She throws her weight into a thrust at my solar plexus. I block, pushing her weapon to the left of my waist. It forces her off-balance, and I lean right so she falls forward. She plants her staff hard just before the blue line, halting her momentum before she tumbles out of the ring.

I should have used that opportunity to drop her to the mat.

She pushes off, pivots on a heel, and twirls her staff to strike at my temple. I panic and lean back too far. Miss the attack, but fall hard on my ass—

Her staff is at my throat.

“Yield,” she pants.

Everything happened so fast. Too fast. My throat bobs against her weapon.

Sydney presses lightly against my neck.

“I yield!” I snarl, knocking her staff to the side.

A few days ago she would have helped me up, if begrudgingly.

Now she smirks and walks away. The other Pages clap lightly at her performance.

I curse and roll to standing. When I recover my staff, I find Sel’s eyes on me from the bench where he’s leaned forward on his knees, chin on his palm. I’d forgotten he was here. Heat spreads over my throat and chest when I realize he’d watched me fail horribly, and with his personal weapon of choice.

Greer manages to best Blake with the practice sword, disarming him in a few minutes. Vaughn uses his weight and size to press Whitty out of the ring before they exchange more than a few blows. Whitty curses and throws his blade down, the maddest I’ve ever seen him.

Gill calls it a night. Her eyes linger on mine when she reminds the group we can use the rooms any time we want to practice before tomorrow’s trial.

Right as I meet Greer at the door, I feel Sel’s gaze on my back. I haven’t spoken to him all week, but there’s an expectant weight in the sensation of his eyes.

I sigh. “You know what? I’m gonna stay for a bit. You go on ahead.”

Greer raises a brow. They look over my shoulder at Sel sitting on the bench, then back at me. “You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

He waits until their footsteps disappear down the hall.

“Do you want to be a Squire?” His voice is inches behind me, and I yelp even though I should expect his silent approach at this point.

I frown, not sure how to answer. Do I want to achieve the title? Yes, so that I’ll be powerful enough in the hierarchy to demand an audience—and the truth—from the Regents. Do I want to fight in this war as a Squire?

“It’s a yes or no question.”

“I do, yes.”