Grace and Fury (Grace and Fury #1)(28)

Ember hiked over to where the little group stood, watching.

Cliff raised a brow. “Oracle wanted to see the freshies?”

Ember surveyed the new girls. Serina noticed a nasty scar just under her chin, shiny white and puckered. It looked like someone had tried to slash her throat.

“Pull back your hair,” the woman ordered.

Cliff dug several pieces of twine from her pocket and handed them out. Serina cringed as she tied her oily hair up.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” Ember said, starting toward the field.

Gia made a noise in her throat. “You’ve got to be joking,” she said, voicing Serina’s own disbelief. Surely, they didn’t have to train… not yet.

Ember paused to level a glare on the girl. “Everyone fights for rations eventually. The sooner you start training, the less likely you are to die.”

Theodora swallowed. She was the tallest of the freshies, with arms that moved loosely at the joints, like a marionette. Her long, thin fingers picked at the hem of her shirt, a nervous habit Serina had noticed before.

Ember gestured to the makeshift ring. “Now get in there.”

No one else protested. Serina took a place next to Jacana, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm. She’d been told that other women were her competition all her life. Her mother had pounded the message into her: Never trust another woman. Never trust that she won’t try to take your place as a Grace, or your chance for a husband. You must always be the most beautiful, most poised woman in the room.

But the only thing she knew how to fight for was attention.

“Petrel, Mirror, work with them,” Ember said, pointing to Serina and Jacana. The other two fighters faced off with Gia and Theodora. Ember joined Oracle and Cliff, standing at the edge of the clearing.

One of the fighters shot Serina a grin. She had straight, shoulder-length hair and pierced ears, marking her as a former resident of Sola. “I’m Petrel,” the girl said. “Don’t let us scare you too much.”

“Too late,” Serina muttered before she could stop herself.

To her surprise, Petrel laughed. The other girl, Mirror, grinned. Freckles covered every inch of her exposed skin, and her black hair was cropped close to her skull. Her gaze caught everything.

“Everyone has cut their hair,” Jacana said quietly.

Petrel nodded. “Yes, most of us have. It’s easier to manage, and the rules here are not so defined. Or, well—” She broke off, as if considering. “Maybe it’s just that they are different.” The lightness in her voice dimmed a little. “Everywhere has rules, right?”

So far, Serina couldn’t grasp what the rules were here. And that was more terrifying, she found, than living in a society where everything was forbidden. If she didn’t know the rules, how would she know if she’d broken them?

“Get on with it,” Ember shouted, ending the introductions.

Petrel raised her hands, curling them into fists. “Keep your hands loose, like this. Raise them chest level, arms ready but not tense. You understand?”

Serina didn’t, but she lifted her hands and made an effort. Beside her, Jacana did the same.

Suddenly, a fist shot toward Serina’s face. She landed on her back in the grass, pain exploding along her jaw. For an instant, she stared at the hazy blue sky, rimmed with cloud. Then she struggled to her feet, rubbing her mouth.

“Petrel, work on her footwork.” Oracle’s voice fed the panic thudding in Serina’s chest. “She knows how to dance. Start there.”

Serina’s gaze snapped to Oracle’s face in surprise. How did Oracle know she could dance?

Petrel’s fist connected with Serina’s stomach, and she fell again.

“Sorry,” Petrel said cheerfully as Serina picked herself back up. “Stand with your legs farther apart. Bend your knees more. Keep loose.”

The training lasted all morning. First Petrel knocked Serina down, again and again, the whole time spouting nonsense about Serina’s stance and response times. Then the other fighters took a turn. And then the freshies fought each other. All the other girls knocked Serina down too. Even Jacana did; she was small and timid but, as Serina had noted before, surprisingly fast. It made sense now, given her history.

Serina’s knuckles cracked. The blisters on her feet bled. The taste of blood filled her mouth from a split lip. The only thing she could manage was to pull herself up and stand, swaying, ready for her next beating. The girls she fought were knives; she was dough—a soft, pliant body, useless as anything but a punching bag.

If Nomi had followed the rules, Serina would never have been sent here. The thought sent a bolt of anger coursing through her. Serina thrust her fist at Mirror’s face, only to have the girl block the blow and send her to the ground again.

When the training ended, Serina could do little more than stand on wobbling legs, bruised fists loose at her sides, as the other girls dusted themselves off and headed back to the cave. Petrel swung an arm around Serina’s shoulders and dragged her along.

“Come on. Let’s get you some food. First time’s always a beast. Oracle has us go hard on the freshies to see what you’re made of,” she said. “It’ll get easier.”

“I doubt that,” Serina rasped, her voice as sore and halting as the rest of her. She didn’t share Val’s newfound optimism over her prospects. He’d been right the first time. She was a dead girl.