by Alex Lidell
The dozen cadets on Han’s Prowess team are running up and down the gleaming arena steps when I stride onto the sands, my palms slightly sweaty against my thighs.
Inside, it’s even hotter than I imagined—and even more intimidating. The high sun reflects blindingly off the long oval of sand and metal competition equipment, the bleachers reaching dizzyingly high into the air. I see a tall horizontal bar somewhat like the one Tye used to practice on in Lunos, and my heart squeezes painfully. It smells like dried sweat in here, with a coppery undertone of blood that makes my stomach turn.
I was obviously insane to think this was a good idea.
And I also see no other option.
Unlike the Prowess cadets, who now exclusively wear Academy colors even for physical training, my training grays are drab against the flapping flags and bright paint of the arena.
Han’s darkly handsome face is unreadable as he marks me, crooking a finger to order me closer. His hair and brows shine like onyx under the oppressive sun, making his blue-gray eyes even more striking.
As I come up, swallowing hard against the stench of wrongness that leaches from the male like a body odor, he points to a spot in the sand, then turns his back to me to watch his athletes. They’re fast and leanly muscled, hardened after weeks of training. Still no match for fae—but possibly the closest humans can get. “Puckler, you are running stairs, not crawling them. Start over. Tyelor, another stone.”
Following Han’s gaze, I see Tye with a pack of stone weights strapped to his back. At Han’s order, the male trots to a pile of additional pieces, adding a mix of stones and sand to his pack. The male’s red hair is soaked with sweat, dark splotches saturating his uniform shirt. His face is hard, eyes eerily emotionless. It hits me all over again how strange it is to see Tye as a stranger, behind such a high wall that I can barely see my friend, let alone my playful, passionate mate. Even worse, my body does recognize him, yearning toward his like a dog toward a treat, betraying me every time I lay eyes on his messy red hair and feline movements.
“Tyelor will need to put in extra effort to make up for the time your idiocy cost him,” Han says quietly, almost casually, still watching his charges. “Is there a reason you are violating my sands this morning?”
I clear my throat. Han knows why I’m here. Everyone does. The very air in the arena is humming in protest at my appearance. Putting my hands behind my back, I give the male a partial bow. “I would like to try out for the swordsmanship slot, sir.”
Han makes a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat, then walks a circle around me as if examining a filly for purchase. “I was under the distinct impression that you were not a supporter of our team or sport,” he says, coming to rest before me again. “Your attempt to get my top athlete banned from the competition was rather clear evidence of your intentions.”
“I made a mistake despite good intentions,” I tell Han, though the words are meant for Tye. “I hadn’t fully considered the likely consequences of my actions, and I apologize for the inconvenience.”
Still adding weight to his running sack, Tye gives no evidence of having heard me.
“Is there a reason I should care about what you meant over what you did?”
Without waiting for a reply, Han walks away from me, yelling at three cadets about their running form before ordering the whole lot into push-up position in punishment for someone’s slow time. The attention he gives the students grudgingly reminds me of Coal, though the similarities between the two end there. All of Coal’s training is anchored in survival; Han’s draws inspiration from victory—not the athlete’s triumph, since it seems the cadets working in the ring are as expendable to him as racing dogs—but his own.
Which, at the moment, works in my favor.
After a few long seconds, I give up on the game and stride up to Han’s side. “You want me on the team because I’m better than Katita,” I say, making no attempt to keep my voice quiet or respectful. “And you want to win. It’s as simple as that.”
Han turns his head, an amused gleam sparking in his eyes. “There is that,” he agrees, then raises his voice. “Circle up.”
The sweaty bodies forming a circle around Han and me vibrate with menace, each face telling me exactly how they feel about my presence. I wonder whether they are surprised by the challenge or have been waiting for this moment for a long time. Eyes shoot to Katita, who is taking her time drinking from a water bucket before striding forward as if she owns the sands. Not bothering to stop at the outer circle with the others, the princess goes right to Han. “Is it time to take out the rubbish, sir?”
