I nod. “If they knew what really happened, they wouldn’t leave my side.”
“You’d be safer,” she notes.
“They wouldn’t be.” End of subject.
“Keep your eyes on your opponent!” Rhi shouts at Sloane from the sidelines just as Sloane does the opposite, glancing down as she nears the edge of the mat, and that’s all her opponent needs, the first-year landing a jaw-cracking punch that sends Sloane sprawling.
Imogen and I both flinch.
“This is sparring, not a challenge! Come on, Tomas!” Rhi snaps at a squad leader from Second Wing.
“Sorry, Rhi. Pull it back, Jacek,” the squad leader chides.
“Damn.” Imogen shakes her head and folds her arms. “I get that Jacek’s channeling some serious anger, but I’ve never seen him hit that hard.”
“Jacek? Like Navil Jacek?” The second-year from Third Wing Jesinia and I saw hauled away by Markham was listed on the death roll a couple of days ago.
“That’s his younger brother on the mat,” Imogen says.
“Shit.” Now I feel bad for the guy, even though Sloane is in a similar situation. “I think Markham had him killed,” I whisper.
“Because he didn’t return a book on time?” Imogen’s eyebrows rise.
“I think he asked for something he shouldn’t have, and yes, I know that sounds absolutely ridiculous, but there’s no other explanation for him being found in his room, beaten to death.”
“Right,” Imogen muses. “That only makes sense if he’s one of us.”
To others, it fits in with what Panchek is calling a particularly brutal start to the year. I’m the only one in our group who hasn’t had another attempt made on their life.
“You’d better be really careful around your little robed friend if scribes are running out there ordering the death of riders.”
“Jesinia isn’t a threat,” I protest, but my words die in my throat as I remember that it was her report that got Jacek taken in the first place.
“Let’s end it,” the squad leader from Second Wing suggests after Sloane gets knocked to the mat again.
“I’m fine!” Sloane staggers to her feet, wiping blood from her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Are you sure?” Rhi asks, her tone implying it’s absolutely the wrong decision, which we all know it is.
“Definitely.” Sloane takes a fighting stance against Jacek.
“Glutton for punishment, that one,” Imogen says. “It’s like she wants to have the shit kicked out of her.”
“I don’t understand.” Aaric shifts ahead of me, his back blocking the view, and I maneuver to see the mat. “I thought everyone marked was trained to fight.”
“Depends on where we were fostered.” Imogen moves forward with me. “And after Xaden started to climb the ranks…well, some of the families in charge stopped training us, according to what I’m hearing from the first-years. Good thing she wasn’t on the challenge board this week.”
Jacek puts Sloane on the mat for what feels like the hundredth time, then brings his knee to her throat, making his point. If this were real, she’d be in a world of trouble.
“Her first is on Monday, and she’s going to have her ass handed to her if not worse.” I unsheathe a dagger and flip it, catching it by the tip, like my skills can in any way help her when she won’t even speak to me.
“Monday?” Imogen turns slowly to look at me. “And how would you know that?”
Shit. Well, it’s not like she isn’t already holding almost every secret that could get me killed. “Long story, but…a book my brother wrote.”
“Who is Sloane up against?” She pivots back toward the mat.
“You’re not going to ask about the book I shouldn’t have?”
“No. I, unlike some people, don’t feel the need to know everything someone else deems private.”
I scoff at the obvious dig. “Yeah, well, you’re not sleeping with me.”
“You wish you were my type. I’m phenomenal in bed.” Her nose scrunches when Sloane face-plants into the mat. “Seriously. Who is she against?”
“Someone she can’t beat.” A first-year from Third Wing who moves like she’s been sparring since birth. It had taken me the better part of an hour to find someone who could point the girl out earlier in the gym.
“I’ve offered to help her,” Imogen says quietly. “She won’t take it.”
“Why the hell not?” I catch my knife, flipping it with total muscle memory.
Imogen sighs. “No fucking clue, but her stubbornness is going to get her killed.”
I watch Liam’s sister struggle under Jacek’s weight, her face splotchy and red from the exertion, and blow out a slow, resigned breath, my fist closing around the hilt of the dagger. The unspoken rule of the quadrant is to let the strong weed out the weak before they can become a liability to the wing. As a rider, I should walk away. I should let Sloane rise or fall on her own merits. But as Liam’s friend, there’s no way I can stand by and watch her die. “Not on Monday, she won’t.”
“You suddenly develop Melgren’s signet over there?” Imogen retorts, tucking a chin-length strand of pink hair behind her ear.
“I’m calling it!” Rhi shouts, ending the match, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
