We all crowd the edge of the cliff, looking down at him. He stares back up at us, sweating and snarling.
Tristan jogs up the path to the tower.
Through gritted teeth, August says, “Come on, go back-to-back with me so we can climb up.”
“No,” Tristan says, shaking his head.
“What do you mean no?” August shrieks.
“No,” Tristan says calmly. “You’re faster than me. When we get to the top, you’ll sprint past me and win.”
August can’t argue that point.
“Well, you have to anyway!” he sputters. “That’s the only way up!”
“The only way for you, maybe,” Tristan says.
Crossing to the opposite tower, Tristan lays down on his stomach, his arms and legs outstretched like Superman. With his superior height, he can just wedge himself in place and begin inching his way upward, belly down.
The mixture of laughter and howls is deafening as half the students cheer Tristan onward, the rest in near-hysterics at the sight of August trapped on the ground.
Like the fabled tortoise, the slow and steady Tristan makes his way inexorably upward. He hauls himself over the ledge, then lightly jogs across the finish line.
“There,” he says to Kade, wiping the back of his arm across his sweating brow. “We didn’t lose at least.”
Kade is laughing so hard that tears run down his cheeks. “I can’t believe you left him down there,” he howls.
“That’s what he gets for making me run so fast,” Tristan says, his face still pink and sweating.
“You weren’t fast,” Kade says, holding his sides.
“Fast for me,” Tristan grumbles.
Tristan’s little sister Lucy and his cousin Rene come running up to congratulate him. They’re both Freshmen, and they seem in awe of Nix, who pulled off a stunning first-round victory against the far more experienced champions of the opposing teams.
“You even beat him,” Lucy whispers to Nix, looking at me like I’m an ogre in a fairytale.
“I can hear you,” I tell her.
Lucy blushes almost as pink as Tristan.
“I didn’t think you were gonna come back from those stones,” I tell Nix.
She shakes her head, surprised at herself.
“It took me six tries,” she admits. “I almost gave up.”
“Why didn’t you?” I ask her.
“Because,” she says as if it’s obvious. “I never give up.”
“Right,” I say. “I should have known.”
And I really should have.
My whole life I’ve been intimately acquainted with that kind of woman: my mother is exactly the same.
Several professors have joined the crowd of spectating students. While Professor Howell has jurisdiction over the Quartum Bellum, the other teachers enjoy watching the challenges, especially the strangest and most interesting ones.
I see the Chancellor congratulating Sabrina Gallo on a rare Freshman win.
The Chancellor has come to the Quartum Bellum before—usually only when it takes place right outside the school grounds, where he has appropriately luxurious seating available to him. I’ve never seen him walk as far as the river bottoms.
He’s standing close to Sabrina Gallo, his black, heavy-browed eyes roaming over her face. The deep, craggy lines on his face are arranged in an uneasy mixture of curiosity and something else . . . something very like hunger.
Sabrina doesn’t seem discomfited. She speaks to the Chancellor with the same careless, confident air she applies to everyone, young and old, weak and powerful.
I’m the one with the anxious impulse to drag Sabrina away from him.
Nix follows my gaze, watching the Chancellor’s avid conversation with the much younger girl.
“He’s taken a liking to Sabrina, hasn’t he?” she says quietly. “I thought so on the first day of school, when he let us off so easy.”
I force myself to look away, saying, “He’s not always a despot. I’ve seen him be nice to students before.”
“What kind of students, I wonder?” Nix says, her red-gold eyebrows drawn together in a line.
“Come on,” I say, trying to distract her. “Everybody’s going to want to throw you a party.”
16
Nix
The elation I feel winning that first challenge is like nothing I’ve ever known.
I’ve never been on a team before.
I’ve never been anyone’s champion.
The high-fives and back-slaps and compliments and congratulations are like a mainline drug straight to my brain. I’m floating on a cloud of euphoria, which is all the warmer because Ares doesn’t seem to mind that I won.
The fact that we worked together to make it happen is the best part of all.
I admire Ares.
He’s disciplined and restrained—two qualities I lack.
He never loses control of himself.
When I was left all alone standing in front of those stones, I could have screamed with frustration. But I knew I wasn’t going to give up, and that meant there was no point whining or crying about it. I had to get it done any way I could.
Sabrina is over the moon that we took first place in her very first challenge as Captain. I’ve never seen her look more gorgeous than in the full glow of gloating.
“I think me picking you as champion really shows my genius,” she says, grinning at me with her sharp white teeth.
“Of course you do,” I laugh. “Don’t ever let anyone accuse you of being humble.”
“I never would,” she assures me.
“I’m just sorry I can’t compete in the rest of the events,” I say, frowning. “I mean, don’t get me wrong—winning that one was well fucking worth it. But now that I’ve got a taste of it—I really think we could take the whole damn thing!”
“If we do, it’ll be because of you,” Sabrina assures me. “You got the Freshmen hyped.”
We’re getting ready for the party to celebrate our win. Well, the Freshmen, Sophomores, and Seniors are celebrating—the Juniors are in near-mutiny, utterly fed up with their constant losses and ready to lynch August Prieto for letting them down yet again.
Cat Romero is the only Junior who seems indifferent to the humiliation.
“I didn’t even have to compete this year,” she said happily over dinner.
I ate an entire chicken and a mountain of potatoes. I’ve never been so ravenous in my life. Then for dessert, fresh-baked blueberry pie with actual whipped up cream, not the shit out of a can . . . I think I reached nirvana.
Now I can feel my legs stiffening up like redwood trunks, and I have no idea how I’m going to dance tonight.
Sabrina is, if anything, more excited for this party than she was for the challenge itself.
She’s standing at the mirror, somehow managing to improve upon an already perfect face. She’s made her eyes all the more smoky and cat-like, her irises a pale silvery-gray in the ring of the dark shadow. Her hair falls in smooth, shining waves that my insane curls could never hope to emulate. Her dress is a liquid silver that reminds me of chain mail. It looks like she poured it on over her curves.
Sabrina’s body is insane. I try to avoid watching her change clothes so I don’t suffer a heart attack.