Before the match with Bastien started, Harvard had to endure several more trainees coming over and being sympathetic to him. It seemed Harvard had made some friends at Camp Menton. It also seemed as though his new friends were all convinced Harvard was going to get his ass handed to him.
He could deal with that.
As they all gathered around the piste, before Harvard and Bastien began their match, Harvard saw Aiden coming. For a moment, there was a burst of ease and freedom in Harvard’s chest, the same feeling he got watching a flock of birds alighting from a tree into the air. He thought Aiden would come over and speak to him. Aiden always told him that he was the best captain, the best ever, with faith in Harvard that Harvard had never been able to summon in himself. He hadn’t needed to. Aiden was always there.
Aiden made eye contact with Harvard for a moment. Then Aiden averted his eyes and walked directly over to Bastien.
Harvard watched the lovely, wicked curve of Aiden’s smile as he whispered something in Bastien’s ear. That was much harder to deal with than anything else.
Aiden spoke far too low for anyone but Bastien to catch, but his tone was carried on the warm Mediterranean breeze. Aiden’s voice sounded warmer than the breeze, dark and sweet at once, like honey being poured in the shadows.
Harvard dragged his eyes away and searched the spectators to find a friendly face. He would’ve liked to see Nicholas there to encourage Harvard to believe in himself.
He couldn’t see Nicholas. He couldn’t see anyone.
When the time came for his match, he didn’t see many Kings Row students there to cheer him on. Eugene was there, but not Nicholas, nor Seiji. Even Aiden seemed to have disappeared. Harvard could hardly believe it. He felt oddly bereft, as though he were expected to fence without his épée or his plastron. He always had his team to think of.
A flash of red and white caught his eye. “Go, Harvard!” yelled Coach Williams. “I have money on this, and I don’t want to lose it. Teachers’ salaries are shamefully low!”
His coach was there to support him, but she didn’t need him to support her. Coach had said to Harvard once, Remember there’s a me in team. There was nobody for Harvard to worry about except himself. There was nothing he could do for his team but be the best fencer he could be.
There was something almost freeing in that. He took a deep breath of air, finding steadiness in this strange place.
Well, Harvard thought. Time to find out what he could do.
He stepped out onto the piste, the steel strips reflecting the evening-sky blue of the domed ceiling.
Other people were defeated by Aiden all the time. Harvard always beat Aiden. He’d always believed it was because Aiden wouldn’t hurt Harvard on purpose, wouldn’t cut at Harvard with his sharp tongue until Harvard flinched like all the rest, but Aiden said it was because Harvard was always sure with him.
Perhaps that was true, too. Harvard had always been sure of Aiden, and sure of how they worked together… until this last week.
Harvard was tired of feeling uncertain.
Harvard met Bastien attack for attack, lunge for lunge, and saw Bastien’s movements check as he startled. Clearly, he hadn’t expected this from Harvard. Harvard was supposed to be reliable, nice, a good sport, a middle-of-the-road fencer. Harvard knew he hadn’t fenced like this since he’d come to Camp Menton. Maybe Harvard hadn’t fenced like this ever.
Bastien ran him up and down the strip, but Harvard had plenty of endurance. Bastien was very good, landing the most fluid of attacks imaginable, but Harvard had been learning as much as he could at Camp Menton and practicing at Kings Row with skill-smooth Seiji and lightning-fast Nicholas. Defense had always been his specialty. When Bastien went low, Harvard remembered Seiji’s stern instructions about his low lines. He could defend against any attack Bastien made.
The points were flying between them, Coach Williams and Coach Robillard both roaring approval and advice. Melodie was yelling encouragement to Bastien like a motivational French banshee, while Eugene yelled even louder for Harvard.
The points were pretty even. But Harvard couldn’t keep being on defense forever. The trick was not only to defend, but to make a move against Bastien and make it count.
A captain had to lead by example. This was for his team and for himself. This was how Harvard would prove he was a worthy captain to lead them to victory at the state championships.
Bastien tried for an attack by lunge, which Harvard used all his skill to parry. Then immediately, without pause for breath or doubt, he went for the riposte, the offensive attack made directly after a parry.
His riposte was fast, fast enough that Bastien couldn’t counter it. That move was for Nicholas.
Even with the way Harvard had been fencing throughout the match, Bastien hadn’t expected such instant aggression. Harvard got through his guard and scored the final point.
He won.
A buzzing rose in his head as though the electrical current in his jacket had gotten into his blood. He couldn’t quite believe he’d won. The gleam of the state championship trophy seemed closer somehow, like something in Harvard’s future rather than in his dreams.
Harvard pulled off his mask and emerged, blinking, into what felt like new light. Arune and the MLC guys were cheering wildly. So were several of the other fencers, who Harvard had imagined pitied him. Turned out they simply liked him instead.
“I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you,” remarked Coach Robillard, but in an approving way, even though Bastien was his son.
“I always knew he had it in him!” Coach Williams shouted. “Pay up!”
“Good match,” Harvard told Bastien, and offered his hand to shake.
As he clasped Harvard’s hand, Bastien inclined his darkly handsome head. “Your coach is right to be proud of you.”
“Nice that someone believes in me, I guess,” Harvard said.
Bastien’s mouth pulled out of shape, as though he’d been sampling the fruit on the lemon trees. “Do you know what Aiden whispered to me before the match?”
Harvard remembered with painful acuteness how Aiden had pulled Bastien in to murmur a lilting lover’s secret in his ear. Suddenly, Harvard’s little triumph felt hollow.
In the end, what did it matter if Harvard had won some stupid match, something that wasn’t part of any tournament and wouldn’t count toward their hoped-for victory at state? He’d lost Aiden. His best friend would leave Kings Row and would be with a hundred boys like this one, and Harvard had damaged the friendship between them irreparably.
Then Harvard realized Bastien’s eyes weren’t gloating. They were bleak.
“Aiden whispered in my ear, ‘You’re going to lose.’”
Just then, the missing Kings Row students appeared. His team. Nicholas was giving some kind of war cry. Harvard couldn’t make it out, because he couldn’t look away from Aiden, who was smiling directly at him.
Coach Williams gave Harvard a hug, and the rest took this as their cue to pounce. Nicholas and Eugene both hit Harvard on the back with perhaps too much enthusiasm. Seiji seemed disturbed to be caught in the middle of a group-hug situation. Aiden was laughing.
“O captain! our captain!” Aiden said in his beautiful voice, low and sweet and mocking.
Harvard didn’t know where his team had been, but they were here now.
He just wished he could keep them. He wished he wasn’t losing the most important one.