Minerva didn't have friends. She preferred the term "allies".
When at war, you tried to fight on the least fronts as possible, not let enemies pin you between them. But sometimes you didn't have the firepower. The number of people who wanted to see your head mounted on a pike were too many. In those cases, you needed a friend, someone who would watch your back.
Or they'd stab you from behind.
Those were the odds and Minerva didn't like them. Her metaphorical back had one too many holes in it. So she'd settled for allies, people she trusted, but only so far. Their relationships were built on an understanding of necessity, utility. Any backstabbing and she wouldn't hesitate to eliminate them. She knew they'd do the same to her.
She'd even found the best method for finding said allies.
The sun had risen high in the sky, frost from the morning—the closest thing Pyronia experienced to the fabled snow—long since melted from the immaculate palace grounds. Minerva jogged down the cobbled path, or at least tried. Azuki kept getting underfoot.
"I am going to step on you," she said through mouthfuls of her bean pastry. Her breakfast, though it was well into the afternoon. She figured the hour didn't matter, breakfast could be whatever meal she ate upon waking up.
"If any of my paws are damaged, it shall be avenged upon you tenfold," Azuki threatened, dodging once more between her legs and causing her to stumble. "Especially if it's my favorite paw."
Minerva rolled her eyes but slowed her pace. "Which is your favorite paw?"
"Whichever one you happen to step on," Azuki said smugly. Another of his unnatural wheezing laughs followed.
"And how do you intend to repay? Because I'll repay your repayment by dropping you from the palace roof." Minerva cackled. "We can see whether the myth that kats grow a tail when they lose a life is true."
Azuki growled.
Minerva stepped through the open iron gate that separated imperial property from the military academy. On the other side, two guards in coal-black uniform leaned against the gate's stone pillars, chatting. Not a salute for the former soldier who would possibly command them in the future. Not a bow for the daughter of the Emperor, heir apparent to the Pyro throne.
Minerva preferred it that way. For now.
This time next week, she expected either the sound of their metal greaves hitting the paved stone or the rap of their fist on chest plate.
"I don't like it when you walk hunched over," Azuki whispered.
"Why?" They turned a corner, lifeless grey shrubbery putting them out of the guards' sight. Minerva straightened, though her stride remained hesitant—the walk of an unsure girl rather than a hardened soldier.
"You look like one of those death birds with their scheming, ugly faces." He meant the vultures, with evil talons large enough to pick up kats and carry them away.
"Ugly, scheming faces, Zuzu."
"That's what I—" his speech faltered. "Don't call me that. You know I hate it."
Minerva broke off a piece of her bean bun as a peace offering to soothe his wounded pride. Sniffing it first, he daintily took it in his mouth before gulping it down.
The obsidian stone of the academy gleamed up ahead, an arresting contrast to the white of the Imperial Palace that overshadowed it. The severity of the building's lines, of the grounds, reflected its purpose well. Matsudo had no intention of coddling students, he trained weapons. Warriors.
Minerva could remember the academy's construction, begun just after she and Matsudo returned from the front. "I'm resigning," he'd said heavily. "All of my friends are dead and I'll never know which one betrayed me to the enemy." He leaned back in his chair, eyes tired. In his eyes, Minerva saw her own weariness and suffering.
Edina waited in the outer room, it hadn't taken much pleading for her aunt to smuggle her to Matsudo's estate. Minerva thought of comforting words to say to him, but she knew the meaning would be lost between them. "The report?" she'd asked.
Matsudo sighed. "You're unfit for leadership, suited to only the most menial of camp tasks. No combat or strategic ability to speak of. You never saw action."
Bless the Three. Minerva closed her eyes in relief. "Thank you," she'd said.
"Of course. I owe you a death oath." Some of the spark flared back to life in his eyes. "Though if you'd like to do me a favor, I've decided to open a school for Pyro youths interested in pursuing a military career."
Shifting where she crouched in the corner of the lamp-lit room, Minerva had answered, "I'm not sure what you mean by that."
Matsudo handed her a document and waited for her to skim it, smile breaking out on his face as she read. Minerva looked up.
"Will you be my first student, Minerva Pyroline?"
The school was empty when she entered, or nearly so. Once she'd bowed to the Pyro flag—gold flame on field of black—Minerva removed her shoes and placed them on the bare floor next to the reed mat. She threw her cloak down beside them, Azuki promptly curling up on it for another nap, and straightened her uniform.
