Page 103 of The Art of Exiley

As I pull on my helm, I block out the sounds of Zo’s exaggeration of my skills and instead tell myself to imagine that I’m snowboarding on a mountaintop—it’s just me and the board and the cold wind on my face.

The gong sounds, and I glide into the pit. My heartbeat is so loud it echoes in my ears, drowning out the roar of the crowd. The shouts, chants, and screams melt into a thrumming bass line that buzzes through me, synchronizing with my pulse. This is the moment. My moment. Everyone is watching me. The Alchemists are counting on me.

I look across the arena to see who my opponent is. I probably should have listened to his herald.

Orange armor. A Bio. I don’t recognize the coat of arms on his shield, but even from beneath his helm, I recognize his sneer—Bram.

My own green shield––since I don’t have a coat of arms it just has the Alchemist emblem––is sturdy against my left pauldron (shoulder armor), my lance is heavy in the grip of my gauntlet (hand armor), and my knees bend slightly, shins pressing against my greaves (leg armor), which feel just like snowboarding boots, grounding me on my board.

I can handle Bram.

He’s known for having strong force behind his strikes, which he accomplishes at the expense of his balance. So, basically, he’s better than me, buteven though my aim sucks, there’s a chance that at some point I can down him. And I’m fueled by spite. There’s no one else in this school I’d rather see choking on my dirt than Bram.

I just have to do my best to hit his shield and focus on staying on my board. The gong sounds, and we’re off and shooting toward each other. It all happens very fast. One moment we’re careening toward each other, and the next Bram’s lance is crashing, with precise aim, into my pauldron. He isstrong. And ithurts. And my body really wants to topple off this board.

Everything that was going so fast suddenly seems to slow.

Stay. On. The. Board.

Oww.My shoulder is in serious pain. Like, something-might-be-fractured kind of pain. The armor usually protects from this kind of injury, but I was going really fast, and Bram hit me really hard.

I remember what Rafe just said about how Sires can heal themselves as they play. I can do that too, right? I pulse Ha’i toward the injury, and the throbbing immediately diminishes.

Keep moving forward. Get to the end of the pit.

I drop my lance to help my balance because I’m having a very hard time staying upright. But only moments later my team is crowding around me at the other end of the pit.

I made it, and I didn’t fall.

“How did you possibly stay on after a strike like that?” Sebastian asks with a look of pleasantly surprised bewilderment.

“That was quite a hit. Are you okay?” Miriam asks.

“I’m fine. I think.” I close my eyes and focus my Ha’i toward the aching area, rolling my shoulder backward and forward. “I’m okay.”

Bram is awarded a point for his hit, and I get nada because I didn’t even come close to hitting anything. But everyone expected that strike to down me, so the fact that he’s walking away with only one point feels like a winall around. And now I know what to expect from him and can strategize my next move accordingly.

I can’t guarantee I’ll stay aloft with another hit like that last one, and I won’t be able to strike if I’m entirely on the defensive. My only option is to get to Bram before he builds enough momentum to have much force behind his strike. Which means going really, really fast. The kind of fast that is highly discouraged during hoverjousts because most players can’t keep their balance at such speeds. But staying balanced while going fast on a hoverboard is maybe the one thing on this island that I truly excel at.

It’s a good strategy, and it works.

I go fast enough that by the time I approach Bram, he’s still far from the center. He hasn’t built much momentum, but I have plenty.

Our lances crash against shields. This time Bram’s strike is barely a glancing blow. And I hit him too. Hard. Yeah, baby!

We’re each awarded a point. I can see how upset Bram is even from all the way across the pit. According to my team, he came really close to going down from my hit.

“You need to watch out this round,” Miriam warns me. “Bram feels humiliated that the new girl is showing him up. Someone like him becomes unpredictable when he’s angry.”

I shouldn’t try the same trick twice because now Bram will be ready for it. This time I’m going to adjust my stance to make it harder for him to aim at my shield. A hit anywhere else won’t count for points.

I stand sideways, which wreaks havoc on my balance since I can’t hold my lance the way I’ve trained, but if I can pull this off, I’ll be able to hit Bram’s shield a full body length before he can even attempt to reach mine, and hopefully, by then, my strike will be enough to diminish his aim and striking force.

But as soon as we’re heading toward each other, I can tell something iswrong. The angle of Bram’s lance is all off; he’s aiming too high. He knows he’s at a disadvantage if he aims for my shield, so he’s not aiming for it at all. The slimeball is aiming at my head.

I don’t have time to consider what a strike like his would do to my skull. I just act on instinct.

I’ve been experimenting with my hoverboard’s versatility and practicing some skateboard tricks in the hover park, so I’m about 60 percent sure that what I’m about to try should work. If not, it’s gonna hurt.

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