Page 42 of Kingmakers, Year Four

Both Nix and the professor are firing at the same target set far down the range. The professor goes first, his bald head gleaming in the late-afternoon sunshine. He pulls his string back taut, the thick muscles of his right arm and shoulder straining against his black t-shirt.

He lets the arrow fly. It crosses the seemingly-impossible distance to the target, hitting it near-center.

“What are they doing?” I ask a kid with a thick mop of reddish hair and several Hibernian F.C. patches sewn onto his trousers.

“Trying to shoot through the professor’s wedding ring,” the kid says, in a thick Scottish brogue. “I can’t even see the damn thing from here.”

I squint my eyes, looking for the gleam of a tiny circlet pinned to the middle of the target. I can just make out a glint that might only be a trick of the sun.

“How can they even see that?” I say.

“Fuck if I know.” The boy shrugs.

Nix takes her turn after the professor, holding her bow steady in front of her, coolly looking down the shaft of her arrow. Though she’s using the same seventy-pound-draw compound bow as Professor Knox, she’s able to pull the string back without a tremor.

She really is strong.

Confident, too.

I see no nervousness on her face. Just keen focus as she squints her sea-green eyes against the glare of the sun, slowly exhaling as she releases the arrow.

It flies straight and true to the heart of the target.

I don’t see the shaft pierce the ring, but it must, because Nix immediately whoops in triumph, and Professor Knox tosses down his bow, saying, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

The Freshmen were too invested in the competition, and are too elated to see a professor bested, to maintain their grudge against Nix. Whoops and shouts break out all over again. Several students slap her on the back.

Nix grins, her teeth blinding in the sunlight.

She catches me watching her.

Giving a little chuck of her chin, she tosses back the errant strand of kinky red hair that’s fallen over her eye.

“What are you doing here?” she says.

“Just passing by. I heard the shouting.”

“I’m going to get my ring,” Professor Knox grouses. “Don’t any of you fucking shoot me.”

He stomps off down the range, highly incensed at his loss.

“Why are you shooting bows?” I ask Nix.

We usually only practice with handguns, ARs, and sniper rifles.

“I said a bow could be better than a sniper rifle for a stealth job,” Nix says. “The professor said they’re no good over a hundred yards, especially for small targets. So I challenged him.”

“You challenged him?” I say. “In the first month of school?”

“Yeah.” Nix shrugs. “I knew I could hit it.”

“What was the bet?”

“An A in his class,” Nix says.

“What if you missed?”

“An F,” she laughs.

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