The Shadow Student (Wraithwood Academy #1) - Teresa Hann Page 0,18

of his full lashes. Up close, he was even better-looking—and more insufferable—than I’d expected. “Oh, I’ve been here a full four years, just like Arcturus. I stayed with him as his bodyguard until I was old enough to actually attend. Students are allowed up to one bodyguard, as you know.” He eyed Aegis with open hostility. “But not in the dueling ring. You won’t get to hide behind him this time.”

“Is that what you came here for? To fight?”

“What, are you scared?” Acubens smirked in challenge. “Even if you are, look around. Everyone else has already paired up. You’re stuck with me today.”

He was right. Everyone else was standing in pairs in the various dueling rings, waiting for the instructors.

Suspicion prickled at me. This was the second day of school, for a class of first-years, yet everyone had been found partners almost immediately. Did people make friends that quickly at a new place? Moreover, the only dueling ring left open was the one smack at the center of the gym, surrounded by eyes on every side.

It was all a little too convenient. And it spoke worryingly of the Nightfeld brothers’ influence at this school.

Still, Acubens Nightfeld had me backed into a corner, and he knew it. Demanding a different partner would be a blatant, public act of cowardice.

My thoughts raced. Maybe, just maybe, this cloud still had a silver lining. If I played my cards right.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “If you like me so much, I guess I’ll indulge you.”

We stepped into the last remaining dueling ring, leaving Aegis grim-faced outside the lines. Soon, one of the Professor Sarvas came over to inform us of the rules.

“This is a twenty feet by twenty feet dueling ring for one-on-one encounters. After the start of the duel, no combatant may leave the ring until the duel is over. In a darker era, the duel was only considered over when one side was dead. Today, duels are over after one hour, or when one combatant’s back remains in contact with the floor, ceiling, or walls for a count of ten seconds.”

“What walls?” I asked.

Transparent walls of magic sprang up from the white lines on the floor, meeting the ceiling to enclose us in a neat rectangular space. On closer inspection, the lines weren’t painted on; they were strips of matte-finish, rune-inscribed metal set into the floorboards.

“Ah,” I said. I walked over and touched one fingertip to the faintly glowing wall. It felt solid and slightly warm.

Even though the dueling ring was bigger than most rooms I’d been in, the walls still gave me a touch of claustrophobia. I’d noticed that the modern dueling regulations didn’t rule out the prospect of one combatant dying; they just made it no longer a requirement. After all, a combatant lying dead on the ground fulfilled the end condition. I didn’t think the professor would let it get that far in a training match, but being in the ring still reminded me of the horror stories I’d heard as a child.

The walls flickered off again to let Professor Sarva finish the rules. “A duel is a competition of magic, our noble and inviolate birthright. Neither weapons nor body armor are permitted within the ring. All forms of magic are permitted, including lower magic, higher magic, inscribing equipment, and Class E to C artifacts. Are there any questions?”

“Nope,” said Acubens, grinning sharply. He rolled up the sleeves of his perfectly tailored silk shirt. “Let’s get started. I want to see what color your panties are this time.”

Professor Sarva didn’t even bat an eye. She was also in the Nightfelds’ pockets, no doubt. So much for impartial referee.

“Let’s get this over with,” I sighed.

“Stand in the places marked by circles on the floor,” said Professor Sarva. “I will raise the walls in three… two… one…”

Acubens lunged. I dodged back with magic-enhanced speed, shouting a shielding spell. His next punch slammed to a stop inches from my face, a spiderweb of shimmering cracks radiating from his fist through seemingly empty air.

He withdrew his fist, staring at the bloodied scrapes on his knuckles. He hadn’t expected that from Cly Redbriar. But in a few seconds, the scrapes faded and closed without a mark, and he was turning back toward me with a vengeance.

Acubens feinted; I didn’t fall for it, simply maintaining my shielding spell with a steady flow of magic. We circled each other in silence, shoes whispering against polished hardwood. He was still smiling, but I saw a