Han lifts a brow. “That depends whether you can do it.”
Katita’s eyes flash to me. “With pleasure.”
“What if we don’t want her on the team, sir?” Tye’s clear voice rings out over the sands. “I, for one, little care what she can do with a blade. The damage she can do with her mouth is enough.”
The murmurs of agreement skittering around the circle don’t hurt nearly as much as the venom in Tye’s voice. My jaw tightens, my chin raised in high defiance as I try to pretend that none of it matters.
Han’s mouth twists into an unpleasant smile. “Tyelor. Yes, you’d know the damage she can do with her mouth firsthand, wouldn’t you?” His nostrils flare, and he tilts his head, his smile growing. Almost as if he’s scented the males on me—which is impossible. “Fortunately, if you keep your cock in your pants, that can be minimized.”
Tye’s face reddens, the hate-filled glance he shoots at me so painful, I have to dig my fingers into my palms to keep my face straight. My lips want to tremble, my eyes to fill, but either would end my time here in a split second.
The smile fades from Han’s lips. “If anyone else here is under the impression that their opinion matters, they can join Tyelor in an extra ten-mile run this evening.” The noise stops, the only sounds suddenly the heavy breaths of the waiting cadets. Han snaps his fingers at Rik, ordering him to bring a pair of practice blades while he addresses Katita and me. “The round will be three minutes. Standard Prowess rules: No contact with the head allowed; points will be awarded only for blows that connect with enough force to have caused significant damage were the blades sharp or else slices across vital areas.” Han draws a line over my pulse on both sides of my neck. his fingers cold. “Start back to back. Any questions?”
The last is directed at me as Katita plainly knows the Prowess rules forward and back. I do as well, Coal having cursed the damned things for a good half hour before coming to terms with them. “Why in stars’ name would you train yourself to avoid head strikes?” I can still hear him growling with indignation as he threw the rules into the flames. “Are we training for the common case of a headless opponent?”
“No, sir,” I tell Han, reaching for the practice blade Rik extends toward me. The boy pulls back at the last moment and throws the sword at my feet, wiping his hand on his pants when I reach down to pick it up.
“Positions,” Han orders.
Despite knowing this part was coming, turning my back to Katita is the last thing I want to do. Forcing my limbs to move, I twist in the center of the sand and feel the princess’s warm back press against mine a moment later. Her delicate rose perfume would cover up the sharp scents of sweat and adrenaline for anyone else, but not for me. The girl is nervous. When I look up, I find Tye’s beautifully sharp face two paces away, his emerald eyes ice.
“I wouldn’t accidentally get too close to the circle. Just a bit of friendly advice,” he says. The cadets on either side of him chuckle, then stop so suddenly that I’m certain Han gave a sign I can’t see.
A heartbeat later, the instructor’s voice rings out again. “Start.”
5
Lera
I launch into an over-the-shoulder forward roll the moment Han’s order singes the air, getting distance from Katita before I’m even on my feet. The princess, who spun around instead, blinks once to orient herself to my presence. Finding
me two paces away, she bares her teeth and rushes forward, her fury-filled volley forcing me into an unexpected defense.
Whatever Han has been doing with her over the past months is showing, the princess’s already crisp strikes now filled with a savage power. From the hard glint in her blue eyes, the harsh set to her pretty pink lips, I’m certain Katita would have no qualms about killing me outright—practice or not.
Taking a deep breath, I ground myself in the now of the match, letting the rest of the world fall away. The harsh sun beating down on my shoulders, the circling hawk patrolling the sky, the shifting sands beneath my feet. None of it matters. Not even the wave of menace coming from Tye. Or so I tell myself. This match isn’t about Katita or Tye or the trials. It is about keeping the mortal world safe.
Wap. Wap. Wap. The rhythm of our wooden practice blades fills the air with a familiar sound as I let Katita’s strikes continue to come at me, though now it’s by my choice. Studying the new power and speed of the princess’s blows, exploring the small changes of style. Building a plan before making my move. And then I do.
