FOCUS
Imogene raced across the room to grab the bo staff leaning against the wall, her opponent just steps behind her. The zip of his staff buzzed the air near her head as she ducked, rolled across the mat, and grabbed the staff she needed from the holder. She turned and crouched with her back to the wall, wielding her staff to block her attacker. The clack of his weapon against hers vibrated up her arm through her elbow, jarring her teeth, but she ignored the discomfort—she was used to it—and shot forward.
“That’s all you’ve got?” She smirked at her opponent.
Vempur growled, showing his sharp incisors. His stark, black hair curled against his umber-toned temple slick with sweat as he followed it up by stabbing the end of the staff toward her face. His eyes, usually green flecked with sparkles of gold, turned completely black as he swung.
She blocked and went for a jab.
Vempur parried, then swung the staff at her head, once more with a loud grunt and frustrated huff. “You’re too quick,” he snapped.
Imogene smiled at her best friend but subdued the laugh. She knew he wouldn’t take it well in the middle of a fight. Not with everyone watching. Their silent, judgmental gazes were enough of a deterrent to keep Vempur’s temper in check. Besides, she wouldn’t have appreciated his humor at the moment either. There was too much on the line.
“You’re stronger. Taller,” she grunted out as she ducked once more. It wasn’t to feed his ego. “Find my weakness.”
“What fucking weakness?” he snapped, frustrated more with himself than her, it would seem. “You haven’t lost yet today.”
“Exactly. I’m tired.”
Vempur growled, surging forward.
But she couldn’t afford to lose and that was the difference.
She rocked back, arching as the staff narrowly missed her gut, then swung her stick out to catch Vempur’s feet. He jumped and brought his bow down to the mat barely missing her back as she rolled out from under his strike.
“Stars!” Halo Mins—their instructor—yelled across the sparring room. “It shouldn’t look like a dance. It should look like a fight!”
Several of the other Year Sevens in the room snickered, and she knew it was at their expense.
“Shit,” Imogene swore, resetting as she hopped away. “He’s going to knock me down.”
“He won’t. He can’t.” Vempur punched out, and Imogene blocked the stick. They pushed against one another and locked, resting for a beat. “You’ve dominated everyone today.”
“Not everyone.” She pushed, using her momentum to twist and swing, the pole wide, catching Vempur’s ankles. His giant frame slammed against the mat, and she went in for the kill, feigning a stab into his throat.
Vempur opened his hands against his bow staff in supplication and frowned. “Everyone knows you belong on the leaderboard, Imogene.”
“You’re partial.”
“Sol! Neiklot! That wasn’t good enough!” Mins yelled and stalked across the mat toward them. “If your trial was using the staff, you’d fail. But I’ll give you that an audience would stand and clap for your riveting performance.”
The rest of the students laughed.
“Neiklot, you’re so much taller than Sol, she shouldn’t be able to get inside with her reach. How the Carnos did she beat you?” It was safe to say, Mins was angry as he continued to rant, cataloging their weakness and failures, though Imogene couldn’t think of a time when Mins wasn’t doing that when it came to her. The sight of her seemed to set him off, as her name—Sol—set off so many when they met her. She probably should change her name, only she couldn’t until she achieved legal status as a Federation employee.
Imogene widened her eyes at Vempur to communicate her incredulity at the teacher’s comments, a look they’d perfected over the last six years at the Academy and extended her hand to help him. He smirked and got to his feet. They both turned to look at Mins.
At his full height, Vempur was at least a foot taller, her head only reaching his wide shoulders. He’d grown into his Astra-Felleen features. His big, wide eyes, green now because he was looking at her, were more often filled completely black, which occurred under heightened emotions in a Felleen. His brows hung heavily over those eyes, especially when he was irritated, which was most of the time. But whereas many Felleens had narrow faces and narrow features, Vempur’s human qualities showed through. His face was broad through his cheeks and sculpted through his wide jaw. Where most Felleens had a narrow, flatter nose, Vempur’s was decidedly human, a touch wider, crooked, and scarred from fighting. His sharp teeth were often hidden behind a nicely shaped mouth but were a touch terrifying when he growled. If Vempur weren’t more like a brother, she supposed his features were pleasing.
And here she was, a tiny human by comparison.
They were an unlikely pair, she knew, but they’d found one another anyway.
The rest of the Year Sevens in their section watched with feral gazes, relishing their chastisement. It had been that way since her first year when they learned her name was Sol and all the jaded history attached to it. She supposed in their shoes, had she lost a loved one because of what someone’s parents had done, she might feel the same. But most forgot she had lost her parents as well. As a Year One, their hatred had manifested into things like running into her in the hall, picking on her in sparring sessions, stealing things, and refusing to be her partner.
