Page 17 of A Drop of Anguish
“Candice, step out of the ring,” Coach tells me, voice strained. She’s watching closely, debating whether to interfere, but I also know perception matters.
“No,” I say without taking my eyes off my opponent. I’ve got this.
“You think you’re better than me? Did you know we bet on how long you’d keep his interest? I lost, of course. You lasted longer than three weeks.Barely.”
My cheeks heat. “Maybe we both lost Jarron, but you want to know the difference between us?” I ask, lips spreading into a vicious grin. I can’t let her get the upper hand, even in the verbal fight. “You were so obviously desperate to get him back. You looked like an absolute fool. He didn’t want you.”
She charges, a growl ripping from her throat.
I evade her charge with an easy slip to the left. She spins and swings, but I knock her arm off its target and upper cut straight into her stomach. She bows forward with a grunt of pain, and I throw an elbow into her neck, knocking her down again.
This time, though, she sweeps my feet out from under me before I can get away. I land on my back, and the air swoops from my lungs. My vision spins for one instant, and then she’s on top of me, hands around my throat.
For the first time, fear takes hold.
But her weight is surprisingly light, her muscles used to relying on magic, which it has no access to thanks to the magic-blocking cuffs. I grab her wrist and twist then rock my hips and throw her off of me.
She screams in rage as we both get to our feet. She’s seething again.
Coach moves to step between us, to end the fight while we’re apart, but Auren reacts first.
She flicks the magical cuff off her left arm, and then faster than I can blink, she throws a blast of icy-cold magic that barrels straight into my chest.
7
Sorry Not Sorry
Igroan and force my heavy eyes open.
There’s cold pressure on my chest, and I try to roll away from it. “Stop,” a harsh female voice chides. “I’m trying to help.”
I groan again. “What are you doing?” I mumble, trying to focus. My vision is still blurry. The last thing I remember is frost magic slamming into me.
Auren.
I jerk up and swat her hand away from me.
“I said I’m trying to help you!” Auren says again. There’s no warmth to her tone.
“Why would you do that when you’re the one who hurt me?” We’re still in the arena, on the stupid fake grass, with the rest of the class staring at us from a few feet away.
“Because I’d rather not die. Or be expelled.” Finally, my vision clears enough to see the emotion on her face. It’s not anger. Focus, yes. Maybe a sprinkle of fear.
“Why would you die?” I force out, collapsing back onto the grass. But she never gets the chance to answer because Coach drops to her knees beside us.
“Candice, the healers are on their way,” Coach says. “Are you all right?”
I nod again, already feeling the pain subside. I’m not sure what Auren is doing with her magic—Frost Court fae don’t have healing abilities—but since I don’t know what she did to start with, I don’t bother asking. It’s helping, whatever it is.
A minute later, Auren’s arms relax, her magic finished. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I—I don’t always control my emotions well.” She glances up at a wrinkled old woman in a white dress approaching. The woman I recognize as a healer kneels beside me on the AstroTurf and starts checking me. Her hands glow slightly as she moves them over my body.
“You seem well,” she says in a gentle tone. “Best to have you up in the infirmary, though. I’ll send a request for a potion to ensure the frost does no permanent damage. Better safe than sorry.” She pats my shoulder twice then stands.
Coach whispers something in the healer’s ear and she rushes off across the arena, presumably to someone else who needs aid. Injuries during combat class aren’t particularly rare.
I sit up and face Coach and the rest of the class watching me carefully. No one is quite sure how fragile humans are. Their nervous expressions give me the feeling they expect me to implode at any moment.
“Will you be all right to walk up to the infirmary alone?” Coach asks. But then, without waiting for a response, she looks over her shoulder. “Anthony, would you—”
