“I don’t know why I’m missing so much today. I must be—” I stop, like I’ve just realized something. “I know what it is.” I shake my head and flash Brendan and Charles a rueful smile. “I’m not left-handed.”

There are a couple of uncomfortable-sounding snickers from the students that stop the moment Messer looks at them.

I take the last knife in my right hand and throw it in one fast and fluid motion at the farthest target. My knife not only splits an X directly down the middle, but it splits the same X that they both missed.

Brendan’s fist clenches near his side and Charles’s jaw is tight; they both look decidedly put out. Aarya, on the other hand, laughs, and when I look over, there’s even a hint of amusement on Layla’s face.

Messer’s expression remains stony and unimpressed. “Well, well. Let’s see how you do when the stakes are real.” She scans the students. “Ines, go stand in front of the farthest target.”

I swallow and Aarya abruptly stops laughing. Charles and Brendan now seem to be the ones who are amused.

Messer waits while Ines walks across the field. “Hit the X an inch above Ines’s head,” she says. “With the way you’ve been showing off, that should be no problem for you.”

All the bravado I had fifteen seconds ago disappears and is replaced with a stomach-twisting panic. I glance at Ines, who stands calmly in front of the target, and I can’t meet her eyes. This is crappy on so many levels. God forbid I miss. On top of the horror I would feel, I’m pretty sure Aarya would skin me alive here and now.

“You look like you’re about to faint,” Charles says, and makes an exaggerated frown.

Brendan chuckles. “Maybe she’s only comfortable fighting inanimate objects.”

I look at them. “You think this is funny? If my shot is one inch off the way both of yours were, I could kill her.”

“Yet they’re right,” Messer says, and holds out a knife. “Under pressure, you can’t perform. Are you refusing to take the shot?”

Shit. I’ve backed myself into a corner here. “I’m not taking the shot,” I say.

“Very well, then. Brendan?” Messer says, and my eyes widen. She’s asking Brendan to throw? He’s even worse than Charles.

“Obviously,” he says, and flashes me his confident smile.

I snatch the knife from Messer’s hand, and there are a couple of surprised gasps behind me. I throw quickly, before Messer can object, and the knife lodges a good six inches above Ines’s head. She never even flinches.

“You missed,” Messer says, and by the tone of her voice I can tell that the class I was really looking forward to has just become a nightmare.

Chapter Eleven