Vempur hadn’t had it easy either, even if his name was clean. When they entered The Ring Academy at fifteen, they’d been alone. It had been clear many of their classmates had grown up together as legacies, arriving at school already familiar with one another. Given her name and Vempur being not only an Astra Fellen, but a scrawny, orphaned Astra at that, they’d both been the favorite targets of the browbeating. They’d found each other, fought together, and though they often lost, they’d been friends ever since, becoming the family the other needed. Now, in their seventh year, 22 seemed like a lifetime from those first days.
While their classmates’ vitriol wasn’t as targeted as it once had been, most gave her a wide berth. Some worked hard to undermine her with halos. The worst offered her their open hostility. She and her classmates might have aged, but that didn’t take away their hurt and anger from what her parents had done.
“I expect better!” Halo Mins finished.
“Sir? How often do you think we’ll be in a real-life situation having to use the staff?” Imogene asked. “It’s peacetime.”
The halo’s eyes widened with incredulity. “Are you kidding me, Sol?”
She shrugged rather than say no.
Someone snickered across the room, drawing her gaze. She wasn’t sure who. She wondered if it was someone on the leaderboard with her. There were 25 of them—four in this class—including herself and Vempur. She was on the cusp of slipping below the top five, with only a point between her and Dwellen Ridig in sixth place. Slipping below five and making way for Dwellen—one of those hostiles—felt like a death sentence.
Her eyes skimmed over Timaeus Kade—number three on the board—his dark gaze intense as he watched, his expression unreadable. Imogene pressed her teeth together and looked away, hating that she couldn’t read him. She was also sure he was relishing her admonishment, as usual. They’d been competing since the first year, though truthfully, he’d never been openly hostile like Dwellen, just reserved and standoffish.
“I don’t care if you use a slaggin’ spoon, Sol! You will leave my class knowing how to use any weapon at your disposal whether you need it or not.”
She straightened. “Yes, sir!” Besides the staff, they’d used twin daggers, knives, and a rope that day. With the Trials coming up, the review was necessary. Today, she’d gained the upper hand for each of them. Some by skill, but mostly by her tenacity. She couldn’t afford to be knocked from her spot on the leaderboard. Her life in the Federation depended on it.
“Because of your impertinence–”—Mins turned away from her and Vempur— “Anyone think they can best Sol today? None of you have.” He said it with disgust.
“Using the staff, Halo?” someone asked—she was sure it was Dwellen and knew he’d jump at the chance, though maybe not with that weapon.
Mins looked over his shoulder at her and smirked. “Your choice.”
“I’ll do it,” a voice rang out, cutting off Dwellen, who she was sure had been about to volunteer.
Imogene wanted to close her eyes, recognizing the voice. Of course Kade volunteered. She pressed her teeth together, tightening her jaw but keeping her face even and hopefully as unreadable as his.
“Excellent, Kade!” Halo Mins clapped his hands together. “Choice?”
“Hand-to-hand. No weapon.”
Imogene refrained from rolling her eyes.
“This will be our last fight for today. Let’s see if you can go undefeated, shall we, Sol?”
Imogene watched Vempur cross the mat back to the rest of the Year Sevens, while Kade stepped onto it, drawing his dark hair away from his face with a band. She refused to allow herself to linger on the handsome aspect of his human face or the width of his muscular shoulders, or the sinew of his arms, or the grace with which his body moved. Who was she kidding? She was lying to herself that she didn’t notice. She noticed. She was a living, breathing woman after all. Noticing was maddening.
“Gear, sir?” Kade asked.
“No. Let’s make it interesting.”
“But–” Kade’s thick brow collapsed over his dark eyes. “That’s–”
Mins raised a hand to silence Kade. “Sol can take it.” The halo waited for her to admit she couldn’t. A challenge, but Imogene refused to admit that. The halo knew that and would use it against her somehow, deduct her points, which would impact her rank. His grin widened when she didn’t respond, then he said, “Ares rules apply. Take-downs only, a point for each. No face punches or low blows. First to three wins.”
Imogene rolled her neck and got into her stance. Kade mirrored her, and she couldn’t help but admire him, objectively of course. She certainly couldn’t admire him in any other capacity. He was taller than her. Not quite as tall as Vempur, but close enough, which made his reach dangerous. She was quick but no match for his size and strength. She glared at him, knowing he’d picked hand-to-hand because it would be the easiest way to beat her.
“Something wrong, Sol?” he asked. Was he just trying to rile her up?
She couldn’t be sure, so she said, “Nope,” with a polite, if reserved smile, even if the grin was a lie.
“Oh!” Mins interrupted.
Imogene glanced at the teacher, who was now standing across the room with the rest of the students.
“Whoever loses gets a deduction.” He crossed his short arms with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
Slag. Slag! Imogene swore to herself and glanced at Vempur with a see-I-told-you-so look. She couldn’t lose. Her heart sped up, and her brain began to spin with trepidation that against Kade, she might. She swallowed and made the mistake of looking at her nemesis. His facial expression shuddered, then was indecipherable once more.
