The air was forced from my lungs as my back smashed into the ground. I struggled to catch my breath amid the pain radiating from my chest to my limbs. I rolled over, coughing, and wiped my watery eyes. “You got me again,” I wheezed.

Gizem crouched next to me. “You have to watch out for that leg sweep, or you’ll keep going down hard.”

She stood up, offering her hand. I groaned and clutched my ribs as she pulled me to my feet. My skin was patchy with red, newly-formed bruises and cuts. Gizem looked me over, and I found myself unable to meet her eyes. She fought unlike anyone I had ever known—scrappy, unrelenting, and utterly unafraid. She seemed to predict my moves, ready with a counter before I could even strike. For her age and stature, she was good enough to be considered a protégé, but she only smiled when I asked who had trained her.

“Another round?” she asked.

“Not a chance. We have training tomorrow.”

“Good. We can try out what I showed you.”

I groaned again, waving goodbye and beginning to limp across the canyon in the direction of the base. Despite being almost midday, the wind was bitter, and it bit into my damaged skin until it tingled with cold burns. The instant I stepped into my room, I pulled off my clothes and forced myself under the shower, shivering as the frigid water washed off the blood and sand.

As I tilted my head back, my mind wandered again to Nico. A week had passed since he had told me his secret, and since then our communication had almost completely dropped off. Although my opinion of him had softened as the days passed, I knew that I would never be able to see him in the same light. There’s no doubt that if he trained underneath his father and the king, he has done unspeakable things.

I stepped out from underneath the stream of water and dressed in fresh clothes. My stomach growled, but when I checked the pantry, I found only bread and crackers inside. The thought of making the hike to Gibnor in the cold was distasteful, but the exertion had given me a strong craving for protein. I gathered up my coin purse, strapped on a knife, and walked back outside.

Gibnor was a ghost town—its ledges were empty other than a handful of workers making their commute, and almost every residence had its door closed. I frowned, remembering how bustling the city had been when I first arrived. Maybe it’s the cold, or maybe working together at the training camp was not enough to ease the fears of Gibnor’s people.

I pulled open the door to the marketplace and stepped toward the refrigerated section, hoping to take home a cut of poultry or lamb. As I stooped to examine the goods, a hand touched my shoulder. To my suprise, I turned around to see Owen leaning against the shelves in jeans and a winter jacket. He looked so normal that I could almost believe we were back in Historical Amberasta. “Y-you’re walking,” I stuttered, unable to contain my shock. “The prosthetic leg worked?”

He leaned forward conspiratorially. “This is my first time out.”

I touched his arm. “I’m so happy for you. It’s almost unnoticeable. Will you be moving out of the infirmary and starting a job?”

His expression grew serious. “I’m actually glad that we ran into each other. I was thinking about it, and… I want to go with you.”

“What?”

He lowered his voice. “Into Amberasta.”

I stared at him. “Owen… you have one eye, and you can hardly walk, not to mention that you’re on Keon’s most wanted list. You have no shot of getting close.”

“You and Nico are no different. I’ll train with you and figure something out before we have to leave.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “I can’t stop you from training, but if you’re not ready, I’m not letting you come. I’m in charge of this mission, and I’m not letting history repeat itself.”

He took a deep breath. “Fine. I’ll prove to you that I can make it.”

***

“Over one week has passed since we began training,” the lead instructor said, his voice distorted by the megaphone. I squinted—in his other hand, he balanced what appeared to be a large green fruit. “Most of you have attended four sessions on hand-to-hand combat,” he continued. “Today, the instructors and I have decided it is time for a change of pace: we will be running a training exercise to see how you are able to work with your groups.

“Teams 1-6 will be on defense. You will be issued a black wristband. Your job will be to protect this melon without allowing it to be broken or stolen. You will have a twenty-minute head start to set up your base wherever you choose, as long as it does not interfere with civilian activity. The melon itself must be in plain sight within the base.

“Teams 7-11 will be on offense. You must locate the offense’s base and retrieve the melon. You may achieve this in any way you see fit: as a whole, or in small groups. Once again, there are no weapons allowed, and trainees are allowed to forfeit if they find themselves unable to fight. In that case, please report back to camp and wait for the end of the exercise.

“The group whose member seizes the melon will have the first pick of weapons for next week’s training, followed by the other members of the offense. If the defense wins, the teams will receive first pick in ascending order. This would put groups 7-11 last in line,” he added, eliciting a groan from the crowd. “There are no further guidelines, although we do suggest that each group picks a leader. That is all.”

