Page 42 of Vicious Princess
The second part of the day is dedicated to honing our weapon skills.
“Archers, line up outside,” Daegel orders.
At least he put back on his damn Ezkai leather jacket.
With my bow in hand, I head outside. There, we have a number of targets scattered around the perimeter. Some are farther down, while others are closer. A few targets are fitted high in the branches of the tree that grows on the edge, while others are low to the ground.
Four other archers join me. To my surprise, Kata is one of them.
Her hate makes so much sense now. Her chosen weapon is a bow just like mine. She’s a fae from a good Ekiosh family and yet…no affinity. While I, a mereyrathifrom a cursed land of barbarians, have one.
A mixture of pity and petty smugness swirls in my chest.
“When I call you out, you’ll move forwards and aim at the first target,” Daegel says. He claps. “When I clap, you move on to the next. It doesn’t matter if you were too slow to hit the previous one. You hear the clap, you move on. Is that clear, cadets?”
In unison, we say, “Yes, sir.”
“You want to aim true and hit the middle of each target. But mastering your ability to move and aim is much more important than precision. That’s the focus of today’s training session—mastering mobility. When you’re on a mission, on the field, you might find yourself in a situation where your ability to move with ease will be the only thing standing between you and death.”
Daegel’s gaze snaps to me. “Human.”
Grinding my teeth, I step forwards. I waste no time and lift my bow. The first arrow hits the target right in the middle, and I’m moving onto the next target before Daegel even claps.
I lift the bow higher to aim at the target in the tree and draw the string. The arrow whizzes through the air and hits the target in the very heart.
Clap.
My feet are swift, my knees soft as I change position and aim once again. The place where I grip the bow starts to burn. I hiss, but ignore it. Every second counts.
A clap echoes just as I let the arrow go and it hits the target. Right in the center once again.
A step to my right and then I get on one knee, drawing the string. It cuts into the pads of my fingers, drawing blood. I curse under my breath and let go of the arrow.
This time around, it lands a little to the side of the target center. Blood boils in my veins.
Clap.
I push myself to my feet and lift the bow higher, aiming at another target on the tree. Blood seeping from the cut in my fingertips makes the string slippery. I fail to draw it properly.
Clap.
“Fuck,” I curse and move to the other target.
I draw the string with an arrow, and it slips a bit, making it quiver. When the arrow lands on the target, it’s once again a little to the left of the center.
My bow refuses to work with me.
I can see it. Daegel can see it.Everyonecan see it.
Humiliation burns my cheeks, but when Daegel claps again, I force myself to move forwards.
I miss another center, the arrow landing even farther away. My last arrow barely makes it to the target at all.
Panting, I stare at the last target. Blood trickles down from my fingertips to the ground.Un-fucking-believable. I haven’t missed a mark since I was twelve.
“Nightingale, you’re next,” Daegel calls out.
I keep my gaze on the ground as I whirl on my heel and return to the line. As we pass each other, Kata doesn’t miss a chance to drive her shoulder into mine hard enough to make me stumble sideways.
