The High Ground

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “Let up, before they,” he jerked his head toward the high table behind him, “have to intervene.”

  Boho released Arturo. Arturo fell back in his chair, massaging his throat. Boho’s fingers had left purple marks on his skin.

  “You bastard,” Arturo whispered hoarsely.

  “You want satisfaction? I’ve got room on my dance card,” Boho said.

  “I’m not going to fight you. I’m not that stupid.”

  “Then don’t be stupid about this,” Boho said more gently.

  He stood and offered his arm to Mercedes. “May I escort you to class, Highness?”

  “Please.” She hesitated then added, “Thank you for defending me.”

  “It was my duty. As well as my pleasure.” As they reached the doors he added, “But I’m going to beat you next time.” His green eyes were twinkling.

  “You can try,” she replied sweetly.

  Boho threw back his head and laughed, then laid a hand over hers where it rested on his arm, and gave it a squeeze. There was a flutter in her chest as if butterflies had been released in her lungs. Mercedes allowed his hand to stay there as they made their way to class.

  22

  COJONES

  By the Friday session Tracy had felt like Jasper Talion was up to full dueling speed and that he was holding his own pretty well. Granted it was just defense, but he had felt good.

  Now that he was in the actual duel Tracy knew that the student from Nephilim had been going easy on him. Worse, he knew that he didn’t have a chance. Cullen’s blade wove a dance of steel and terror before his uncomprehending eyes. Tracy was gasping and his heart seemed to be hammering somewhere in his throat. He longed to glance at the clock inset in the wall, but fought down the urge. He had to keep watching that blade, Cullen’s cold green eyes, and the superior smile. Tracy longed to cut it away and hated that he couldn’t.

  The seconds stood with their backs against opposite walls watching. At the far end of the studio one of the school medics waited, bag at his feet. Occasionally Hugo would let out a groan as a flurry of blows sent Tracy stumbling back. In the gallery set above the fencing studio were other watchers. Tracy heard faint laughter, the rattle of cellophane as someone opened a bag of crisps.

  Then the world narrowed to just the breath searing his throat, his aching thighs and bicep, the clang of steel on steel, the resulting vibration as the blow shivered through the muscles in his arm. He wanted to scream at Cullen to just make an end to it. He saw Cullen frowning with concentration as his gaze flicked across Tracy’s face, clearly picking the target. The blade lanced out. Despite the decision he’d made to just take his medicine and allow the blow to connect, that animal urge for self-preservation kicked in.

  Tracy found himself leaping backwards and with an awkward sweep dropped his blade on top of Cullen’s, disrupting his aim. Tracy’s feet tangled and he staggered forward directly onto the point of the saber. Cullen turned it at the last moment so it slid along his ribs, a ribbon of agony. Tracy cried out in pain. Warm blood coursed down his side.

  I’m ruining my undress trousers! What if I can’t get out the stain? came the inane yet frantic thought. Because of course this absurd ritual had to be done while dressed in their uniforms sans only their jackets.

  “That’s first blood!” Sumiko shouted though her voice was high and shaking.

  “She’s right, Boho,” Mihalis called. “Honor’s been served.”

  “Hardly. A scar on his side? Where no one can see it?” Boho shook his head. He was circling Tracy, a stalking predator. “Not good enough. I want him to look in the mirror and remember his manners and his place. And never forget that I’m the one that schooled him.”

  “Then you have no honor,” Sumiko yelled.

  “I’m afraid I have to disagree,” Cullen continued in that condescending, conversational tone. Tracy was getting dizzy trying to keep turning as Cullen circled him. Occasionally the other man’s blade lashed out and beat against his weakening grasp. “I’m just overflowing with honor. I’m the personification of honor. Otherwise I’d never have agreed to cross blades with this perro. I would have sent servants to beat him. He should thank me for stooping to engage him.”