The crowd began to break apart as the trainees went to find their groups. I stood still, looking around to see if Owen had joined the camp. An uncomfortable lump formed in my throat, and I found myself worrying about him. He’s not prepared for this—he just relearned to walk. He could be seriously hurt.

When a few minutes passed without a sighting, I felt a modicum of relief and pushed through the remainder of the crowd to my group’s mat, where most of the others were already waiting. “First pick is a huge advantage,” Sergeant Dale said from the sidelines. “If the offense wins, even if it’s not our group, you’ll still have a chance at a suitable weapon. But if the defense wins… well, let’s hope you have something usable at home.”

My group broke out into worried conversation. “You should lead, Glace,” Paul interjected. “It’s only natural, considering you were in charge of setting up the camp.”

I glanced around, but no one seemed opposed. Even Muriel did nothing more than glower at me. “Okay, I accept. Do you all want to work on our own or join the other four groups?”

One of the men from the opposition, Aiden, raised his hand. “We’d have forty people to coordinate in less than two hours—it’s too much to do in too little time. If an alliance becomes possible, we should take the opportunity, but until then I think it’s best to strategize on our own.”

“I don’t know,” a dark-skinned woman from Gibnor argued. “Won’t it be better to have more people on our side? There will be chaos if five groups try to get the melon at once.”

I glanced around at the other mats. The defense teams had long-since disappeared in the direction of the gorge, and many of the offense groups were leaving to set up their posts. “It seems like the other teams are not working together either,” I said. “They want the prize for themselves.”

A horn sounded over the camp, signaling the beginning of the two hours. “You better get moving,” Dale reminded us.

Paul joined me as we began the hike toward the gorge. “We could set up there,” he said, pointing to a nearby rock formation. “That way, we can track the movements of the other groups. We may even be able to locate the defense’s base.”

I considered it. “It will take us at least twenty minutes to make the climb. If it’s a waste of time, we will be far behind.”

Paul frowned. “Good point.”

Aiden came up beside us. “Hold on. In Bushnell, we don’t have enough radios. When we need to send a message quickly, we write notes on scraps of paper, tape them to rocks, and throw the rocks from the upper ledges to the ground. It’s primitive, but it works.”

Paul cringed. “Except for when the guards get hit.”

I held up a hand. “No, that’s not a bad idea. We should send our best climber up the rock and leave someone on the ground, while the others search for the defense’s base. If the climber sees anything, he can send a message down.”

“That might work,” Paul agreed. “And all of the scouts should meet back at the post in twenty minutes to share what they’ve found.”

We broke into a light jog, still discussing the particularities of the plan. When we reached the formation, I briefed the others and handed out the necessary materials. A wiry woman from Gibnor, Bast, was chosen to climb the rock for reconnaissance, and her friend, the dark-skinned woman, was assigned to wait at the bottom for her message. The remaining nine of us split into three scouting groups. I assigned Paul and Aiden to my group, and we set out to the west of the gorge.

It was eerily quiet as we entered the gorge and skirted the Lunimis River. The wind hissed between the rock walls, churning the water and concealing any noise from above. Five minutes passed without a glimpse of another trainee, and I was on the verge of turning back when we heard shouting ahead. I glanced at the men, holding a finger to my lips, and we crept forward, using the shadows as cover.

We crouched next to a bend in the gorge and peered around the corner. About twenty yards ahead were a dozen figures locked in a fierce struggle. I narrowed my eyes, trying to make sense of the mess of bodies.

“At least eight are wearing black bands. It’s an ambush,” Aiden whispered.

“What-” Paul began, but was cut off as the defense overwhelmed the offense, forcing them to the ground. I grimaced as the wind carried the sound of moans and fists against flesh. Dark red blood splattered into the water, staining it red. I steadied myself against the rock, trying to focus on Paul’s uneven breathing instead of the one-sided beating.

“We should help them.” Paul whispered.

“No. We might be overwhelmed too,” I answered. As I spoke, the last of the offense members were thrown onto the ground, where they twitched feebly. I grimaced. “Come on. Let’s leave before they catch sight of us.”

Reluctantly, Paul nodded, and we turned around and jogged back though the gorge, keeping an eye out for any motion. The path out was just as empty as the path in had been, and we escaped the gorge without incident.

“The… defense has gone on…. offense,” Aiden panted. “They will force us to forfeit… before we can reach the base.”

“They probably took out lots of us already,” Paul said. “No one expected them to attack.”

“Still, that means… less people guarding the melon.”

I wiped the sweat from my forehead. “Let’s hurry and meet up with the rest of our group, if any of them are left. I have a feeling that this is about to get very messy.”