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I think I’ve gotten ten times faster just from training with him.
“Tricky, tricky.” Leo shakes a finger at me, laughing his irresistible laugh.
Thanks to Leo, I’m also immune to taunts. His shit-talking game was honed on the basketball courts, where making your opponent lose his cool is a near art form.
“Come on, you big baby,” I goad him, taking a couple feints in his direction. “You wanna dance, or you wanna fight?”
“Both.” Leo grins, charging me and slashing his knife every which way like a coked-up Michael Meyers.
I try to keep my free arm in a guard position in front of my chest and stomach like Professor Howell showed us. As Leo jabs at me, I chop his wrist with my forearm and counter with a stab to his side that makes contact. As I twist away, Leo slashes me down the back.
“Ow, you fucker!” Leo complains, rubbing his side.
“Same to you!” I say, feeling my back to see if the dull blade drew blood.
We’re both sweating in the stifling heat of the Armory.
It’s the warmest autumn I’ve seen at Kingmakers. The castle doesn’t have air conditioning, relying on the thick stone walls to keep us cool. Even Professor Howell looks dewy just from watching us spar.
“Come on, use your blocks!” he barks at us. “This isn’t boxing—you let your opponent make contact in a knife fight and you’ll find your guts in a pile on the floor.”
“He has such a way with words,” Leo says, slashing at me again.
“A modern poet,” I agree, successfully parrying.
When Professor Howell finally calls a stop, Leo and I race for the water fountain to drink a gallon or two each. We shove our heads under the faucet, then shake the water out of our hair, making a mess all over the mats.
“Clean that up!” Professor Howell yells at us.
“I was going to,” Leo says to Professor Howell, then to me, “I wasnotgoing to.”
“Here,” I say, chucking him a towel.
“Thanks, buddy,” Leo says, mopping up the mess.
Leo really is my best friend at Kingmakers. He might be my best friend anywhere, which is a funny thing to say about someone who doesn’t know your real name.
I’ve wanted to tell him the truth a million times.
Leo is a good man. I think I can trust him.
But I promised my mother I wouldn’t confide in anyone outside our own family.
It’s just too risky. The relief of sharing my secret would be nothing compared to the devastation if someone betrayed it.
Even though I can’t confide in him, Leo has been more of a comfort to me than he could ever understand. His relentless cheerfulness is the only thing that keeps me going sometimes. I’ve never seen him lose his optimism, except during our first year of school when he was on the outs with Anna.
Leo runs off a belief that things will turn out for the best.
My mom is powered by an absolute refusal to quit.
And what about me? What motivates me?
I suppose it’s a sense of duty. My family is everything to me. I can’t let them down.
“What are you thinking about?” Leo asks me, flopping down on the nearest stack of mats.
“Just thinking how slow you’ve gotten . . .” I tease him.