Then Mins yelled, “Fight!”
Imogene used her speed to avoid Kade’s lunge, hopping backward on the mat as her heart lurched up into her throat, threatening to choke her. She wasn’t afraid of Kade. She was terrified of losing, losing her spot, losing any capital she had to get a strong placement. Her name wouldn’t get her one. As her mind swirled, she turned away from Kade but miscalculated his movement, smacking against him.
He swept her legs out from under her, and they fell to the mat.
“One point, Kade!” Mins shouted with a bit too much glee.
Kade rolled away and stood to face Imogene once more. “Focus,” he whispered, the sound razor sharp.
“Don’t pretend like you care,” she snapped, getting to her feet.
“Don’t assume you know me,” he snapped back, shaking out his arms.
“Fight,” Mins yelled.
This time, Imogene focused on Kade’s body, keeping her eyes glued to his tells. She liked to think that she knew her classmates. She’d had enough time over the years to study them—especially Kade—since she’d been competing with many of them since they were fifteen. She and Kade had both been accepted to The Ring Academy as year ones, whereas others entered at year two or three.
He had a few tells—though she figured he’d deny it if she ever told him—like the tension he carried in his shoulders and jaw he was always battling to relax. Or the infrequent way his eyes expressed the depth of his emotion when he thought no one was watching. Or the way he sometimes wiped his palms over his thighs when he was nervous.
He wasn’t nervous now. He was focused like always, but she caught the subtle movement of his foot as he shifted his weight.
Kade lunged, and Imogene ducked, darted around him, and jumped, wrapping her legs around his hips and her arms around his neck. She secured the hold against his windpipe before he could get the break, then held on. Kade fell backward, slamming her against the mat to break her hold. Her breath knocked from her lungs, but she held on, unwilling to cede the point.
The ocean in her ears receded as she tried to catch her breath, and she could hear the yelling, a cacophonous eruption of sound, most of them yelling in favor of Kade. He gave it his all. Eventually, Kade tapped her arm.
Imogene released him, but Kade’s hand remained on her forearm a second longer than necessary before flopping out to the sides.
“Point, Sol,” Mins called.
Kade, his back against her front, didn’t move immediately, his weight melting against her. Her breath caught for a different reason, aware of his body between her thighs, then mentally rebelled. Just before she pushed him off, he rolled—brushing against her thigh—stood, and held out a hand to help her up.
Imogene batted it away and stood on her own.
“Match point,” Mins reminded them.
Kade leaned toward her. “That’s more like it,” he said with a cocky smirk, then resettled into his starting spot.
“Ready to lose?” she asked, taking her place across from him.
He laughed. “No chance.”
“Fight!” Mins said.
Her classmates’ yelling diminished until it was just the hollow noise of emptiness inside of her once more. The pressure of needing the win rose like the Cliffs of Mnor, but she forced herself to focus on Kade, and the tenacity she needed to best him instead. Her moves mirrored his, and she knew they were both looking for openings for their released punches and kicks. But as she maneuvered the mat, looking for a take-down opening, she couldn’t find one. After several minutes, her own lungs grappling with themselves for air as her exhaustion began to take over, Imogene felt the worry creep back in.
She glanced at Kade and stalled for a split second.
His dark eyes—usually devoid of emotion—looked loaded with it, only she couldn’t decipher what the look meant. She hadn’t put any study into that.
He stepped back, dropping his guard, and giving her an opening for a take down, though she couldn’t tell if it was on purpose, or if he was just as tired as her. Even as conflicted as she was that he might be intentionally allowing her an opening, she couldn’t lose her spot. She took it.
Only as she did, her leg buckled. She grasped onto Kade and fell to the mat, pulling his full weight down on her, his hands on either side of her head. When he reared back, his emotive eyes held hers. The silence inside her stretched like deep night, with only the stars twinkling in the night sky, her body lighting up like those stars.
“Point, Kade!” Mins yelled.
Their classmates cheered.
Kade jumped up. “No. Sir. She took me down–”
“Your point, Kade. Judge’s final decision.”
Imogene sat up, her arms on her knees, and released a long breath, seeking to regain her center.
Kade turned back toward her and crouched. “Sol…”
“You won,” she said, unfastening a hand wrap. “And I’m three behind you now.”
“I didn’t want–”
Imogene got to her feet. She refused to show her struggle to him. “You won, Kade. I’ll make up the points in the Trials.”
“I tried to tell–”
“I don’t need any favors,” she said. “Better not to.”
Vempur appeared at her side, his eyes narrowing on Kade. “You okay, Sol?”
“Yeah,” she said, and without a glance at Kade—who still had that strange look she couldn’t decipher on his face—walked out of the sparring room, knowing that deduction might have just cost her everything.
