“I give that a seven,” Ridoc heckles from the sidelines.
“Out of ten? Solid eight,” Sawyer counters from the other side of Rhiannon. “Perfect form.” Then he lowers his voice and adds just for the four of us, “And I’m still going with the torture theory. I bet they’ve got gryphon riders in there or something.”
“You think he’s really torturing people back there?” Rhiannon says, lowering her voice even more.
“I have no clue.” I blink as Aaric elbows his opponent in the throat with a quick jab that even Xaden would respect. “I would think they’d use the main interrogation chambers if they were doing something like that. The ones beneath the school.”
“That’s a fucking nine,” Sawyer calls out.
“Nine!” Ridoc agrees, throwing up his hands with all of his fingers spread out except a thumb.
I laugh, then gasp as Aaric breaks his opponent’s nose with the heel of his hand, ending the match. Emetterio declares him the winner, and the first-year has the decency to make it off the mat before dropping his hand away from his gushing nose.
That’s a lot of blood.
Sawyer and Ridoc break out in applause, both shouting scores.
“Gods, can that one fight.” Rhi nods slowly in approval as Aaric takes his place in the squad.
“Well, when you’ve had the best tutors,” I whisper, grateful he’s one secret she knows about.
“Daddy hasn’t come looking for him?” She glances my way.
“Apparently not.”
Challenges around us come to an end, and the professors call out the next batch.
“Sloane Mairi and Dasha Fabrren,” Emetterio calls out.
“Hey, Rhi?” I swallow. Squads shift, but ours keeps our mat. That’s the benefit of holding the reigning Iron Squad patch from last year.
“Hmm?”
“Remember how I said Sloane was going to win?”
“Yes, I remember a comment from ten minutes ago,” she teases. A couple of our first-years pat Sloane on the back and offer what I hope are words of encouragement as she walks out onto the mat in front of us.
“Right. Well…” Shit, if I tell her, will she feel honor-bound to report me? She wouldn’t, and that’s the problem. She’d help me break into the fucking Archives if I wanted.
If you can’t lie, distance yourself. But this is another thing I don’t have to lie to her about.
Dasha joins Sloane on the mat, her shiny black hair braided in a single line from the tip of her forehead to the nape of her neck. She’s petite and still has the pallor of a first-year who hasn’t seen enough sun, but she’s nothing close to the shade of green Sloane is turning.
There’s a slight crimson tint to Dasha’s lips that lets me know she had one of the frosted pastries from the tray I’d placed on her squad’s breakfast table before they arrived this morning. Now that I’m looking, all of the members of her squad have that same hue to their mouths.
Oh well. It wasn’t like I knew which one Dasha would eat.
“If you’re going to change your mind and say she’s going to lose, then don’t tell me.” Rhiannon shakes her head. “I’m nervous about this one.”
“Me too,” Imogen says, taking the empty spot on my right.
“That makes three of us,” Quinn says next to her. “She’s not just a first-year.”
“No,” I agree, noting that even Dain is watching from the next mat over. And to think, last year, I’d actually hoped I’d be in a relationship with him. “Rhi.” I lower my voice. “She’s not going to lose.”
Her gaze narrows. “What are you going to do?”
“If you don’t know, you don’t have to feel guilty about reporting it. Just trust me.” I slide my hand into my pocket as nonchalantly as possible and uncork the small glass vial as the two girls nod, each taking a fighting stance.
Rhi searches my eyes, then nods as well, turning back to the match.
The first-years circle each other on the mat, and I carefully turn the vial in my hand, letting what I know to be a colorless powder fall from the glass into the creases between my palm and fingers. I withdraw my hand in a fist, keeping it tight at my side as Dasha delivers her first blow, a punch straight to Sloane’s cheek.
The blonde’s skin splits.
“Fuck,” Imogen mutters. “Come on, Mairi, hands up!”
Someone screams from the mat behind us, and we all look over our shoulders to see a first-year staring lifelessly up at his opponent. Shit. Killing an opponent during a challenge isn’t cheered. But it also isn’t punishable. More than one grudge has been settled on these mats in the name of strengthening the wings.
I suddenly feel a lot less guilty about my plans.
The girls circle again, and Dasha kicks high, catching Sloane on the unmarked side of her face so hard that her head snaps sideways, and then her body follows, turning as she falls to the mat, landing on her back.
“That was faster than I expected,” Rhi notes, worry lacing her tone.
“Me too.” I lift my closed fist to my mouth and shift my weight, making sure that I look as worried as I feel as Dasha follows Sloane down to the floor. The pair is only a few feet away, so at least I won’t have to skirt my way around the mat. “Crouch,” I say under my breath to Imogen.
She drops without question. “Come on, Mairi!”
