Page 40 of Avalon Tower

“How? Scare him with diet tips?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me the answer? How do I beat him?”

“With everything you’ve got!” she snarls.

“Sorry, what does that mean?”

“Why didn’t you bite his nose off?”

My jaw drops. “You want me to bite his nose off?”

“He was on top of you. Inches away. All you had to do was lunge forward and bite his nose off. Really grip that nose with your teeth and gnaw at it until you rip it to shreds. Or distract him, then gouge his eye out with your fingernails.”

“You wanted me to blind him?”

“I want you to try!” she shouts. “Why didn’t you stab him with your hidden knife?”

My eyes widen. “What hidden knife?”

“The one you should have on you.” She raises her arms in frustration. “You’re small and weak. You should always carry a hidden knife. And some poison. Don’t be an idiot, Nia. Raphael is right about one thing. Whether I like you or not, you are one of our only two Sentinels, and you have to stay alive. That means doing whatever it takes.”

I clear my throat. “Then you won’t try to kill me?”

“I will if you prove yourself to be a traitor. Otherwise, no. I dislike you on a personal level, but we can use your skills. And for that, you need to stay alive.”

“I do plan to stay alive.”

She looks me up and down. “From now on, I’m training you. Classes start every morning at eight, so I want you here at six before breakfast. We’ll do one-on-one training.”

“Sounds wonderful.” The idea of waking up every morning to get yelled at by Viviane sounds like my own personal hell. “For how long?”

“Until. I’m. Satisfied.” She turns away.

My heart is thumping as I hurry out of the hall. To my relief, Serana is waiting for me in the stone hallway. “What did she want?” Serana asks.

I sigh. “She wants me to do extra training.”

“That’s not too bad.”

“Every morning at six.”

Her jaw drops. “That is literal torture.”

“Better than dying, I suppose.” I pause to consider it. “Slightly.”

By the time we arrive at our Fey language class, the rest of the cadets are seated in benches that line a long hall. The stone ceiling is etched with Fey words and gorgeous carvings of vines and flowers. Serana and I slide into some seats.

Amon, the man I met the day before, steps in through a wooden door and walks down the center of the hall. He strokes his blond beard, rings gleaming on his fingers.

“Good morning,” he says, his deep voice echoing off the ceiling. “I hope you all did your essays from the last lesson.”

“Oh, bollocks,” Serana mutters. “I forgot.”

“Let’s see.” He looks around the class until his gaze lands on a student with white-blonde hair. “Moira, if I were to say, ‘Sliha, ma an bealach lasifria,’ what would you answer?”

“Um…” She gives a frozen smile. “Smola?”

He purses his lips. “That would do. For now. And if I say, ‘Tavoi iti chuig an féasta,’ what would you answer, Serana?”

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