I hold my breath when he gets to me.
“Jade, you’re with Vera.”
Vera’s smile is all teeth as she saunters over, twirling her practice blade like she was born with it, and my stomach drops.
“Try to last thirty seconds, Princess,” she says sweetly.
“Ready?” Kieran’s command slices across the circle. “Begin.”
Vera lunges fast, her blade whistling through the air. I barely get mine up in time—not a parry, just pure panic—and the impact jars my entire arm.
“That’s not how you hold it.” She circles me like a shark. “What, you never learned how to fight in your fancy private school?”
So, that’s it. Jealousy. She was cool yesterday, which means she must have learned something about my background between last night and now, and clearly, she hates it.
I try to remember the grip Kieran showed us, but Vera’s wooden blade cracks against my ribs, and I stumble sideways. Her next strike catches my shoulder. Pain flares, and suddenly I’m on my knees, my dagger skittering away.
“Get up,” she orders. “We’re not done.”
I dive for my weapon, forcing myself back to my feet. Everything hurts. My ribs, my shoulder, and my pride.
“Better,” she mocks. “Almost like a real witch.”
She comes again, relentless. This time I manage a parry—redirecting instead of absorbing the full hit. But it buys me nothing. Her practice blade finds every gap in my pathetic defense. Ribs again. Hip. Shoulder. The back of my knee, sending me sprawling to the ground.
“Pathetic.” Vera looms above me, barely winded. “No wonder the magic in your bloodline died out.”
The stone is cold against my cheek. Rain patters on my back. Around us, other pairs are sparring, the crack of wood on wood, and occasional grunts of pain. But no one is getting destroyed quite as thoroughly as I am.
“Time.” Kieran’s voice cuts through Vera’s continued gloating.
I stay down for a moment, cataloging my injuries. My ribs feel like someone stomped on them. My shoulder throbs. My ego may never recover.
“You okay?” Evie crouches, offering a hand.
I take it, letting her haul me up. My legs tremble, but hold. Barely.
Vera smirks from a few feet away.
“Listen up,” Kieran calls from the center of the pit. “Based on what I just saw, here’s where you stand.”
Oh, good. Public rankings to match my public humiliation.
“Top tier: Nina Aldridge, Vera Jackson, Lauren Mitchell,” he says, continuing with a few more names that I miss through the pain. “Competent footwork and decent instincts. You might actually survive a real fight.”
“Middle tier: Evelyn Thorne, Garrett Sinclair, Felix Velasco, Francis Willingham, Elizabeth Bradley.” He lists a few morenames, and Evie’s jaw tightens, presumably at being ranked middle. “You have potential but need significant work.”
“Bottom tier: Samuel Reeves, Henry Baker, Perry Morrison, Jade Harrington.”
I stop listening after mine. Because of course I’m bottom tier. After the brutal beating courtesy of Vera, I’m surprised I’m ranked at all, instead of being expelled on the spot.
“You’re all dead in a real fight,” he adds cheerfully. “But that’s why we’re here. To make you slightly less dead.”
“Inspiring,” someone mutters.
“Tomorrow, we’ll meet in the Siphon Sphere. You’ll learn to combine your magic with combat. Applied Flamecraft, as Evelyn so helpfully pointed out earlier.”
Evie’s face flushes, but she says nothing.