  The blade flickered in the corner of Tracy’s eye. He had an instant to realize that the cut was going to cross his face and cut across his eye, potentially blinding him and putting an end to his military career. In that split second Tracy realized that he wanted to stay, wanted to graduate for a variety of complicated reasons. He dodged sideways, and yanked his head away. The blow which should have fallen in the center of his forehead and cut the length of his face instead caught him on the left temple and sliced through his left eyebrow. He screamed. His side had hurt. It was nothing compared to this. The saber fell from his hand, and he clasped it against the wound, felt blood pulsing between his fingers. He collapsed to his knees.

  “Oh God, going to be sick now!” he faintly heard Sumiko saying, and then the clatter of running feet. Through eyes swimming with tears of pain, relief and humiliation, Tracy saw Cullen’s face twist in frustration. The bigger man leaned down and in a vicious tone said, “You will stay away from the Infanta. You will never approach her again. Do you understand?” Tracy didn’t reply. Cullen grabbed him by the back of the neck and gave him a hard shake. “Do you understand?” he repeated. Tracy again remained silent.

  Cullen drew back his hand. Kunst was suddenly there, holding back his arm. “No, you can’t. Don’t dishonor yourself over this intitulado. You’ve made your point. He won’t forget.”

  Cullen straightened. The nonchalant mask was back in place. Kunst offered Cullen a handkerchief, and after he mopped the sweat off his face Cullen casually wiped Tracy’s blood off the saber blade. He then spun gracefully on his heel and sauntered away.

  “So… lunch?” he asked his seconds.

  The medic ran over to Tracy and knelt at his side. He removed a jar of dark brown cream from his bag, pulled Tracy’s hand away from his face, and rubbed a dollop of cream into the cut. It felt like sand and burned like the blazes. Tracy yelped. The medic slapped a bandage on the face wound. He then ripped open Tracy’s shirt and applied a bandage to the four-inch slice on his side. The cream was not applied to that cut.

  “No medicine?” Tracy hissed between gritted teeth.

  “No, we’re going to sew that one up. And the cream I put on your face is to encourage keloids to form.” The man sounded appallingly cheerful.

  From his biology class Tracy knew that was another way to say heavy scarring. “I don’t want the scar!”

  “Not an option. It’s an affair of honor, you know.”

  “I’m going to deck the next person who says that,” Tracy mumbled while his face throbbed in time to his heartbeat. “That includes you.”

  * * *

  Monday morning at drills Mercedes noticed the bandage on Tracy’s face. He was also moving very stiffly, and when he took a hit in hand-to-hand he let out a gasping groan. Narrowing her eyes Mercedes watched closely as a number of her classmates aimed hits to the scholarship student’s right side. The last hit from Sanjay elicited a cry of pain from Tracy.

  She scanned the entire class and noted that Boho seemed to be strutting, preening and in general looked very pleased with himself. If she knew more about the game and its rules and if it wouldn’t cause a scandal she would love to play poker with Boho. The man’s every emotion flickered quickly and obviously across his face. She’d probably win a lot of money. And then there was Tracy, who was so closed off. The only thing she could easily read off Tracy was anger.

  Sumiko was also watching the drama playing out on the martial arts mats, and she muttered, “Boys are such vile little animals.”

  “Girls too. We’ve got the mean girl syndrome,” Mercedes answered. “Present company excluded, of course.”

  “But of course. We’re practically perfect in every way.”

  “Is that snark or do you mean it?” Mercedes asked.
r />   “Damned if I know. Right now I hate humans.”

  “You know something. Tell!”

  “I shouldn’t. The boys wouldn’t approve. On the other hand they’ve clearly been spreading the word,” Sumiko added as she watched another hit land on Tracy’s side, and this time he dropped to his knees on the mat.

  When Tracy climbed to his feet Mercedes saw a red stain forming a Rorschach test on his grey T-shirt. She clutched at Sumiko’s arm. “Is that blood?”

  “Yep.”

  “And is there another cut under that bandage on his face?”

  “Oh, no mere cut, Mer. A badge of honor. Or a punishment—I can never keep it straight what message the boys think they’re sending.”

  “Tracy fought a duel.”

  “That’s a generous interpretation. He staggered about and tried to fend off—” She broke off abruptly.

  Mercedes frowned, surveyed the possible candidates. It was obvious. “Boho, right?”

