“Study your opponent before, during, and after your duel,” Lysander instructs, his tone hard. “Find a weakness that you can play on. It may be a limp in their step, putting all their weight on their heels while they are attacking, or, in Cornelius’s case, talking instead of thinking.” He takes a step forward. I dance back. “The littlest of flaws can destroy the greatest of men.”
As I study Lysander’s form, I find no flaws, no weaknesses. From the limited information I know about technique and form, he appears to have perfected this art.
I clear my throat, hoping to steady my rising nerves.
“For instance,” Lysander begins as he walks in a circle, dodging the sun streams and missing floorboards with ease. I move, too, keeping the same amount of distance between us. “I can tell just by your posture that you put all your weight forward, and so your strikes will be clumsy. You will depend on your strength in your blows, and therefore you will go into it blindly, without a strategy.”
I pause. Can he really tell all of that just from the way I’m standing?
Panicked, I straighten my back.
“Ah, and now you’re sitting on your heels and your knees are locked,” he says. “You will be slow in your attacks and will have no choice but to move backwards to avoid my blows.”
“Then what is the correct way?” I ask.
“You must stay centered. Bend your knees and plan your moves before you make them. Never depend just on your strength to win your fight. It is a mistake many make, and they rarely win.”
Studying my stance, I try to position my legs in a way that wouldn’t get me killed. Everything Lysander is saying is easier said than done, and he doesn’t seem to have the patience to explain himself further.
On cue, he gives an annoyed grunt. “Ready?”
No.
He lunges forward, sword raised, and I practically trip over my own feet to block his blow.
“Come on, Avrum! Think! Position! Strike!”
I do my best to keep up with his strikes and throw some of my own. When the time comes for me to use these skills outside this attic, there will be no room for errors.
A mistake will only end in death.
Haven
Iwait a while after Henri leaves before testing the door handle. I praise my luck. It’s unlocked.
Opening the door slowly, I step out into the hallway on quiet feet and glance up and down the corridor for anyone passing by. Luckily, I’m completely alone.
On my tiptoes and with my heart pounding, I hurry down the hall toward where I know Avrum’s room is. I tap on the mahogany wood and listen for any movementinside. When I hear nothing, my heart sinks. I knock again, this time harder.
“He isn’t in his room.” A heavily accented voice makes me whip around. At the opposite end of the long hall, the vampire named Lysander watches me with amusement in his cloudy gray eyes. The rest of his expression, however, remains emotionless.
Fear rushing through me, I step away from the door. He may be someone Avrum considers a friend, but would he get me in trouble for leaving my room and wandering alone? I hope not.
He strides over to me, a long, sheathed sword swaying at his hip. My body tenses. He must be part of the Henri’s guard. They are the only ones allowed to carry a weapon.
There’s no way he wouldn’t be loyal to him.
I instantly regret leaving my room. This could ruin everything.
“You are looking for Avrum,” he says as he approaches. He towers over me, and when his hard gaze locks with mine, I feel even smaller.
“Y-Yes, I am. He wanted to see me.” The way he’s staring at me now, as if he’s studying me under a magnifying glass and picking at my flaws, makes me shift uneasily on my feet.
Then, he lets out a bored sigh and gestures the same way he had come. “He’s down the hall there. At the end, there are a set of stairs. Climb them and you will find him.” Stepping around me, he walks away.
What an odd man. Or, should I say, vampire. I still don’t know if he’ll tell Henri about finding me out of my room, but I can’t seem to focus on that anymore. All I’mthinking about is Avrum and how he’s back from seeing my father but hasn’t come to see me at all.
Anger whips through me, and I take a deep breath, trying to suppress it. It’s a wasted effort though. Here I’d been waiting all night for word of my father, worry gnawing at me, and he hadn’t even bothered visiting me again. Even after saying he would.
