Chapter 9
NINE
LANZ
Practice should be a relief.
Today, it’s…weird.
Bzzt.
Callahan barely flinches as I slam a touch into his shoulder.
Just nods. “Good one.”
I cock my head. “No, it wasn’t.” I didn’t win that touch so much as he lost it. He’s like molasses.
Meanwhile, I’m so jumpy I’m practically short-circuiting my body wire with nervous energy.
We reset to the garde lines. Raise our blades.
Then I lower mine.
“You okay?”
Cal breaks, adjusts his glove. “I’m fine.” He goes en garde again, slaps his thigh to signal start.
“Tournament?” I ask, taking two quick advances that Cal matches with retreats. “You nervous?”
“Maybe.”
“You’ll be fine,” I reassure him. He really will.
The Candlemas Invitational is honestly the easiest matchup on our schedule.
Caliburn hosts, two other schools come and do their best…
but usually lose. This year it’s Mountstuart College and Villa Loyola, neither one a particular threat, especially if you’re me, the alternate, and therefore extraordinarily unlikely to do anything during the tournament itself.
At least we get to do to the formal dinner this time, since it’s sort of religious in nature, although I can’t remember exactly what it celebrates.
We’re probably not supposed to stay for the dancing part afterwards, but no one’s ever really stopped us, so.
Cal half-retreats, sword arm raised, and I seize the opening, lunging forward to bury my bladepoint in the crook of his elbow.
Bzzt. Green light.
I straighten up and search his face. “Hey, look alive.” I give my hand a little wave between us. “You practically stood still and let me run at you.”
Cal shakes his head. “Moving kind of slowly. I didn’t really sleep,” he points out.
Oh. Right. He took the night shift.
With Gwenna.
“Yeah,” I say to Cal. “Right. How’d that…go for you?”
You probably didn’t blurt out anything life-alteringly embarrassing, I’m guessing.
She hates us. It is so, so apparent. She didn’t say as much, but I could feel it coming off of her those whole six hours. The whole time I wanted so desperately to explain, while simultaneously knowing nothing I could tell her would really make anything any better.
For his part, Cal shrugs. He feints left, then dives into a lunge at my right thigh that I parry cleanly, and doesn’t retreat in time to avoid my riposte.
Bzzt.
I look up at him, but he doesn’t meet my eyes.
“What?”
Cal shakes his head. “Nothing.”
He’s a terrible liar. Always has been. His face gets that flush—bright red patches on both cheeks. Same as when he…
Anyway.
“What?” I insist, and lunge at his foot. He retreats, just in time.
Then he clears his throat, and focuses his eyes on where the foibles of our blades just barely cross. When he does speak, it’s so soft I can barely make out the words.
“Sorry?” I say
“I said I saw her in the shower,” Cal says, a touch louder.
“What?” I stop dead in my tracks, which gives Cal the opportunity to lunge forward and bend his blade dead center in my chest.
Bzzt. The red light flicks on this time. Cal retreats and resets to the en garde line, but I don’t.
“In the shower?” I repeat. “Like…naked?”
Cal lowers his blade and gives the tiniest sigh. “No, with all her clothes on. Yes, naked,” he says, lowering his voice on the last word. His ears are pink now, too.
I lower my epee, and just kind of…blink at him.
There’s too much to process. Gwenna naked—my imagination can do plenty with that. And Cal with her…
My heart does a few quick, hard pulses.
I lick my lips.
“And?” I say at last.
“And what?” Cal lowers his blade, too, eyes darting from mine to the middle of the strip between us and back again.
“Well, she…” I swallow. “First time for you, I guess?”
“Jesus.” Cal stares at me. “It wasn’t like that. She fell. Collapsed. She was tired. I heard her fall and thought she was hurt, so I—”
“Okay, okay.” I nod and put my hands on my hips. “Was she…mad?”
Cal tips his head to the side. “Kinda. Maybe.” Now he swallows too. “I wasn’t looking at her, but...”
But still. I’m not sure if I say the words or just think them.
Cal presses his lips together and pushes the tip of his epee into the strip. “Yeah.” He frowns, pushing the blade forward to re-curve it, suddenly intensely focused. His lips part a little as he tests it, and then lowers it again, bending it back further with his toe this time.
I’m a little spellbound, watching him.
It’s not like I just decided to fall in love with him.
I cringe. Why did I say that to her? Why do I let every single word that forms in my brain make its way out of my mouth?
Cal lifts his blade again, flicks it once, and the small smile of satisfaction that curves his mouth is enough to get my blood beating.
Why am I not actively ripping the whites off his chest and sliding my tongue inside that—
“Put your masks on.”
The voice startles me out of my skin. Kingston steps across the strip, already in his whites, his own mask under his left arm and a frown on his face.
Cal looks up, too. “Kingston,” he says.
