And nobody is watching… the realization makes me smile, just slightly. No audience means that maybe—just maybe—there’s something I can do.

I only have moments, so I work quickly. I reach my senses into the room around me, searching for elemental essence the unbound book said I should find. I feel only traces, but I desperately urge them inward, pull them inward by force. And it works.

It’s not the sudden rush of power I feel when touching other affinities, but it’s something. It’s a candle flame instead of an inferno, but it’s better than nothing.

I draw in as much as I can of each element, slowly building a reserve of magical energy in my core.

"Begin!" Blackstone calls, and Davrin charges, throwing himself into a deadly horizontal swing that will cleave me in half if I don’t move.

I dance to the side. The practice blade whistles past my ear, disturbing the air enough to ruffle my hair. I dart forward, landing a quick thrust against his shoulder before retreating out of range.

"Lucky," he growls.

Maybe it was. But if I'm going to survive this, I need more than luck.

I also don't have the luxury of only worrying about myself. I glance to my left and see Mireen using her matched daggers to deflect heavy blows from Kira, another of Malakai's student soldiers.

Desperately, I use the air essence to command a small column of air to blow into Kira’s face. To my shock, it actually works.

Kira squints, flinching in surprise as a gust ruffles her hair. Mireen takes the opportunity to dart inside Kira's guard and press a dagger to her neck, earning a yield.

I hear the whistle of steel slicing through the air, but it's too late.

I turn, eyes wide as Davrin's greatsword slams straight down into the place between my shoulder and my neck.

The blow crumples me to the ground, rapier clattering from my hands. Pain explodes through my body like shattered glass, every nerve screaming in protest as darkness edges my vision.

Fuck. I need to survive my own match if I want to help. Survive, Nessa.

But even as Davrin readies for another strike, I hear Ambrose grunt with pain.

I clench my teeth, reach for my rapier, and roll away from Davrin's next strike at the last second. My fresh injury burns with agony at the movement, but I ignore it.

I get to my feet, desperately looking for a way to buy enough time to try to help Beck and Ambrose, but Davrin is advancing again. He's driving me back with measured swings that leave no opening to get inside his reach and use my smaller rapier. I'm losing ground, my back inching closer to the outer edge of the training ring. Once I'm cornered, his superior strength will end this quickly.