STRINGS BETWEEN US

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE OF FIELDS, FLAMES, AND THE APPLE THAT DIDN'T FALL

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE: OF FIELDS, FLAMES, AND THE APPLE THAT DIDN'T FALL

RIYEE's POV

Mondays weren't supposed to start with blades.

They were supposed to begin with miserable yawns, bad vending machine coffee, and the mild humiliation of tripping up the Sovereign steps because someone thought it was smart to wax them at 6 a.m.

But no.

Today, the sky over Bellare Grounds was split with the sound of swords. Steel. Wind. War cries that absolutely weren't approved by any physical training curriculum.

"WHY are we learning archery again?" I muttered under my breath, trying not to squint at the blinding sun. "This is a school, not a medieval rebellion."

"I thought they canceled this." Jodie moaned beside me, clutching her heart like the sight of bows had physically hurt her.

"I didn't even bring water," Errol complained.

"I'm too pretty to die in PE," Xylia added, dramatically shielding herself with her notebook like a sun-fearing noblewoman.

Merged classes were chaos. Boys on one side, girls on another, all packed into the training grounds because the Arcanum Festival apparently hadn't wreaked enough havoc. Now we had surprise combat simulations and long-range weaponry in the mix.

Oh, and two idiots trying to kill each other in the center of the field.

"Have they been at it since we arrived?" Mico whispered, pointing toward the center, where Saichel and Xythe were locked in a sword duel that looked choreographed by caffeine, madness, and at least three questionable life choices.

"Fifteen minutes," I replied flatly. "No breaks."

"Do Saichel even go here?" Xylia asked.

"Technically, no," I said. "But also, yes. Saichel's been randomly sitting in other sections. He's passed attendance twice."

"They're not even using school swords." Jodie squinted. "That's Celestine steel. Imported."

"How do you even know that?"

"Because look at the shine. That's not cafeteria stainless."

The duel was escalating. They weren't even trying to hide it anymore—slashes echoing, feet skimming across the grass, Saichel laughing like this was a ballroom brawl and not a felony waiting to happen.

I had enough.

No warm-up. No fanfare. I just grabbed one of the practice arrows, pulled it from the quiver stand beside me, and—without a single word—fired it between them.

Thunk.

It landed in the dirt. Directly between their blades. The field went quiet.

Saichel blinked at the arrow, then at me. And burst into laughter. "She really tried to kill us with a warning shot."

"It would've worked if you moved two inches left," I said blandly.

"I'm a dancer in combat," he replied, spinning his blade for no reason other than showmanship.

Xythe gave a half-smirk. "And here I thought today would be boring."

Phones were already out. Screens snapping photos. Forum threads lighting up. I heard the whispers:

"They really are mafias."

"Is that the Prince and Chaos of Celestine?"