Normally, the adjacent barracks would board students, children Matsudo picked up on the streets, nobles' offspring who paid a pretty penny to be enrolled with the Empire's finest sword master and strategist. Now, they were also deserted, everyone sent home or to their families coming to stay in the city. Classes had been canceled until after the Heir's Tournament.
Minerva's feet slapped against the mat. She passed the weapons' racks which held traditional Pyro swords, both single and double-edged. Another held Terron-crafted double-moon axes and hammers designed to shatter plate and bone, even Hydro spears, though they didn't possess the lucent quality of the ones Minerva had seen that morning. Matsudo had tried to get his hands on a genuine Cloudlands bow, but the Aerons didn't seem to give them up to foreigners unless they wanted to take home the arrows stuck in their skin.
The only other person in the vast training area sat on the floor at the other end of the room. Her knees were loosely tucked up to her chest and she held her water container to her forehead.
"The sun shines," Minerva said in greeting, coming to stand over her ally.
The young woman stood and proffered her hand in her own manner of salutation. They shook hands. "The sun shines," she responded, slight accent stretching out the syllables.
Many people wished to see Brenna Prulava dead or driven out of the Empire. Those same people wanted Minerva dead, hence, her personal theory:
The enemy of my enemy is my ally.
"Would you like time to warm up first?" Brenna asked. She already looked warm, cheeks flushed, white hair plastered to her face in sweaty streaks. The thing which she called her water bottle was now pressed against her neck over where her pulse would be.
Minerva nodded and stepped away to go through her warm-up routine.
If there was one thing you needed to know about Brenna, it wasn't that her father, a Pyro diplomat, had caused a scandal by marrying a Hydro woman and staying in the Icelands for twenty years. It wasn't the fact that Brenna herself had survived three assassination attempts within the past two years after moving to Pyronia.
No, the one thing you needed to know about Brenna Prulava was that if you touched her precious water bottle, she'd snap your wrist.
The first unlucky victim must've thought it'd be a fun prank. Pick on the new girl, earn a few slaps on the back from your friends. Not much to it really.
"Who took my water?" Brenna had asked quietly after class. Her gaze moved to every face, searching, until they landed on Minerva where she'd curled up against the wall. She'd taken a beating in her sparring match that day and could already feel the bruise forming on her cheekbone.
When Brenna's eyes met hers, Minerva quickly flicked a finger toward one of the boys. He laughed when Brenna stepped up to him, held the water bottle high over her head and dared her to take it back.
Brenna wasn't laughing when a tendril of water shot from her hand. In the space of a breath, it closed around his wrist. A sickening pop followed.
The water bottle dropped from his grip and Brenna caught it. He dropped too, but the floor caught him. Only then did she smile—the sweet smile of a girl talking to a boy she fancied and not one of a girl who'd just broken that boy's wrist—and she had said quite cheerfully, "Oh frosts, do you need some ice for that?"
Minerva knew then that in a fight, she wouldn't want to be on Brenna's bad side.
"Shall we go quarter contact or half contact?" Minerva asked as they bowed to each other.
"Half!" Brenna exclaimed, bringing her fists up. She bounced on the balls of her feet, flowing rapidly from wolf stance to lion stance and back again. "I'm in the mood to break things today."
"Your bones or my bones?" Minerva asked, settling into snake stance. She preferred the cautious approach when she wasn't fighting to kill. Brenna might not have had the advantage of years of academy training, but her taller build lent her a natural one.
"Both." Brenna's fist punched air as Minerva dodged.
They tested each other's defenses, feet and fists sometimes brushing clothes but not impacting flesh so far. Half contact meant hits would be harder if they landed, but for them it was more about the increased speed of the movements.
"You still leave your legs wide open when you dodge," Minerva grunted. Focused on the fight as she was, her unnatural instinct was pushed to the back of her awareness, only ready to alert her if Brenna intended to do some real damage.
"Yeah?" Brenna sidestepped and kept her guard up better this time. "You tense up before you make a move. I can practically see you readying to attack by watching your eyes."
"I don't know how I'll fix that."
"Try crane stance."
Brenna landed the first hit when Minerva attempted to navigate the unfamiliar bobbing and weaving of crane. "Tell me you didn't advise that just so you could punch me," Minerva complained, rubbing her shoulder.
"Punch you? It was barely a nudge." Brenna laughed. "You need to loosen up. You're stiff as a wet skin left out overnight."