Breath steady, I track the opening along the left flank that the princess leaves whenever she parries too quickly, and swallow a smile. My muscles coil inside me, my eyes locking on Katita’s shoulders without ever looking at my true target. The blade in my hand snaps in a deadly feint, my blade swinging right toward Katita’s temple before—
The girl’s boot strikes my chest so hard that my breath catches, the watching cadets cheering with a cutting malice as I stumble back like a drunken sailor, little bothering to hide my confusion. I could have split Katita’s skull—any self-preserving being would have tried to block the attack or step from it or… Stars, I’m an idiot. Regaining my footing and my wits at the same time, I curse myself again. Katita never even entertained the idea that my attack could be real because Prowess rules forbid contact with the head.
No wonder Coal was furious with the notion. A few months of drilling that nonsense into one’s head, and grave things could come in battle.
“Love the new instincts,” I murmur to Katita. The princess’s heaving breaths fill the air between us, strands of fine blonde hair now plastered to her cheeks and forehead. “Ignore heavy things trying to bash your skull in.”
“What are you doing here?” Her nostrils flare, her heart beating so quickly that I see it vibrate in her neck. She wants—needs—to win this round with the desperation of a stallion trampling his way to a mare in heat. Fevered and blind. “No one on this team can stand the sight of you.”
I believe her. And little care. Unfortunately for Katita, I’m not looking to champion the Prowess Trials. I’m looking to champion the whole mortal world. There is no option to lose.
Hooking my foot behind her ankle, I drop the girl backward. Her eyes widen in indignation as she lands hard on the sand.
“Didn’t anyone tell the dimwit that only strikes with a blade score points?” Puckler calls.
Ignoring the royal, I follow Katita to the ground, jamming my knee into a spot just beneath her rib cage so hard that she can’t draw air. Grabbing the top of her tunic with one hand and the material beside her thigh with the other, I pull up on both pieces of clothing, bending the girl’s body like a bow around my knee.
Calls of indignation race through the watching cadets, but I little care. I can see the losing struggle in Katita’s face already. One heartbeat passes, her face turning dark. Two, and her eyes flash from fury to panic to pain. Three. The sword falls from her hand, her whole being now focused on nothing but dislodging my weight. On drawing breath. A bug trying to escape the burning sun.
Grabbing Katita’s fallen sword, I slide the length of the blade against her neck, killing her over and over. “Did anyone tell you that dead by any rules is still dead?” I say. “Yield.”
“No.”
With a shrug, I put my blade right across her windpipe and press, the wood threatening the tender cartilage of her throat. The girl’s eyes bulge, her hands gripping the sand, as her legs kick out uselessly.
“I can do this much longer than you’d enjoy, Your Highness,” I tell her coolly.
“Go. To. H—”
“Forfeit.” Han’s voice rings out across the sand a moment before his hand closes on the nape of my neck, throwing me off Katita and face-first into the ground.
Spitting sand from my mouth, I rise in time to see Han drag Katita up by the front of her shirt, the girl’s eyes glazed with unshed tears. “I didn’t yield, sir.” Her voice sounds small. Desperate. “We weren’t standing, so Lera’s strikes won’t count for points. Please. My father is coming and—”
“And I’m not going to embarrass the Academy by letting him see the rubbish you just called a fight,” Han finishes for her. His voice is ice, but he looks polished, calm—no sweat on his forehead, not a single black hair out of place. “If you can’t tell death when it’s pressing down on your throat, you’re too dim-witted for the slot. Ten laps around the Academy, and when you crawl back, I’ll let you stay on as an alternate.” Throwing Katita onto the sand like he did with me, Han meets my eyes. Their cold blue-gray depths send an eerie shiver through me, and I have to fight not to look away.
“Let me be clear, Osprey—you’ve won Katita’s slot by virtue of your mutual stupidity. One cadet was too idiotic to remember the rules and the other too dim to take reality into account.”