  “Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding. Give the girl a cookie.”

  “Why?” Sumiko gave her a meaningful glance. “Me? I was the reason? Why?” The answer came almost immediately. “Oh, it was that stupid dance. I was just teaching him. There was nothing to it. How dare Boho defend my… act like I can’t…”

  “Protect your own honor?” Sumiko suggested.

  “Exactly. I’m going to be emperor—”

  “Empress.”

  “Whatever. And an officer in O-Trell. I don’t need him fighting my battles for me.”

  “Good luck selling that attitude to our other companions,” Sumiko said and looked at Cipriana and Danica.

  “Do they realize that if they graduate this is going to be their life for years?” Mercedes asked in an undertone.

  “Of course not. And it may not happen anyway. I expect the powers that be will move heaven and earth to make sure you graduate, but would be just as glad if the three of us wash out.”

  “What do you want?” Mercedes was honestly curious.

  “Three months ago I thought this might be interesting, but I was agnostic about it. Now…” Sumiko frowned at the floor. “I think I’d like to make it.”

  Mercedes gave her a hug. “Then we will. You and me.” She cast a darkling glance at Boho. “But first I have to set the young gentlemen straight.”

  “And just how are you going to do that?”

  “I’m not sure yet. But I’ll think of something.”

  * * *

  “Guess I better tell the old man to add fencing lessons to Stefan, Rafe and Brandon’s schedule,” Hugo muttered. He was sprawled on a bench in the locker room watching as Donnel adjusted the bandage on Tracy’s side.

  “What about you? Aren’t you going to get an instructor?” Tracy asked.

  “Hey, I’m an agreeable guy. I’m hoping to avoid these kinds of problems.”

  “Meaning I’m not?”

  Hugo laughed. “You are totally not. You’re all sharp elbows and glares and frowns and snarky comments.”

  “Gee thanks.” Tracy glanced down at Donnel. “Did you get the bloodstain out of my trousers?”

  “I didn’t like the result so I found a way to replace the waistband.”

  “And just how… No, never mind, I don’t want to know.”

  “Probably better that way, sir.”

  “You about ready? We’re going to be late to class,” Hugo said.

  “Almost. You go ahead. I have something to discuss with Donnel.”

  The other student left, and Donnel gave Tracy an ironic glance. “It must be something embarrassing or nefarious if you can’t discuss it in front of another human. So which is it?”

  “You’re disrespectful.”

  “Sorry, sir. Apologies, sir. Allow me to slink back into my place, sir.”

  “Not making it better,” Tracy growled. Still, there was something about the crazy-looking batBEM that appealed to him, so the rebuke was not as strong as it should have been.

  “I am all attention, sir.”

  “I need to get a message to the Conde de Vargas. I don’t want to trust it to the stream so I need to have a data spike delivered. Given your nefarious connections and behaviors I thought you might have a suggestion.”

  “You could take a shuttle down on Saturday.”

  “Yeah, like I can afford that. Unless the academy is paying that’s impossible for me. And I’m supposed to just walk up to the conde’s house?”

  “And my presence wouldn’t cause comment?”

  Tracy shrugged. “Nobody notices servants.”

  “Normally no, but they’d sure as fuck notice me,” Donnel snapped.

  “Okay, if you don’t want to do it—”

  “Oh, I can get it arranged. I just thought it wouldn’t do you any harm to rub elbows with the high and mighty.”

  “My elbows are pretty fucking raw from the rubbing they’ve been getting.” Unconsciously his hand went to the bandage on his face, and Tracy winced.

  “It’s a good thing, sir. Makes you look like one of them. And once you graduate your new comrades won’t know why you got it, and most of your classmates won’t remember.”

  “I will, Donnel. Believe me, I will.”

  * * *

  The mess hall was awash with conversation, laughter, even shouts from table to table. From the high table there was a burst of laughter from the professors. Danica leaned over and whispered to Mercedes, “It seems like everyone is more comfortable with each other now.”

