ANNA
Istared at the mirror.
The light streamed through my window, and I heard the others in the dorm’s common area, but I didn’t want to get up. I stayed in my bed watching the mirror that had been repaired. In the days after Melanie’s visit, both the window and the mirror had been repaired while I was in class. It was as if it’d never broken at all.
Growling, I pulled the sheet close, trying to mute the hum growing louder in my mind. It was an odd feeling because it wasn’t something I was hearing, but something I felt. I couldn’t describe it as anything else I’d ever experienced. When it occurred, I’d explain it away as a migraine. Sometimes, it was overwhelming, and it made me tired. At other times, it was pleasant and brought me peace. Then, there were the times it kept me awake at night, tense, unable to take a deep breath.
It wasn’t impossible to think that a freak accident had occurred, shattering my glass and mirror. We were at a high altitude, and the winds here were intense at times, but theglass in the window was as thick as my pinky. Maybe it wasn’t impossible that it was damaged by wind, but it was pretty fucking ridiculous. And the mirror too? And the timing of it all.
I shook my head.
What was I saying.
Maybe it was Melanie. Perhaps she was psychotic enough to break glass with her mind.
But I was sure of one thing—I wasn’t fucking crazy. Something weird was happening, and it wasn’t trauma-induced hallucinations from PTSD.
Isabella practically draggedme to the training hall the next day. I followed her through the corridors, unable to focus on her conversation, observing everything around me. I ran my fingers along the rich wallpaper lining the wall before letting my hand fall. Everything felt more solid. It was as if no mallet in the world could’ve broken through these walls. The training hall felt the same. A grand room that had no doubt housed impressive duels throughout its history.
Isabella pulled on sleek leather armor over her clothes. I picked a leather jack and lifted it over my head, tightening the laces and choosing a pair of bracers. There was something cathartic about the feel of the armor on my skin. The swords on the walls glittered from the light streaming in from the skylights above, and for the first time, I knew I’d found at least one place in this school that brought me ease.
Since I was small, Derrick had been training me to move like he did, to hold a sword and use it wisely. I lifted one from the rack, holding it in my hand. Wielding a weapon was freedom.
When I turned around, I saw Roslyn standing there. She grabbed a sword from the rack, whipping it around expertly and giving me a mischievous smirk. Her armor was molded in the shape of a chest plate but was made of deceptively soft leather. It was dyed in a rich emerald and clung to her form with intricate gold embossing at the edges. An elegant design was pressed into the leather, its golden filigree catching the light as she moved. The soft pauldrons covering her shoulders were formed with flexible layering for better movement. Arcane symbols and vines crawled up her gloves and bracers with craftsmanship I’d not seen on anyone else’s armor.
Roslyn’s presence exuded grace and prestige despite the violent nature of her perfect stance.
“Let’s spar,” she said, holding her blade to her chest, evenly dividing her face. It was a formal stance I’d never choose, but for some reason, I was unsurprised to see Roslyn had such a graceful fighting style.
Isabella glanced between us. “Oooo, this is going to be exciting!”
She ran off the floor, and I looked at Roslyn.
I grinned, amused by her out-of-character quirkiness.
“Alright,” I said. “You’re on.”
There were a few others in the training hall who backed off the mats, watching us with curiosity. I lowered myself into my preferred stance: knees bent, palm out, hilt tight in my right hand at my hip, blade forward.
Roslyn moved first. She sprinted wide, and I rotated my stance to keep her in line with my blade when she charged. I prepared for her strike, but it never came. I followed her moves, catching her shift at the last moment like she’d dodged something.
A flash of light caught my eye, and I blocked instinctively in time. I gasped as a dagger clashed against my blade and fellto the ground in a clatter. Roslyn was already across the room again, and I barely rolled and dodged a second dagger from behind. Okay, she was pretty fast. But where the hell had the daggers come from? I hadn’t realized she had them.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her for a second. She watched me, her expression unreadable, her blade at her side. She was analyzing my response to the attack. Before I could adjust my strategy, she was moving again. Two more daggers were zipping through the air, one whizzing past my head as I dodged, the other blocked with my sword, sending a sharp tremor up my arm from the impact. When I caught sight of her again, she was already flicking her wrist and sending another hurtling straight towards me. I couldn’t dodge this one.
Grunting in frustration, I twisted my body, barely avoiding the strike, and plucked the blade from mid-air, sending it back toward her. Derrick always used to scowl when I did this, telling me I was showing off, but I found it truly caught opponents off guard.
Roslyn dropped low to the ground in a crouched position, her torso forward and leaning on both hands. She gave me a quick smirk of approval before she was up and moving again. She kept the strategy up, catching me off-guard, and pushing my boundaries far more than I was comfortable with. We danced like this for too long, with her keeping me on the defense. And where the hell was she keeping this many daggers?
That was when it hit me—she was keeping her distance.
It was nothing like my fighting style—close range, meant to bring an opponent down quickly. She moved with stealth, using feints and misleading techniques meant to confuse her opponent. Every throw was calculated and precise. She was planning ahead. It was impressive, and I should’ve expected this style from her. She was a genius. And she did it all with such grace, it was kind of scary.
Unfortunately for her, I knew her fatal flaw.
Her next dagger came precisely where I expected it—and I let it.
It cut through the exterior of my armor when I caught the hilt in my hand. I gasped when it struck and fell to my knees, shielding the dagger beneath me. A still came over the room. Roslyn stood before me at a distance, motionless.