I stand, dusting myself off, and, after a moment of considering, decide to keep my mouth shut.
Han snorts. “You have what you wanted. Whether you keep it—or survive it—is entirely up to you.”
Three hours later, I discover Han wasn’t kidding about my survival being in question. While the rest of the team rotates through stations varying between general fitness and event-specific techniques, I spend the time in nonstop sparring sessions with whoever is an odd man out. The setup, which seems comfortingly familiar at the onset, becomes something else entirely when Han instructs the cadets to provoke me into breaking the rules and then punishes me each time I do.
A method—like everything else he does—designed to win athletics events and lose battles.
At the end of the training, Han tells everyone to get cleaned up and change into clean uniforms for the midday meal—which I realize I will now be eating with this group of vipers instead of Arisha. Despite that being the plan all along, I can’t help feeling the uncomfortable twist in my stomach at the notion of sitting with a group that wants nothing more than to see me fall flat on my face.
Having busied myself retying my perfectly intact shoelaces to buy myself some breathing space, I’m the last to leave the sand, the keep tower’s bell just beginning to strike the hour.
Or so I thought. Tye steps out of the shadow of the low side exit as I approach, one muscled arm blocking the door, his pine-and-citrus scent coated with bitter anger. For a moment, the sheer proximity of the male, his bare chest glistening with sweat as it shifts with deep breaths, tricks my mind into hope. Then my gaze lifts to Tye’s ice-green eyes, and all that hope shrivels like a sun-dried grape. Taking a step back, I cross my arms over my chest and wait for him to say whatever it is he plans on tossing my way.
I’m too tired to fight. I just hope I’m too tired to feel too.
Tye advances on me with the menace of a prowling tiger, his powerful limbs picking their way across the sand. “What game are you playing at, Osprey?” His lilting accent has deepened, his shoulders spread, taking space and air as he looms over me. “First, you try to have me kicked off the team, and now, failing that, you go after Katita. What’s your angle?”
Protecting the mortal world while you are busy twirling around a bar.
“Well?” Tye presses closer now with a threatening jostle, so close I can see every freckle on his sharply carved face, the small scar on his lip that I’ve kissed too many times to count. The flecks of silver in his eyes that dazzle when he’s using his magic.
The leash I hadn’t realized I had on my anger s
lips with a resounding pop. My teeth grind together so hard, they screech, my heart pounding against my ribs as all the heat in my body fills my face. I hated hurting Tye. I truly did. But even knowing his barbed comments are born of perceived betrayal and pain, I’ve had enough.
“What answer can I possibly give that you’d find satisfactory?” I demand, refusing to take a step away as I know the male is attempting to make me do. Though I initially considered telling him the truth—that I’m here to be able to respond should the Night Guard strike—I no longer trust Tye not to use my own words against me. Not to pass them on to Han. A groan rises through my chest, my nostrils flaring with hot breath. “I’m here because I want to compete.”
“Since when do you care about the Prowess Trials?”
I look up at the sun to gauge the time. “Since about three—no, three and a half—hours ago. Now get out of my way.”
Tye shoves me, the unexpected malice in it sending me backward to fall ungracefully onto the sand. I gasp, the small puffs of sand rising about me now sticking to my sweat-drenched uniform. “You are not welcome here, Osprey.” He glares down at me, shaking his head. Then his voice lowers. “Either get yourself gone, or it will be done for you in a way I promise you will little like.”
Without waiting for a response, he turns his back to me and walks out of the arena, his heels kicking up grains of sand. Catching sight of Katita waiting for him in the entrance and their exchanged nods, I know the warning was as much from her as from Tye.
Despite the shield of anger encasing my heart, my throat closes. No amount of Coal’s harsh hand knocking me on my backside compares to being discarded by someone who still holds a piece of my soul.
6
Lera
By the time I collect a fresh uniform from my room and drag myself to the baths before midday meal, everyone seems to have heard about the new change in the Prowess roster—and not a single soul seems happy about it.
