Chapter 11

VALERIA I stare at Mr. Murdock, not believing a single word that came out of his mouth even though I'm already clutching the sword he just handed me. Meanwhile, the girl named Celeste is looking at me with a radiant grin, as though Christmas just came early for her. She twirls her sword in her hand expertly, causing it to reflect a very strong glare in my eyes. "Ladies," Mr. Murdock calls out. “I want you to turn around, walk ten paces away, and finally face each other.” Swallowing hard and rubbing my eyes, I do as he says. My legs are shaking, and they nearly give way when I face Celeste again. I should say something. I should tell him that I’m new and I don’t know how to fight. “Sir?” I say tentatively. “I’m a new student, and I… this is my first time fighting. I don’t think I should go through with this.” He gapes at me as though I just started speaking a different language. The others laugh under their breath, and I can feel heat starting to rise up my cheeks. Half of me wishes I didn’t say anything, but I know that it’s the right thing to do. I don’t want to get skewered. It takes a while for Mr. Murdock to respond, but at last he says, “No one gets special treatment here, Miss Marcus. New or old, you have to take the responsibility of being late. Now attack!” His last statement gets registered late in my head. The moment it finally makes sense to me, Celeste is already lunging at me with her sword over her head. She slashes at me, and my head would have gotten split into two like a coconut if I didn’t manage to dodge in time. I dive sideways, rolling to the ground. “You’re not making this fun,” Celeste whispers as she stabs at me with her sword. “Fight back, you pushover.” I narrowly avoid her blow, jumping to my feet. Adrenaline and fear are both pumping in my veins right now, but they’re no match for Celeste, who is jabbing and slicing at me effortlessly while I struggle to parry her every blow. She’s fast, precise, and unpredictable. So much so that not even five minutes pass, but she manages to knock the air out of me by poking my abdomen with the back of her sword and slashing at my face as I fall. A stinging feeling erupts in my left cheek, then I land butt-first on the ground, dropping the sword that I barely used. I touch my face and come across something warm and wet--blood. Everyone in the class except Auric gets to their feet and starts to clap for Celeste, who bows before surrendering her sword to Mr. Murdock. He offers his hand to help me up. “This is why we don’t end up tardy. Now Mr. Blaise and Mr. Freid, come here and fight.” Shame is making my entire body burn. I don’t dare look at anyone as I sit in the corner, but I can tell by the looks and the whispers and the laughter that this is no different from my old life. Even here, I’m still an outcast. * * * The rest of the day is… underwhelming. In a good way, surprisingly. No one paid me any attention, even though I can hear whispers anywhere I go because I share every single class with Celeste, who seems to have put a target on my back. It doesn’t help that the bandage on my cheek serves as some sort of a signal that I’m the loser that she beat. Still, she didn’t attempt anything, so I see that as a win. It’s five in the afternoon now. I’m supposed to go back to the dorm and change for dinner, but I just wander back to the amphitheater, which is empty. The crate of swords is still there, and I let go of the urge I’ve been feeling all day. I pick up one of the swords and examine it. The humiliation of being so unskilled I got beat in five minutes is still hanging over me. I want to be good at this. I want to fit in. So, even though I feel stupid, I swing the sword around, remembering how Celeste maneuvered it so easily. It’s lighter than I thought, easier to— “You’re not supposed to do it that way.” The sudden statement from a male voice makes me flinch and drop the sword with a clang. I whip around and see that it’s Auric, who beat the Freid guy easily this morning. He crosses the distance between us and picks up my sword, getting into a specific stance. “This is how you’re supposed to pose with this, with your legs crouched wide so you can dodge in every direction,” he instructs, demonstrating how to lean to every direction to avoid an invisible blow. “Think of the sword as an extension of your arm, an extension of you. Like an elongated arm. You can jab, poke, and slash with it. But the best thing to do is to disarm your opponent like—” “Why are you here?” is the only thing I can ask. His face goes a little red. “Well, I wanted to talk to you since this morning, when I… found out about your mom. I wanted to apologize about what I did. That was horribly insensitive of me.” I stare at him and I can tell that he’s being sincere. I know that he probably didn’t mean it, but the wound in my heart is still fresh from the loss of my mom, and I don’t feel very forgiving. “It really was insensitive,” I mutter. He closes his eyes in shame. “I know. And this is too much to ask, but can you let me make it up to you?” “I’ll think about it,” I say dismissively. “But please, I really want to be alone.” He opens his mouth as though he’s about to argue, but in the end he just nods and leaves. I take a deep breath once he’s gone, but that one exchange with him made my mind so messy that I find it hard to focus. I probably should have let him stay so he’ll teach me, but I still don’t feel good with him. But because I can’t focus anyway, I decide to just go back to the dorms and leave the sword. However, just when I toss it back where I got it, I notice the smear of red on the handles of the crate. Handprints. From blood. My heart starts to beat fast. My first instinct is to leave, which I prepare to do, but then I see that the trail extends from the handles to the ground, leading to a narrow hall in the amphitheater. Before I know it, I’m already following the tracks. Is this some sort of a prank? Am I walking into a trap? All sorts of questions are moving in my head but my body has an agenda of its own, tracing the tracks all the way into the storage room, which is open. I feel the wall for the switch and turn on the lights. And what I see roots me to the spot. Lying on the floor, surrounded by the pool of his own blood, is Mr. Murdock. Stabbed through the neck with a sword.