The crinkles at the edges of his eyes and mouth suggesthe’s around his forties, and he peers around at us with an air of decades-given authority. The twinkle in his pale eyes feels more icy than amused.
I wonder what his glim is. Jovak’s is nothing all that flashy—the ability to project and amplify sound—but this guy might be packing something really powerful.
Or he could be all style, no substance. Hard to say.
Professor Kwong claps his hands together and clears his throat. Our classmates fall silent.
He tilts his head toward Jovak and the newcomer. “15thyears, you know your Defensive Magic professor. He’s here today with a new instructor Luminary has brought on for some supplementary intensive combat seminars that will be offered to a select group of senior students. Captain Ross has worked in the military department for many years. He and Professor Jovak will be overseeing the new course.”
I can guess now why he isn’t pleased. It’s like the school was saying he isn’t good enough to train us “intensively” himself.
Captain Ross gives a sharp nod and steps forward without prompting. His firm, resonant voice carries through the room. “I’ve been called in because of increasing security concerns here at Luminary. We’ll start by determining who has the most need of additional training and who could best assist with that training. For that, we’d like to see you spar. Five pairs at a time; we’ll rotate through all of you.”
Increasing security concerns. Like my poisoning and Kenneth’s still unsolved disappearance?
Oh. This is the “something in the works” Professor Jovak mentioned yesterday.
He really must have been disturbed by my near-death if he arranged a whole program just to beef up our defensive skills even more.
Several of my classmates glance over at me, probably having similar thoughts. Then Salvatore’s voice breaksthrough the renewed murmurs. “I want a rematch with Devine!”
Fuck a falak. Does he really think this is a good idea?
He prowls toward me through the crowd with a cruel smirk that’s offset by the softer gleam in his eyes. He probably thinks he’s protecting me by making sure none of our other classmates gets the chance to give me a real beat-down.
Actually, that might work in my favor for my own reasons. Salvatore’s a skilled enough fighter to show off his prowess while avoiding doing any real damage. I can’t say the same for anyone else here.
And my first priority is getting through this class without my glim lashing out.
“What is his problem?” Madison mutters, but I move to meet my challenger, putting on a pained expression as if I’d rather not.
Captain Ross doesn’t object to us taking our positions on the mats. He gestures at the other students. “Four more pairs, now, and the rest of you stay out of the way by the walls. We’ll do ten minutes per match.”
Salvatore cracks his knuckles through his gloves, still with the smirk. “Think you’re ready for me this time, málóid?”
It’s one of the presumably insulting nicknames he tossed at me the first time we sparred after I ended up in this reality, when he was more irritated with me than enamored. I hope no one else can pick up on the teasing, almost flirtatious lilt he’s added to it.
I glower at him in warning not to drop his antagonistic act too much. “More than ready. Bring it on, Cosgrave.”
The other pairs have assembled around us. Captain Ross blows a whistle to start the matches, and Salvatore springs into motion.
He lunges forward and then swings to the side, throwing me off balance. I manage to scramble away and land a blowthat’s little more than a tap to his shoulder, and then he’s catching me around the waist.
Even if I’m a little annoyed that he forced this public partnering, I can’t help admiring the deftness of the move. It knocks the breath out of me without actually hurting.
Salvatore dips his head close to my ear and speaks under his breath. “It’s always fun playing with you, mia amata.”
“Better not make it look like playing,” I hiss in response, and elbow him in the ribs. A jab toward his face forces him to loosen his grip enough that I can jerk loose.
He bobs on his feet, grinning like he’s having the time of his life. I will my pulse to slow with a deep breath.
The first Salvatore I knew taught me all my best fighting tactics. He never realized that I asked for his guidance in the hopes of ensuring no one ever injured me badly during a match like this.
It worked. The worst I took in my last few years of sparring sessions were scratches and bruises minor enough that the classmates they transferred to never suspected my glim.
Let those skills ensure no one in this room, including the alternate version of my match, suspects it either.
We push back and forth, exchanging blows and blocks, circling around each other. I overextend one kick and curse myself an instant before Salvatore takes advantage to flip me onto the ground.
