“What? Why do you always think I’ve done something wrong?” Roc says, throwing up his hands.

“Maybe because you usually have,” I say.

“That’s an obvious exaggeration,” Roc says, smirking.

“What about the time when you stole Killen’s boots and blamed it on me?”

“I had forgotten about that. It was pretty clever, wasn’t it?” Roc says.

“Or the time you overslept and didn’t complete any of your chores so I had to do them all to cover for you?”

“Never happened as far as I’m concerned,” Roc says, his eyebrows rising innocently.

“That’s because you were sleeping,” I say, unable to stop a laugh.

Roc laughs, too, his eyes sparkling in the light. “There are two sides to every story,” he says.

I glance at Adele, and I’m surprised that she’s not laughing, too, her gaze averted from us, as if she’d rather look anywhere else. Something really is wrong.

“Can’t you all keep quiet for a few more hours? I need my beauty sleep,” says Trevor, propping himself up on his elbows to look at us.

“You can say that again,” Roc says.

“I need my beauty sleep,” Trevor mimes. “Didn’t you hear me the first time? What time is it anyway?”

“Time to get a watch,” Roc says.

“Ha ha. Sorry, we weren’t privileged to own such luxuries in the Star Realm,” Trevor retorts.

“Good point,” I say, glancing at my watch. “It’s five in the morning.”

“We should try to get a little more sleep,” Adele says suddenly. My eyes flick to hers. She’s wearing a strange expression. Looking away, she says, “I mean, we can’t leave now, right? It’s too early.”

“She’s right,” Roc says. “The festivities won’t start until at least eight. We’d stick out way too much wandering the streets now.”

“Now that I’m up, I don’t think I can go back to sleep,” Trevor says.

“Me either,” I say.

“Want to play a game or something?” Roc jokes.

“Or we could train,” Trevor says, narrowing his eyes at me. “If you’re game, that is,” he adds.

“Sure, why not,” I say. “Roc could use a little training.”

“After what Trevor did to you earlier, you could, too,” Roc says.

“Oh, it’s on!” I say. “Adele—you in?”

“Is this really the time for training?” she asks.

“It’s exactly the time,” Trevor says. “If we don’t stay loose our muscles will tighten up. Think of it as a bit of stretching.”

For the first time since I woke up, the usual gleam returns to her big, green eyes. “Okay. I’m in,” she says.

“I’m out,” Tawni says, rubbing her eyes as she approaches.

“Good morning,” Roc says cheerfully. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to learn a few things, Tawni. You need to be able to protect yourself, in case anything happens.”

“And you’re going to teach her?” I ask.

“That’s right,” Roc says. “While you three are beating the gravel out of each other, trying to prove your manhood, or whatever it is you’re trying to prove, we’ll be getting ready for battle.”

“I’m most certainly not trying to prove my manhood,” Adele says, finally letting a short laugh slip out.

“I should hope not,” I say. “Okay. Roc, you give Tawni the basics on this side of the fire pit”—I motion to the right half of the cavern—“and we’ll train on the other side.”

“Good luck,” he says, glancing between me and Trevor, “but honestly, my money’s on Adele.”

“Thank you, Roc,” Adele says, and once more I get the feeling that there’s some private thing between them that I don’t know about. I really hope Roc hasn’t told her anything he shouldn’t have, like what my father showed me on my fifteenth birthday. I know I need to tell her, need to tell everyone, but not yet. The time just doesn’t feel right.

The others are already moving to retrieve their swords, and I watch as Adele picks her thin blade from the ground beside her makeshift bed, leaving the sharp blade covered by her sword guard. She slashes it one way, and then the other, the weapon elegant and controlled in her grasp. The way she moves is mesmerizing and I find myself staring as she parries an invisible attacker and then stabs forward. I hope it’s not me she’s imagining impaling.

She looks up and frowns when she sees me looking at her. “You ready or what?” she says, no friendliness in her voice. I’ve never seen her this angry at me. Roc must’ve said something to her. I’ll have to find out later.

