Page 137 of Fourth Wing

“The third-years are off doing third-year things,” I tell him as my toes touch the mat. “You can’t get him here in time, but I know what it means to you to keep your word. Especially with him. Go ahead.”

He looks from me to Ridoc. “Guard her like you’re me.”

“You mean like I’m six inches taller and built like a bull?” Ridoc gives him a thumbs-up. “Sure. I’ll do my best. In the meantime, you’d betterrun.”

Liam’s gaze finds mine. “Stay alive.”

“Working on it, and not just for my sake.” I give him a smile. “Thanks for being a great shadow.”

His eyes widen a split second before he sprints out of the gym.

“Barlowe and Sorrengail,” Emetterio calls from the opposite side of the mat. “Weapons?”

Jack bounces like a kid who’s just been given a gift. “Anything she can hold in those puny hands of hers.” The look in his eyes sends a shiver of apprehension down my spine.

I step onto the mat, and Jack does the same, walking forward until we’re at the center, facing each other.

“No wielding,” Emetterio reminds us. “Tap out or knockout earns you a victory.”

Pretty sure everyone gathered around this mat knows that Jack isn’t going for either of those options. If he gets his hands around my neck, I’m dead.

“That whole I-die-Xaden-dies thing is really just a hypothesis, right?”I ask, unsheathing the daggers that are hardest to reach during a fight, the ones in my boots.

“One I’d rather not put to the test,”Tairn growls.

I stand, gripping the handles of my daggers, as Jack faces me with a single knife. “You’re kidding, right? Only one?”

“I only need one.” He grins with sickening excitement.

“Go for the gullet,”Tairn suggests.

“I don’t have the energy to block you out right now, so I’m going to need you to be quiet for a few minutes here.”

An answering growl is the only response I get.

“Keep it clean,” Emetterio warns. “Go.”

My heart drums so loudly, I can hear it in my ears as we begin to circle each other.

“Offense. Now. Strike first,”Tairn snaps.

“Not helping!”

Jack lunges, striking out with his knife, and I slice my dagger across the back of his hand, drawing first blood.

“Shit!” He jumps back, his cheeks blotching.

That’s what I want, what I need to win this match, for him to get so angry that he acts without thinking and makes a mistake.

He dances forward and then kicks out, aiming for my midsection, and I stumble back, narrowly avoiding the blow. “Bet you wish you could throw that blade, don’t you?” he taunts, knowing I won’t break a rule when it can hurt someone in the matches going on around us.

“Bet you wish you didn’t know what it feels like to dig out one of my knives, don’t you?” I retort.

His lips press into a thin line before he comes at me in a series of punches and swipes with his dagger. I can’t deflect—he’s too strong for me, as evidenced by the dagger he easily kicks out of my hand—so I use my speed, ducking and diving while getting in another cut, this one along his forearm.

“Damn it!” he rages, twisting to follow as I come around his back. He catches me off guard, locking onto my arm and flipping me over his back to the mat.

I take the blow on my shoulder and wince, but there’s no sound of tearing or snapping. Thanking Imogen will be my first order of business if I make it out of this.

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