Part One
ZALAN
Athame Arts, Bealnora School of Magecraft, Londaria
Athame Arts. Better known as magikal close combat with a special short saber. It’s a class I’ve been dreading since that awful night when it happened. In fact, the mere thought of turning my magik on another person makes me sick to my stomach.
What if I lose control and everyone learns the horrid truth?
I bury my face in my arms atop the surface of the long desk in our amphitheater-style classroom.
Maybe it’s not too late to drop out of Bealnora and just apprentice with Uncle. I mean, it’s not like House Astaroth can disown me twice, can they? I groan in defeat, sinking lower into my arms.
I’m so caught up in the awful churning of my stomach that I don’t even sense someone behind me until my wand is already in their hand.
“Don’t you know the rules, Astaroth?” Reginald Smoot sneers, his brown eyes full of haughty contempt. “You’re only allowed to use what you’ve carved yourself. Not whatever mummy and daddy bought you at auction.”
“I know the rules, Smoot. I carved every inch of it myself,” I counter as I make a grab for my wand, but he yanks it out of reach.
“Dragon dung!” he scoffs. “You expect us to believe you felled a… What is this even made of?”
“Maiden-stalker horn,” I answer flatly.
Smoot flinches slightly, making it very clear that he knows exactly what manner of drake it is. But then his expression shifts as he pretends not to be impressed in the least. “So you’re a liar twice over.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “There is more than one way to bring a beast to its knees.”
Reginald Smoot arches a bow. “Hmm.” He passes the wand off to another classmate standing behind him.
“Duel me, Astaroth. You win; you get your Wand of Lies back. I win; I get to watch you snap that lie of a wand in two.”
My gaze flicks over him. Hmm…the professor isn’t here yet, which means no athame. And the classroom—despite its vast size—isn’t nearly large enough for a proper duel at range. So what’s his aim? What is he hoping to gain from this?
“Well?”
His cocky self-assuredness makes something dangerous slither within the depths of me.
“Fine.” I hold out my hand.
He snorts. “Oh no. I’m not going to let you cheat.”
“You’re going to make him duel you without a wand? That’s ridiculously unfair, Reginald!” Aruna Kattel objects.
I shift my gaze to her. Kattel is bookish and quiet as a mouse, following our professors’ lectures with the utmost attention. She didn’t strike me as the type to jump into the middle of another’s fight. Especially for someone like me.
“Oh, I’ll let him have a wand. I’m not a monster after all,” Smoot laughs mockingly. “He can have one of the loaner wands.
“Duel” ExSpelled © 2025 by Kat Vancil
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