"You seriously knew every answer in history and apparently every right question to ask in Battle Brief," Rhiannon says, shaking her head as we stand on the sidelines of the sparring mat after lunch, watching Ridoc and Aurelie circle each other in their fighting leathers. "You're not even going to have to study for tests, are you?"

"I was trained to be a scribe." Violet shrugs, "I always wanted to be a scribe," I glance down at my relic, "Guess your mother had other plans." Violet tosses her arm around me, "Guess so."

I survey the room, the guys are mostly shirtless because they think shirts give their opponent something to grab onto.

Personally, I'm not arguing with their logic, just enjoying the view...respectfully, of course, which means keeping my eyes on my own squad's mat and off the other twenty mats in the massive gym that consumes the first floor of the academic wing.

"Guess that means you're not worried about academics," Rhiannon says, her brows rising at us.

"Stop circling each other like you're dance partners and attack!" Professor Emetterio orders from across the mat, where Dain watches Aurelie and Ridoc's match with our squad executive leader, Cianna. Thank God Dain's shirt is on, because I don't need to be sick before my turn.

"I'm worried about this," Violet confesses, tilting her chin towards the mat.

"Really?" Rhi shoots her a sceptical look. Her braids are twisted into a small bun at the nape of her neck. "I figured as a Sorrengail, you'd be a hand-to-hand threat."

"Not exactly."

Ridoc launches toward Aurelie, but she ducks, sweeping out her leg and tripping him. He staggers but doesn't go down. He pivots quickly, palming a dagger in his hand.

"No blades today!" Professor Emetterio bellows from beside the mat. He's only the fourth professor I've met, but he's definitely the one who intimidates me most. Or maybe it's just the subject he teaches that has me envisioning his compact frame as giant. "We're just assessing!"

I let my focus drift along the other mats, my gaze snags on Liam, who is sparring against someone from First Wing, with his shirt off.

By the gods he is beautiful, I imagine how it would feel to run my hands over his toned torso, to kiss his gorgeous smile. Stop it.

A couple of mats over, someone shrieks, snapping me back to reality. Jack Barlowe has another first-year in a headlock. The other guy is smaller, thinner than Jack.

Jack yanks his arms, his hands still secure around the other man's head.

"That guy is such an ass-" Rhiannon starts.

The sickening crack of bones breaking sounds across the gym, and the first-year goes limp in Jack's hold.

Jack drops the man to the ground. I'm starting to wonder if the god of death lives here for how often his name must be invoked.

"What did I say?" their instructor shouts as he charges onto the mat.

"You broke his damned neck!"

"How was I supposed to know his neck was that weak?" Jack argues, shut the fuck up.

You're dead, Sorrengail, and I'm going to be the one to kill you. Jack says glaring at Violet, I roll my eyes.

"Eyes forward," Emetterio orders, but his tone is kinder than it has been as we all look away from the dead first-year. "You don't have to get used to it," he tells us, I already am, I've seen enough innocent people slaughtered, people just trying to do the right thing.

"But you do have to function through it. You and you." He points to Rhiannon and another first-year in our squad, a man with a stocky build, blue-black hair, and angular features.

Shit, I can't remember his name. Trevor? Thomas, maybe? I've given up on trying to memorise everyones names.

Rhiannon makes quick work of the first-year, stunning me every time she dodges a punch and lands one of her own. She's fast, and her hits are powerful, the kind of lethal combination that will set her apart.

"Do you yield?" she asks the first-year guy when she takes him to his back, her hand stopped mid-hit just above his throat.

"No!" he shouts, hooking his legs around Rhiannon's and slamming her to her back. But she rolls and quickly gains her feet before putting him in the same position again, this time with her boot to his neck.

"I don't know, Tynan, you might want to yield," Dain says with an annoying grin.

"She's handing you your ass." Ah, that's right. Tynan.

"Fuck off, Aetos!" Tynan snaps, but Rhiannon presses her boot into his throat, garbling the last word. He turns a mottled shade of red.

Yeah, Tynan has more ego than common sense.

"He yields," Emetterio calls out, and Rhiannon steps back, offering her hand.

Tynan takes it.

"You-" Emetterio swings his finger to me. "And you." He points at Luca, thank you Amari.

I hear Violet's name called but I don't bother to look, I take up a fighting stance across from Luca, a smirk finds its way to my lips. Luca wastes no time, charging at my with less grace than a toddler.

I easily side step her, taking up my stance again. Luca inches closer and when she is within my reach I kick my leg out, sending her sprawling across the mat.

I put my boot to her throat, "Yield."

"In your dreams Riorson." The way she says my last name has me grabbing her throat, my nails digging into her skin, drawing blood. "Yield." I bite out, pushing a little harder.

"She yields" Emetterio yells. I climb off her, locking eyes with a proud looking Xaden.

Before I can approach him, I hear it again-the macabre sound of snapping bone-but this time it's Violet's.

Dain starts yelling some random crap at Imogen as he scoops her up and practically sprints out of the sparring gym.