“Uh, yeah,” I say, grabbing my own sword. I raise it to head level, hold it out from me, close an eye, and gaze down the sword guard. It’s not the same as looking down the perfectly flat steel, but I can still tell that the weapon is straight, and without the sword guard would be lethal in the hands of someone who knows how to use it. Like Adele, I take a few practice swings, my arms adjusting to the heavier weight of the protected sword, using the right amount of force to perform each motion.

Off to the side, Roc’s showing Tawni how to stand, how to hold the sword. He stands close behind her, gently repositioning her hips and arms with his hands. Although he probably really does want her to learn how to protect herself, clearly he has ulterior motives, too.

“C’mon girls,” Trevor says, twirling his sword rapidly above his head. “Come take your medicine.”

I ignore the verbal jab and stride into the open area opposite Trevor. Adele follows me, creating the final point of our human triangle. Her eyes never leave mine, and I recognize the look: determination. Like I’ve seen each time she’s headed into a fight. As long as I beat Trevor, I think.

I hold my sword in front of me, my eyes darting from Trevor to Adele, and then back to Adele. Always back to Adele. In her dark body-hugging fighting tunic, she’s a vision, as beautiful as she is dangerous. With a practiced flick of her hand, she pushes her long, black hair away from her face and behind her head. Then she moves toward me, her strides graceful but strong.

She swings her sword and I move to block, bracing myself for the blow, but it never comes. Instead, she stops mid-swing and whirls on Trevor, closing the distance between them in two springing steps, slashing hard at his right shoulder, her sword leaving an arc of black long after it passes through the air.

Although the attack was swift and surprising, Trevor is up to the challenge, managing to parry and then go on the counter-offensive, pushing Adele back toward me, their swords making dull thuds as they connect with each other. Her back is to me. I’ve got her.

A surge of adrenaline races through my blood.

Launching off the balls of my feet, I leap toward her, planning to tackle her from behind. Just when we’re about to collide, she drops hard to the ground, air rushing against my body as I fly past her. I barge into Trevor, slipping past his outstretched blade and ramming into his stomach. He grunts and stumbles back, taking my full weight on his chest.

I’m no stranger to unusual fighting positions. My mind cycles through the situation in an instant, determining the best course of action: Trevor beneath me, unprotected; Adele nearby, unguarded and within striking distance; me, vulnerable to an attack from my girlfriend, who, for some unknown reason, seems to want nothing more than to beat me senseless with the broad side of her sword. Only one option: get the hell as far away from the kill zone as possible, as fast as possible.

Using the momentum from our fall, I push off hard from Trevor’s chest, feeling him squirming beneath me, and duck my head, rolling forward in a somersault. My sword is flailing about, but I manage to tuck it at my side, keeping it from impaling me or my opponents. There’s a bone-jarring thud as my back slams off the rock floor, sending shivers through my already sore muscles.

Ignoring the pain, I come out of the roll, twisting around to face whoever might be charging. The scene before me is frozen in time, motionless and expressionless. Trevor’s on the ground, struggling to get his breath. Adele’s standing over him, the dull tip of her protected sword at his neck. It reminds me of an old statue in the National Museum depicting the Sun Realm’s crushing defeat of the Lower Realms during the Uprising. The statue shows a sun dweller soldier in a spotless red uniform standing over a gray-coated moon dweller revolutionary, a foot on his chest and a sword through his throat. It even came complete with a gushing stream of crimson blood pooling around them. My father told me that he requisitioned completion of the statue by the finest sun dweller sculptor just after the end of the Uprising, as a reminder of what happens to those who rebel. The blood was his idea, and if he’d had it his way, it would have been real moon dweller blood, but the sculptor informed him that due to the congelation that occurs with air-exposed blood, water with red food coloring would have to suffice. The President grudgingly agreed. According to him, the field trip to the museum was all part of my training. I hated that trip.