  Mercedes took a bite of the delicate ham, broccoli and cheese quiche, and chewed slowly to avoid having to reply. Given what she’d learned that morning her response probably wasn’t going to be restrained, and she didn’t want to alert Boho to what she was going to do. If she had any idea what she was going to do.

  Cipriana shrugged. “It has been three months. We all had to accommodate… or kill each other.”

  At that Mercedes turned to look toward Tracy’s table. She could only see his profile and it wasn’t the side sporting the bandage. She noted he had his hand clenched on the handle of his knife and he was staring down at his plate, but not eating. He abruptly pushed back his chair, stood and started walking toward her table.

  * * *

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Hugo hissed from behind him. “You heard what Boho—” Hugo broke off as there was a sudden flurry of movement from the highborn table. Mercedes had pushed back her chair and stood.

  Tracy’s and Mercedes’ eyes met. He found his lips quirking into a small smile that was an answer to hers. They were walking directly toward each other. The buzz and hum of conversation stuttered and died like night-singing insects startled into silence. Tracy and Mercedes met in the middle of the mess hall. Tracy could see the professors on their raised dais. They were also silent and watching. Cullen rose to his feet.

  Mercedes opened her mouth, but Tracy held up a hand to forestall her. He wanted to be the first to speak, to directly challenge Cullen’s warning.

  “Cadet Princess, I wondered if you might coach me in the Infierno simulator?” He pitched his voice deliberately loud.

  “Apparently great minds think alike, Cadet Belmanor,” Mercedes said in an equally ringing tone. “I was going to ask if you might tutor me in math.”

  Tracy bowed. “I would be honored, Highness.”

  Mercedes held out her hand. Tracy took it. Her fingers were trembling, and he longed to press them reassuringly, but he knew that would be going too far. She had used a lemon-scented shampoo after drills, and the fragrance wafted gently off her sleekly confined hair.

  “Thank you, you are a loyal subject, and a good friend,” she said and then turned and stared directly at Cullen. “Well, we should finish our lunch.”

  Tracy bowed again and watched her return to her table with that long confident stride that had been revealed once she was freed from skirts. His eyes traced the line of that ramrod-straight back, and the curve of her hips where the jacket flared.

  The unnatural stillness
that had gripped the crowd broke. Nervous chatter flared across the room, silverware rang against china. Tracy gave Cullen a bitter, triumphant smile. The look wasn’t what he’d expected. Instead of promised retribution Cullen just looked confused and frustrated and faintly alarmed.

  Tracy returned to his table where Hugo grabbed him by the back of the neck and gave him an affectionate shake. Even Gelb gave him an approving nod and a slap on the shoulder.

  * * *

  Boho had settled back into his chair. He was frowning down at his half-eaten lunch. Mercedes laid a hand on his shoulder, leaned down and whispered, “Don’t you ever speak or act for me again. Do you understand?”

  “Mercedes—”

  She gripped his shoulder hard enough to make him wince. “Don’t! I’m too annoyed with you right now to listen to your reasons.” Realizing she’d lost her appetite she turned and walked away.

  There was a clatter of boot heels as Boho caught up with her. “What do you see in him?” he demanded. Anger and puzzlement edged the words.

  She stopped, bowed her head and considered that for a moment. Finally she said, “Loyalty and friendship.”

  He caught her by the elbow as she started to move away. “And what do you see in me?”

  “I don’t know, Boho. I haven’t figured out your agenda yet.”

  “Do I have to have one?”

  “Of course you do. Everyone else in the FFH does. Maybe that’s what’s so refreshing about Tracy.”

  “I’d like you to see in me what you see in him—loyalty and friendship.” His voice was low, intense.

  “Add respect to that, and we might have something to discuss,” she countered.

  He released her arm, stepped back and bowed. “I think you just got it.”

  “And Tracy. Has he got your respect?”

  The mobile lips quirked into a rueful smile. “He’s got major cojones. I’ll give him that. But that’s as far as I’ll go.”

  “I’ll accept that for now.”

  She had almost stepped through the arch into the hallway when Boho called softly, “If it’s not too impertinent may I say that you seem to have developed some major cojones too, Mercedes.”