Then Aldric called:
“Verita. Venn.”
I stepped down into the ring.
Marcus came from the other side.
At the railing near the door, Caspian Ashford stood in his prefect coat.
He had not been there a moment ago.
Or he had, and I hadn’t noticed because I’d been busy panicking.
His hands gripped the wood too tightly for indifference.
And his eyes were on me.
The Pull answered at the back of my throat. Cold. So cold.
The negative at my wrist stirred.
I pulled it inward the way Juno had taught me.
Caspian’s gaze flicked to my sleeve.
He had seen something.
Or felt something.
No one else had, I hoped.
Aldric looked between Marcus and me.
“The assessment is response,” he said. “The strike is not announced. The block must be correct. The recovery must be controlled. The pin must hold. Begin.”
“That’s all?” I said.
Aldric glanced at me.
“Begin, Verita.”
Marcus lifted his stave.
I lifted mine.
The stance Hale had taught me came back to me: right foot back, quarter turn, two inches in. Hands not carrying the stave. Holding it. Ready to stop something.
Marcus saw a first-year who had not been in combat class.
Aldric saw my back foot.
His eyes stayed there for half a second.
Then Marcus struck.
Right shoulder.
Of course.
