She looks at me sidelong, buckling a brace of daggers into place around her thigh. One side of her mouth lifts. I can’t decide if it’s a smirk or a smile. “We’ll see.”
All grace and agility, she crosses back to the door, gesturing for me to follow her out onto the waxed wood.
I do so reluctantly, pulling my hair back into a neat tail. Half of me hopes Tiberias is already gone. I focus my eyes on a spot between her shoulder blades.
“It’s a stupid plan, not just because Tiberias already made his choice,” I continue, sliding by her onto the training floor. Instinctively I shift my weight to the balls of my feet, almost bouncing as we walk. I grin back at her. “But also because you’re never going to lay a finger on me.”
She clutches a hand to her chest in false pain. The changing-room door slams shut behind her. “Mare, I’m supposed to be the overly confident one.”
I keep grinning, walking backward to keep my eyes on her. I don’t trust anyone to fight fair, especially her. “Maybe Elane can lick your wounds?”
Evangeline only raises her chin, looking down her nose at me. “She does, and frequently. Jealous?”
My face flares red. I feel the heat of it all down my neck. “No.”
Now it’s her turn to grin. She shoulders past me, knocking her arm into mine with marked force. I twist, but she keeps her body squared to me, never letting me pass out of her eye line. We start to resemble dance partners turning in a ballroom. Or wolves circling in the dark, predators testing each other. Searching for openings and weaknesses. Opportunities.
I have to admit, the prospect of blowing off some steam, and maybe getting a few good rounds in, has me excited. Adrenaline already surges through my veins in anticipation. A good fight, the kind without consequences or any real danger, sounds especially delicious. Even if it means admitting Evangeline was right about sparring.
Across the floor, I spy Kilorn looking on, with Tiberias standing beside him. Ptolemus keeps his distance. I don’t waste my attention on them, even though Evangeline wants me to. She’ll probably slice my face the second I drop my guard.
“You should train more,” she says, her voice a bit louder. It echoes through the open space. I wonder if Evangeline was simply born without shame. “Work that stress out of your system in other ways. Or with other people.”
I blink a rapid tempo, truly surprised. My entire body floods with warmth, and for once, it isn’t Cal’s fault. She grins at my discomfort, even tipping her head toward Cal and Kilorn a few yards away. Both of them are clearly listening to our conversation, while simultaneously trying to look like they aren’t. Evangeline raises an eyebrow toward Kilorn, surveying him with a keen eye.
The implication dawns on me. “Oh, he’s not—”
“Don’t make me laugh,” she sneers, taking another step backward. “I’m talking about that other newblood. The Montfort one. White hair, deep voice. Thin and tall.”
Suddenly the heat coursing through my body turns icy, and I feel the hair on my neck rise. Cal pushes off the far wall. His eyes slide past me as he turns, dropping into his final routine. Push-ups. He works at a steady but fast pace, rising and falling. In the silence, I can just hear his rhythmic puffs of breath over the embarrassing thud of my own heart.
Why are my palms so sweaty?
Evangeline leers, more than satisfied. She dips her chin a little, nodding. Goading me on. Do it, she mouths to me.
“His name is Tyton, and he isn’t here,” I growl, hating myself as the words come out. Across the room, Cal quickens his pace. “This an even stupider plan,” I add, leaning in to whisper as low as I can.
Evangeline tosses her head. “Is it?”
She breaks my nose with her skull before I can answer.
My vision spots: I see black, red, all colors in a dizzy spiral as I slump sideways, falling to my knees. Crimson blood spurts down my face, running into my mouth and over my chin. The familiar tang wakes something up. Instead of collapsing, I gather my legs under me and spring.
My head collides with her chest bone, and I hear a whoosh as the air goes out of her lungs. She stumbles, arms pinwheeling as she lands flat on her back. I swipe a hand across my face. It comes back sticky with blood, and I wince, trying to think through the yowling pain.
Across the floor, Cal is on his knee, eyes wide, jaw tight, about to get up. I shake my head at him and spit blood on the ground. Stay where you are, Calore.
He does.
The first dagger sings past my ear, a warning. I drop beneath the second, rolling across the smooth, almost slippery wood floor. Evangeline’s laughter rings in my ears. I silence it quickly, lunging forward to grab her by the neck. She twists before I can get a good grip and shock her into submission. Only a few sparks touch her as she slides away, using the polished floor beneath us to her advantage. Still, my sparks are not gentle. She twitches as she moves, as if trying to brush off a particularly tenacious insect.
“You’re better than I remember,” she pants, coming to a stop a few yards away.
I clench one fist, the other pressed to my nose in an attempt to stem the river of blood. Not a pretty picture by any standard. Red spatters the floor already. “I could drop you where you stand if I wanted,” I tell her, remembering what I learned with the electricons. Web lightning, storm lightning. But not Tyton’s impossible brain lightning, which I still have no control over.
Evangeline shakes her head, smiling. She’s enjoying this. “You’re welcome to try.”
I match her grin. Fine.
My lightning erupts, purple and white, blinding, burning, hissing through air already damp with sweat. She reacts with near-inhuman speed, her knives suddenly melded into a single, long band of steel. It pierces the floor as the lightning hits, making it ripple into the metal. It misses its mark with a flash that blinds even me.
Then her elbow cracks into my chin, throwing me backward. I see stars again.
“Nice trick,” I mumble, rolling the blood around my mouth. When I spit this time, I think I hear a tooth ping off the floor. I confirm my suspicious with my tongue, feeling the sudden, unfamiliar gap in my bottom teeth.
Evangeline rolls her shoulders, her breath coming in uneven gasps. “Had to even the playing field somehow.” With a small grunt, she yanks the spear out of the floor and twists it around her wrist. “Finished warming up?”
Slowly, I laugh.
“Oh yes.”
I wait my turn, watching as Wren works on Evangeline’s face. One of her eyes is swollen shut, colored a black and sickly gray-purple that deepens with the passing minutes. The other eyelid twitches every few seconds. Some busted nerve. She huffs at me, shoulders rising and falling, then winces, pressing a bloody hand to her side.
“Stay still,” Wren mutters for the third time. She traces the side of Evangeline’s face, and the swelling recedes in her wake. “You broke a rib.”
Evangeline glares as best she can with one barely working eye. “Good fight, Barrow.”
“Good fight, Samos,” I answer with some difficulty. Between a split lip, the nose, and the bruised jaw, even talking stings. I have to lean, keeping my weight off my left ankle, which is steadily dripping blood from a neat gash above the knobbly exposed bone.
The three men stand back, giving us all the space we need to breathe.