.
The students shook their heads. They picked up every combination almost as quickly as I did, and they didn’t even have the muscle memory advantage.
“Good,” Chase said. “Thanks, Rory.” Normally, I would smile and wave before I went to join Hansel, but I couldn’t muster the energy. If Chase noticed, he didn’t let on. “The rest of you, time to practice.” The twenty fighters lined up. Kenneth was first. He ducked into a roll before the first ice griffin tried to strike.
Now I had to get ready for the second round of students.
I put my sword away and rolled another rack of staffs out of the weapons closet. Hansel was picking out the dummies he wanted to use. He always did this before Gretel came in for her sword class, and Gretel often complained that he always took the good ones. “Once a bratty little brother, always a bratty little brother,” she’d muttered back in April. Chase and I had exchanged a look, and then we’d laughed for five minutes straight. That felt like a long time ago, now.