“We were just—” I start.
“Something like that on the strip,” Kingston interrupts, “could get you black carded. And safety besides. You know better.”
He’s not angry, just…well, just correct. Any partner bladework whatsoever needs a mask. No exceptions, even for sadists like Kai or lazy alternates like me. That’s how somebody gets seriously hurt.
Luther Pendragon’s son knows that better than anyone.
“Sorry,” Cal says, and bends over to pick up his mask, which he slides on his head one-handed. I go for mine too, fumbling around by the bench where I’d left it and wedging my head inside.
Kingston nods and slips on his own. “Unplug. Dry bouts, we’ll practice reffing.” He strides over to the chalkboard on the far wall and writes our last names in each of the competitor rows.
Pendragon
O’Brian
Dell’Acqua
“First to five, three-minute limit. Got it?”
Before we can answer, there’s a crash.
“Fuck,” comes a voice from the lockers.
Then Kai comes stalking in. Whites on, but unfastened. Scowling.
No one says anything as Kai looks around—for his mask, presumably, which isn’t on its peg. Finally, he seems to notice the quiet.
“What?” Kai says, practically sneering at Kingston. He spots his mask under a bench and squats to retrieve it. “Am I fifteen seconds late again?”
Kingston lowers his foil. “You’re on duty, Kai. You’re supposed to be with Gwenna.”
The chill that comes over the salle is palpable. I actually shiver.
Kai freezes only a half-second. Then he stuffs his right arm into his jacket, shrugs it on, and zips it up to the neck, like Kingston said nothing at all.
“Kai!” Kingston barks. “Did you hear me?”
“Sure did,” Kai says, turning to pull out a foil. “Sounds like a you problem.”
There’s a clang as Kingston drops his foil on the strip.
He tears off his mask and strides over to Kai in two steps, his expression nothing short of livid—which, on Kingston, is genuinely kind of scary.
I glance at Cal, who’s standing statue-like at the other side of the strip.
We can’t really meet each others’ eyes through the mesh, but it doesn’t matter; we exchange a look all the same.
This is bad.
“We discussed this,” Kingston is saying. “We agreed.”
“You agreed.” Kai calmly loosens the strap of his mask, his back still turned to Kingston. “I’m a conscientious objector.”
Kingston’s nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath. “Kai,” he tries again. “Don’t—”
He goes for Kai’s shoulder, but Kai’s quicker. In one fluid movement, Kai drops his mask, spins on his heel, and grabs Kingston’s wrist, bending it back. Hard. So hard Cal and I both wince.
Even Kingston can’t avoid a grunt of pain.
“Hey!” Somehow, I find my voice. “Dude. That’s his sword arm.”
Kai narrows his eyes, waits a beat, and flings Kingston’s arm away. “He’s a big boy.” He gives his own arm a shake. “And Gwenna’s a big girl. She’ll be fine. I’m nobody’s bitch.” He points right in Kingston’s face. “Hers, or yours.”
Kingston doesn’t move.
“You’re right,” he says at last. “I can’t make you do anything. I can’t make you do what I say. I can’t even make you follow your vows.”
Kai picks up his mask with a smug smile. But it flickers. Like he knows Kingston’s not done.
“I just hope it’s worth it,” Kingston goes on. “For your sake.”
Mask in hand, Kai waits a moment. When Kingston doesn’t say anything, he gives a dramatic sigh and props his mask under his arm.
“Fine. I’ll bite.” He rolls his eyes. “Hope what’s worth it, King?”
“Defiance.” Kingston’s voice rings against every surface of the salle.
“I hope the satisfaction of not doing the right thing just because it was my idea is worth whatever happens to Gwenna when Moroslav finds her again. Or, more likely, when she gets dragged back to that place we found her. I hope it’s really, really worth it to you. ”
Kai doesn’t move.
Then he yells.
Screams, really. A raw, frustrated sound as he chucks his mask right at the weapons rack, knocking all the blades into a clattering cascade to the floor.
I wince. Again. That’s something like six grand’s worth of weaponry right there. Plus a few hundred for the mask, which now has a considerable dent in the mesh.
The salle goes quiet, except for the sound of Kai’s breathing. I slowly edge my gaze over from the pile of blades to him and King. Kai’s eyes are hard on his brother’s, but King doesn’t flinch.
A lifetime of training on the strip will do that.
“Prick,” Kai mutters. But he steps off, grabbing the zipper on his jacket and ripping it down as he swings for the door.
After he leaves, we all wait a long, long moment.
And then it’s business as usual.
“Cal, take your line.” Kingston shoves his mask back on and strides back to his foil. “Lanz, you ref. En garde.” He picks up the blade, toes his line, and sets. “Ready?”
His masked face snaps from me to Cal.
“Ready,” we both say.
And I don’t know about Cal, but I’ve never felt less ready in my life.