Another pitiful round followed before Brenna called a break. Neither of them were tired. Brenna doubled over laughing and smacked the floor with her palm.
Minerva rolled her eyes. "It's not that funny, Bren."
Brenna wiped her eyes, wielding the tears to send them splashing on Minerva's face. "Stars, but it is," she giggled. "Reminds me of an old dandy trying to court the young women by doing tricks on the ice."
Minerva grumbled under her breath, wiping her face with her white sleeve. "At least I know not to try it during the tournament. The whole crowd would be laughing at me."
Grinning like a hungry manticore, Brenna was about to answer, but the words never left her mouth.
The front doors to the academy slammed open with a resounding boom.
Ashes. Minerva cringed while Brenna stepped in front of her like a human shield. Of course, it'd be him.
Tobias Dracova strolled into the school, uniform primly tucked into his black belt. Two attendants shadowed him. One of them kicked Azuki with the toe of her boot as she entered.
Barely holding her anger in check, Minerva forced herself to stay where she was. Azuki yowled and took off running through the still open doors, though not before he turned to glare at the woman. She stepped back as if hit with an unseen force.
Jinxed. She'd probably trip walking down stairs sometime this week, if Minerva knew Azuki.
Tobias waved for his subordinate to shut the doors. Bowing first, the man obeyed the gesture. The Dracova family crest was embroidered into the back of his shirt: a black dragon coiled in a circle, its head with bared teeth resting in the center.
"What are you doing here, Tobias?" Brenna asked, the picture of nonchalance. She'd tucked her hands into her pant's pockets, posture slightly slumped. The lack of respect couldn't be more obvious.
If he were miffed about her addressing him by first name, Tobias didn't betray it. Brenna often broke propriety and excused herself in her best imitation of a Pyro accent with, "I'm just a flaming foreigner, don't you know," when questioned.
Sometimes she winked at the person right along with it.
Tobias smiled and it reminded Minerva of Vren. He used to say something casual with an impish grin, like they were holding a typical brother-sister conversation. Then, without warning, Vren would lash out at her. She never saw it coming.
"I'm just here for a friendly duel, Prulava," he said. Then he nodded at Minerva. "Pyroline."
Minerva nodded stiffly back. I don't trust him. He's playing some sort of game. She told herself it had nothing to do with his resemblance to her dead brother, but in reality, it had everything to do with Vren. He and Tobias had been friends—the chosen heirs to twin empires—and it was clear to Minerva that neither she nor Tobias had shaken his sudden demise.
Brenna cracked her knuckles, which Minerva took as a signal to inch toward the bench at the far end of the training area. "Well, I'd be happy to oblige," Brenna said.
"Not you."
Burn it. Minerva shut her eyes, willing for him to disappear, to suddenly and inexplicably go mute. His laughter grated on her ears.
Tobias fingered the golden threads tied onto his belt, each knot of rank representing victory over another student. He had at least two dozen, which marked him as a fighter at the top of the class. Despite being heir to the Draco Empire, he spent over half the year in the Pyro Empire. Teachers like Matsudo only lived once an era. "We both know how badly you want this back," he said to Brenna, tapping one of the knots.
Brenna looked away from him, for once without an answer.
At that angle, only Minerva could see the tears that slipped from her eyes. Brenna's quick fingers disposed of them before they could fall.
I'll get your knot back one day, Bren. Minerva ran her hand over her own empty belt. She'd only ever held her own mark of rank and lost it within a week.
Golden eyes flashing, Tobias smirked at Minerva. "Well, Pyroline? A duel by the standard rules, no wielding."
She weighed her options, knowing he'd be like most and take her slow answer to be a result of lack of wits. She'd never refused a challenge. Each one was an opportunity, not to win, but to learn. Knowledge was power and she'd saved every crumb. Bit by bit, waiting for the day she could cash in.
The others at the school had given her a name: "The Girl Who's Never Won a Fight".
So she'd fight. And she'd lose. Nothing would be amiss. Nothing in her behavior would be suspect.
Then why is my heart pounding?
Minerva reached out to the hollow place within her, the instinct that let her know things that shouldn't be possible. It wasn't a voice, only a sensation. Minerva put the raw meaning into words.
Tobias wants to kill you.
"Brenna," Minerva whispered. "Matsudo should be in his office. Can you go ask him if he'll referee?"
Then she raised her eyes to meet Tobias'.
"I accept your challenge."