Spycraft Academy by B. Miles (sites to read books for free .txt) 📗

And Sam's opponent moved like the wind. This wasn't the mindless fury Delcan had last time, but a swift and fluid display of years of honing his body to react and move in perfect synchronicity. Sam was lucky he dodged the first blow. He wasn't so lucky on the second, and it all went downhill from there.

Delcan used the butt of his hilt more than not, striking Sam in the belly, in the throat, in the head, using his large body to push Sam back, back, back against the wall. Every time Sam tried to evade or parry, Delcan would either brush it aside or use a second maneuver that Sam couldn't block because he was too busy defending against the first.

He tired insulting Delcan since it worked so well last time, but the blonde didn't respond to a single one. In fact, his usually snide expression was gone in place of something mild and non-threatening. He didn't taunt Sam like last time; he didn't speak at all, in fact.

It was like Sam's words passed through his ears unacknowledged, like he wasn't even there. Maybe Delcan was in a trance, in his 'center' as The Sheet liked to call it, his mind far away and his body falling into a fluid rhythm.

By the time Sam called yield, he already had a shiner.

Hilda was very pleased by the fight. So pleased, in fact, that she gave Delcan his name back. Sam didn't have his though.

As Delcan walked away from Sam, he looked casual enough, but the way he kept looking at Hilda, the way he tried to pinch back on his smile when she praised his strength and poise, made Sam realize two things. One, that Delcan associated winning with getting affection, and two, not only was he an asshole who would do anything to win, but he was an asshole that had years and years of training to hone him into the sort of killing machine that cut nobodies like Sam down in the street without so much as a thought.

Worrying about survival, being afraid of dying in a fight, that made people into quick and masterful evaders. But worrying about winning was different. Deep down, people who wanted to win at all costs didn't really fear death, they feared failure. That made them very, very dangerous to people like Sam.

That night, Sam watched Apelles' house as he had done every night for the past week. The instructor housing was attached to the main building, stretching to the side like an arm. The homes were designed to sit together like blocks, one pushed against the other on either side of a narrow cobblestone walk. They were squat and grey, large enough for one person to live comfortably.

Apelles lived at the very end of the line, right next to one of the fourth-year instructors.

Sam sat under one of the many trees that belonged to the vast forest surrounding the school in a semi-circle. If he got down and walked to the right, he would pass under one of the stone archways that led to the crossroad walkway. If he walked to the left, he would run into one of the teacher's houses.

It was late already, too late to read his shadow book. His muscles were still throbbing from the thrashing he got from Delcan earlier, but he didn't go to the medical chamber. He'd had worse, and he didn't want to have to go to Miss Cher every time Delcan gave him a new wound. Every time he closed his eyes to do a shadow meditation, he would become keenly aware of his bruises, so all he could really do was sit there and watch Apelles' house. His silent, dark house that looked very much like the denizen inside was asleep.

After a while, his eyes got heavy and he slumped more and more into the trunk of the tree. He slapped his cheeks a few times to wake up, but he eventually dozed off despite his efforts. It wasn't a true sleep. There were no dreams, and it seemed like only a few moments had passed between closing his eyes and being shaken awake.

"Hm?" He blinked and peered up blearily at Rosin. Was it already time to switch? It didn't feel like long at all.

"How long were you asleep?" Rosin asked, hovering above him and looking as tall as the tree.

"Not long." He was pretty sure. He forced his eyes wide open and sat up straight before he moved to climb to his feet.

"I thought it was Mattie's shift tonight?"

Rosin put her hand on his shoulder and nudged him back down. "It is. Her shift is about twenty minutes from now. I just came out here to check on you."

"Oh." He slumped against the tree trunk with a yawn. "Okay, but I'll warn you that I'm not the best conversationist right now."

Wordlessly, Rosin lowered herself to the ground and sat in front of him, folding her legs and sitting so close that their knees touched. She blinked at him expectantly, staring at him, really.

"Uh, hi?"

"Hello." She smiled and tilted her head. "You look very tired."

"I guess I am." He scrubbed at the back of his head. He'd dedicated all of his nights to Apelles and studying. He may have gotten four hours of sleep each day since this started, but he wasn't going to complain. The girls weren't getting much more sleep than him, and yet they were all functioning fine.

Unfortunately, it meant he didn't get to spend time with Mattie or Drina, either.

"Something on your mind?" He asked, folding his arms and leaning his head back against the tree.

"Yeah. I wanted to..." Rosin looked down and bit her lip, and Sam was prepared to just sit there and wait for her to collect her words as she often needed to do.

But then she surged forward. He flinched, but it was subtle, and before his mind could catch up, her warm lips