Someone ahead of us has started throwing their daggers at the target. The sound of one clattering as it misses and falls to the ground reaches my ears.
‘Never,’ I tell her honestly. ‘They paid homage to Opalus each year on her day of death, but …’ I shake my head, wondering why they never celebrated this.
‘Don’t feel too bad. It’s basically an excuse for everyone to eat and drink to their heart s’ content under the guise of thanking the Stars for Falling and giving us this land.’
‘Next!’ Nick’s voice booms throughout the room, and my attention snaps back to the moving line ahead. A pissed off Cillian Foy stomps to the back of the line. Marcus gives him a friendly slap on the shoulder as he walks past.
I duck my head around the shoulders of students to look at the target. Much to my surprise, there’s not a single indent on it. Did he missallof them? I don’t think I’ve ever seen Cillian fail anything. He’s at the top of the leaderboard for a reason.
There are three more students in front of me. Moira is second and she also misses every single throw. Though one does strike right beside the target, missing by mere inches and bouncing off the wall where it embeds itself into the foam mat below it. Aiden Redford is next. He throws them in three rapid movements, landing two out of three, which earns him a loud cheer from the group and a nod of approval from Nicks.
Marcus is the last one before I step up. I’ve been watching closely at the others’ techniques. The way they hold the handle and the angle of their wrist as they throw each dagger. Marcus grips the handle hard, and I observe intently as he shakes his shoulders out before bringing the blade up past his shoulder as if he’s about to throw a ball.
His shoulders rise and fall as he inhales and exhales before he lets the dagger fly from his hand, flicking his wrist. We all watch as it soars through the air only for the end of the handle to hit the target and then clatter to the floor.
‘Shit!’ Marcus mutters, reaching to the left to grab another dagger.
‘Try not to overextend your wrist,’ Nicks offers in encouragement. ‘The spin should come naturally from your grip. And put your dominant foot back.’
Marcus listens, placing his right foot back a step, and brings the dagger up once more. This time when he throws, the dagger glides through the air more gracefully than it did the first time but still, it doesn’t connect with the target. He tries again; the blade hits the outermost ring this time and holds. A whoosh of air releases from his lungs in relief.
By the time Marcus has retrieved his daggers and returned to the line, my stomach is riddled with nervous energy. I step up to the mark and glance over at Nicks who’s already watching me with a curious expression.
‘Your turn, Nocthare.’ He gestures for me to begin before his pencil scratches something on the clipboard in his hand.
Okay, you’ve got this, Aria. You heard him, don’t overextend, dominant foot back. There was also something about not gripping it too hard? Or was it grip hard andnottoo soft? Stars, I don’t remember.
I mutter all these things to myself as I approach the table lined with daggers and cast my gaze over each of them. They all look the same: same leather-covered handle, same shiny silver blade that looks sharp enough to cut through bone. They would certainly do some serious damage if dragged across someone’s skin.
I feel eyes glaring into my back as my hand reaches out to hover over one of them, while I mentally count how many there are. Fifteen in total. If one of them happened to go missing would Nicks notice?
Suddenly, I’m debating sabotaging myself and purposefully failing at this, just so I’m forced to come here while everyone else is at the Imber Stellarum celebration. It would be the perfect opportunity to get my hands on one of these blades. But that means I’d have to wait weeks, and I don’t want to leave myself unarmed for that long.
No. I need to steal one of these, today. I just need to wait for the perfect opportunity to do it.
Someone yells out for me to hurry up and pick. I can’t decipher who it is but get the message and quickly snatch up the three closest to my right hand. I walk back to my mark and centre my focus on the target.
‘When you’re ready,’ Nicks encourages. ‘Remember to follow through with your arm. The blade should continue naturally in the direction of your throw.’
My feet move into position. I place my right foot back and bring one of the daggers up past my shoulder, right near the side of my head, just like I watched the others do. My fingers squeeze the hilt before relaxing into a neutral hold. The leather is cool against my palm, and I let the weight of it ground me, even as I hear Moira’s familiar snarky laugh from the middle of the line.
I exhale heavily and close my eyes, blocking thoughts of her from my head, using the anger I feel to fuel me instead of rattling me. When I open my eyes again, it’s to watch the dagger leave my hand as I throw it forward. It flips through the air four, no – five times before landing three inches from the centre of the target, hilt first, and clattering to the ground.
‘Woah, Nocthare. That almost hit the centre.’ Isla gives me an encouraging nudge from behind.
My lips purse as I glower at the dagger laying on the ground. Close to the centre is not good enough.
Determined to get this right, I don’t hesitate to move the second dagger to my throwing hand. I get into position before looking toward Nicks for pointers. His eyes roam over my stance before he hums in thought. ‘Take a step back, I think you’re too close. Might be why your hilt hit the target instead of the tip.’
I nod in compliance and do as he suggests. I breathe in once again, imagining the dagger hitting the target. I picture it cutting through the air and embedding itself into the centre. I picture standing in my room facing the closed bathroom door. There’s no one else around, no one watching or criticising me.
I’m. All. Alone.
I throw.
Holding my breath, I watch in shock as the dagger connects to the target with a loud thud, blade sinking deep into the outer ring. The handle slightly wobbles back and forth from the momentum. I expect it to clatter to the floor, but after several seconds, I realise it won’t.
‘Again,’ Nicks orders with a proud lift to his voice. Riding the high of hitting the target I toss my final dagger through the air just like I did before. But unfortunately, I miss, throwing a little too wide. The blade scratches against the stone wall as it joins my first dagger on the ground.
