Page 54 of Great Falls Cadet
Built like barrels, the twins have shining eyes the precise color of Katita’s and tightly pulled-back black hair. The brutality in their mirrored gazes sends a shiver down my spine. They wereenjoyinghurting Rabbit and, with that taken away, little want to be left empty-handed. I may be fae and they human, but I’m still adjusting to my new fae body—a body that is far smaller than theirs—and three to one are not good odds.
On my right, Puckler swings the leather reins he used on Rabbit, the thick material making a whooshing sound as it cuts through the air. On my left, Rik has located another pitchfork—though unlike me, he holds it with the sharp end forward. Across the aisle, Sprite is kicking her stall, and even Coal’s Czar is whinnying his displeasure.
Rik swings the pitchfork first, the metal teeth flashing toward my head.
I duck and slide sideways, letting Rik’s momentum carry him to stumble into the wall. Just as I do, a line of fire explodes along my left ribs. Puckler. I gasp at the pain, twisting to see him swing the leather reins back for another blow. The whooshing sound makes my stomach clench, my memory flashing in remembrance of Zake’s beatings, and I know that only my having been moving when he struck saved me from the full force of the blow. I won’t be so lucky next time.
Out.I need to get out of here.
My eyes slash over the three cadets. The stable. The horses. Stalls line both sides of the long, wide aisle where we are fighting, the two doors on either end as far as from me as the moon. Worse still, I’m in the middle of the boys, with the twins cutting off the south exit route and Nolan cutting off the north. The pungent stench of Nolan’s fury is stronger than latrine refuse.
But Nolan is the weaker of the group. If I can get through him, it would put the lord between myself and the twins.
Throwing my pitchfork at Rik, I buy myself time to set up my attack. Breathing steadily, I lower my level. Aim my shoulder for Nolan’s hip. Push off my legs. Explode.
My shoulder hits Nolan’s bony frame with a satisfactory thud, the lord’s body yielding to my force. Falling backward for the second time in as many minutes, Nolan moans.
I don’t even pause.
Jumping over Nolan’s writhing form, I spring for the door, my dress swinging awkwardly around my legs. My soft boots pound the wooden floor, my lungs taking gulps of hay-sweet air. Behind me, the boys scramble off each other, their cursing egging me on. Faster. I need to go faster. The ten steps left between me and the door feel like miles. Eight steps. Five.
I’m going to make it. I can tell by the distance of the sound closing up from behind me. Just one more—
My foot lands on my dress’s hem, my knee suddenly hitting fabric. With a curse, I fall onto my knees, the sting of impact nothing compared to the devastation of a hand closing around my ankle. A hard yank from one of the boys flattens me, the rough wood scraping my face.
“Going somewhere, wench?” Puckler’s gravelly voice hits the back of my neck a moment before his considerable weight settles atop me. The stench of too-strong perfume fills my nose. “You think you have leave to assault members of King Zenith’s court?”
I move on instinct honed from too many minutes spent flattened beneath Coal’s unyielding body. Rising to my knees and elbows, I turtle up to protect my stomach and head. Wait for my opening. Compared to the immortal warrior, Puckler is an awkward sack of rocks—but he is large and one of three. I can’t stay here in my turtle position for long.
There.The slight shift of Puckler’s weight is all I need to twist out from under him.
The moment I do, Rik is there, forcing me right back onto my hands and knees while his brother restraddles my back. The two failed escapes press on me as roughly as Puckler’s considerable weight.
“Well, this is convenient, isn’t it?” Nolan’s thin, nasal voice holds a note of vicious amusement. “I do love breaking a filly. Let’s get a bit in its mouth.”
The clanking sound of a bridle being readied shoots through my nerves. I buck to get Puckler off, having to wait patiently for a shift of weight. For an opening. Puckler doesn’t budge.
The next moment, something cracks along my backside, the slap of leather an acidic mix of pain and humiliation. A second lash.
Atop me, Puckler grabs my hair while Nolan’s manure-covered palm shoves a bit into my face.
The rush of fury that overtakes me is enough to rival a storm.
10
Tye
With the others busy at dinner, Tye swung on the horizontal bar in the center of a quiet training pitch as the sun slowly sank below the Academy wall, gaining more momentum with each flex of his body. With an easy exhale, he gave himself a final push and flew into the air.
Cool air nipped his face, his body’s tumbling in defiance of gravity sending a rush of exhilaration through him. In that instant of soaring above the bar, with nothing but the control of his body and trust in momentum keeping him in the air, Tye felt that elusive completeness.
He feltalive, his heart pumping hard in celebration of nothing but the now.
The moment ended as Tye caught the bar on his way down, his too recently dislocated shoulder screaming its protests. With a swallowed wince, Tye let himself down, landing neatly on the forgiving sands. After the high of soaring through the air, the return to the ground was deadening.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Tye turned toward the applause, a trained smile on his face as he saluted whoever it was. Katita. Again. Tye’s jaw tightened. Pretty, intelligent, and ruthless, Katita was King Zenith’s heir and Ckridel Kingdom’s—Tye’s kingdom—next queen. For all the uniforms and Academy rules that technically made the upperclassman Tye a superior to first-year Katita—there was no denying the reality of power. Ckridel was hers, and by extension, so was Tye.
