As if on cue, the door opens and Blackwood steps through, letting it swing closed behind her. Her hair is pulled back into a severe bun and she wears her uniform, consisting of a white frilled blouse under a black blazer and matching black pants. “Pardon my intrusion, Professor Hisakawa. But there is a matter I would like to settle without delay, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Layla gives me a concerned look.
“By all means,” Hisakawa says, and gestures at the room like she’s offering it to the headmaster.
The heavy wooden door opens with a whine and Nyx comes through, followed by two guards. Oh no. My stomach drops all the way to my toes and I shrink an inch in my seat. Nyx’s curly hair is limp, and even with her permanent eyeliner, the dark circles under her eyes make it seem like she hasn’t slept in weeks. Her face is drawn and her shoulders are slumped.
Brendan pushes his chair away from the table with purpose, like he intends to stand and help her, but Blackwood glances in his direction and he stops midmotion.
The guards aren’t restraining Nyx, and all I can think is that the dungeon must be an absolute nightmare to subdue someone as fiery and spiteful as she is.
“November,” Blackwood says, and I wish I could crawl under my desk. The only thing more disturbing than the Academy’s dungeon is its eye-for-an-eye punishment system. “Come up here.”
I push my chair back, and the noise it makes is amplified by the eerie stillness of the room. All eyes are on me.
“Show us your arm,” Blackwood says, and I reluctantly pull my white linen shirt off my shoulder, revealing a four-inch cut where my stitches were recently removed.
Blackwood turns to Nyx. “Nyx, you swapped your dull practice sword for a sharp blade in class. As far as I can ascertain from your professor, you intended to kill November with it. For that offense, you have spent time in the dungeon. But there is still the matter of the wound you inflicted. As per our rules, November will now be given a chance to retaliate.” Blackwood holds out her palm and one of the guards hands her a rolled-up piece of leather from his belt. As she unfolds it, the firelight reflects off the blade of a knife.
Blackwood gives the weapon to me and I reluctantly take it from her. “An eye for an eye, November. You may cut her arm in the same way she cut yours. No other action will be taken.” She gives me a warning look.
I reflexively glance at Layla, hoping something about her expression will tell me how to deal with this nightmare of a situation, but her face is completely neutral and she stares straight ahead at the headmaster.
I study the knife before looking up at Nyx. She meets my eyes, and even though it’s obvious she wants nothing more than to collapse, she straightens her posture and wears a proud expression. I can’t see how hurting her will change the fact that she tried to kill me. It definitely won’t make us even. But I also can’t flat-out refuse to retaliate; everyone here will consider it weakness. Beads of sweat form in my hairline.
Blackwood watches me, noticing my hesitation. “I don’t imagine you require further clarification, considering this is not the first time I have explained this to you,” she says, referring to my second day at the Academy, when Matteo punched me in the face. “You are not above the rules, November.”
Aarya sucks in air like this is the best show she’s seen in years.
The knife feels foreign in my palm, with none of its usual familiar weightiness. I glance at the door, and when I look back at Nyx, my stomach does a somersault.
“I want to inspect the knife,” Nyx says, yanking me out of my thoughts. As weathered as she appears on the outside, it’s instantly clear by her tone that her spark hasn’t diminished. “This is poisons class. How am I supposed to know she didn’t put something on the blade?”
We all look at Blackwood, who doesn’t answer right away. She can’t really be considering letting Nyx have the knife, can she? I shift my weight from one leg to the other.
“I’ll grant that request,” Blackwood says, and I nearly drop the knife out of shock.
Aarya slaps her knee and Layla’s cheeks drain of their color.
Blackwood retrieves the knife from my hand and gives it to Nyx, who slowly examines the blade and handle. She sniffs it, rubs her finger on it, and holds the metal up to the light. The entire roomful of students sits on the edge of their seats, and it’s so quiet that I can hear myself breathe.
Suddenly Nyx darts forward, the knife extended in front of her. I raise my arm in defense and the guards reach for her. But she stops short and laughs.
Brendan snickers behind me.
“I take it you’re satisfied?” Blackwood says to Nyx, without reprimanding her for the lunge.
“Almost,” Nyx says, but she’s not looking at Blackwood, she’s looking at me. She makes sure she has my full attention as she raises the knife to her own shoulder. She pulls the blade along her skin without so much as a wince. A smirk appears on her lips. She hands the knife back to Blackwood, handle first, and wipes her now-bloody palm on her shirt, creating a red smear.
“There, it’s done,” Nyx says, holding my gaze. “We’re even. Now you can stop looking at the door like you want to run and cry.”
My whole body tenses. How in the hell did she just beat me at her own punishment? Now if I do nothing, the damage will be done—everyone will get the message that when it comes to a physical confrontation, I’m afraid to act.
“Aaactually,” I say slowly, fighting to keep the uneasiness out of my voice, “you cutting your own shoulder in no way makes us even. In fact, that was one of the worst strategic moves I’ve seen in a long time.”
If Layla looked worried before, she now looks like she might have stopped breathing. Blood drips down Nyx’s left arm and she narrows her eyes.
Before Blackwood can say a word, I grab the knife and jab forward, just shy of Nyx’s uncut shoulder, grazing the fabric of her shirt with the sharp blade, creating a small tear. Nyx gasps and jumps out of the way.
The class watches with wide eyes. I can tell by Nyx’s expression that she’s furious not only with me, but also with herself for having jumped like that in front of everyone.
I laugh. “Nah, I guess we’re even. Now that you’re looking at the door like you want to run and cry.”
She locks her jaw and glares at me like she wants to tear my head off, and even though I can’t see him, I can feel Brendan’s eyes boring into my back. So much for having a normal day.
I SIT ON one of the cold moss-covered benches in the garden courtyard. Overhead the oak branches are strung with strands of royal-purple profusion berries, and in the fading light of day they glow like they’re lit from within. The last of the blue, purple, and white flowers peek through the grass in intricate patterns around my feet. I look up at the canopy of tall trees, where the flurries from this morning have already melted. When I first got here, Layla explained that a hot spring runs under the school, allowing us to enjoy the flowers nearly all year round, and while it is a bit warmer on the ground than in the trees, I’m still convinced that the head horticulturist here must be something of a genius. I twirl a piece of fresh grass between my fingers, the fast motion mirroring the wound-up tension in my body.