On the way to his match against Jesse, Seiji led the way. He ducked his head under the broad stone lintel of the low, small door of the converted chapel, then walked down the stone corridor toward Camp Menton’s salle. The broad flagstones were worn so smooth they looked like the surface of calm water, but their footsteps echoed on the floor. When they entered the salle d’armes itself, the salle by night was dark as a cave with a monster lurking within it. On the wall was a plaque bearing a silver sculpture of crossed swords, moonlight striking it so that the silver points looked sharply brilliant.
“Oh, my hair,” murmured Aiden, breaking the silence.
“Is something in your hair?” Nicholas demanded. “Is it a bat?!”
“No, I mentioned my hair because it’s beautiful and I believe we should all think about it,” drawled Aiden. “Actually, I got a spiderweb in it when we were walking through the woods at night. While in formal attire.”
They were all dressed for the party in order to maintain their subterfuge. Seiji had tried doing his hair a little differently, but it had been a failure. Nicholas and Jesse had both given him the same strange look. Now, on top of everything else, Seiji had to bear the knowledge that he looked ridiculous.
Nicholas took hold of the back of Seiji’s shirt so he could deploy him as a shield against bats at any time. Seiji shot him an annoyed look. Nicholas grinned at him. Privately, Seiji was grateful that Nicholas was distracting him from the icy fear that seemed to be shot all through him, like cold steel next to his bones.
At least Seiji would never be as ridiculous as Nicholas. That was a comfort.
Seiji took a deep breath and stared around the salle.
The seats surrounding them were empty, but it felt as though they were full of people watching Seiji, about to be disappointed. The way Seiji’s father and Jesse’s father had been during the tournament where Seiji messed up because he was scared of letting his father down.
Seiji recalled his father’s voice, beloved and worried, saying, You should decide when the victory is important. Don’t let anyone choose your fight for you. He remembered Nicholas, talking about how he must painfully unlearn what he’d learned wrong, even though he cared about the person who’d taught the wrong things to him. Don’t play Jesse’s game, Aiden had said, and Seiji thought he understood now.
He took a deep breath of stone-cold air and announced, “I’m not going to fence you, Jesse.”
Jesse’s voice was incredulous. “What?”
“Correction,” said Seiji. “I said I would fence you, and I will. I always keep my word. I will fence you when I want to, in a real match, and not before. Why should you get to choose when we fence? You come to France, and you demand that I fence you, and you set the terms of our bargain. You think you should always get whatever you want. Why should I say How high? when you say Jump? I’m tired of it. I’m not going to do it anymore. And I’m not going to fence you now.”
Jesse looked so utterly stunned he almost seemed lost, like a kid who’d had his present ripped out of his arms on Christmas Day.
Marcel went and sagged on the stone seats encircling the theater like a puppet with its strings cut. “After all that!”
“Strongly agreed, Mordred from Exton,” said Aiden, strolling over to join Marcel and stretching his long legs out in front of him. “That is, I applaud and support your decision, freshman, but couldn’t you have had the epiphany before you put me through all this trouble?”
“So we broke in, and now nobody’s going to fence,” Marcel murmured, despairing.
He slid a speculative look toward Aiden.
“I’m not fencing anyone!” Aiden declared. “I already fenced James.”
“Jesse,” said Jesse.
Aiden smirked. “Jesse James?”
“Jesse Coste.”
“Settle down, Sundance Kid. I should be at a party right now. You people and your priorities disgust me.”
Jesse turned to Seiji. “I beat Aiden. And I hear Aiden beat you.”
Jesse’s eyes reminded Seiji of the match when Jesse had won, avid on Seiji’s face, watching for Seiji to flinch.
“Yeah, I beat Aiden, too,” Nicholas chimed in, and Jesse’s attention slid away in shock. “At tryouts. Wasn’t that hard. Aiden needs to practice more. Also, people shouldn’t listen to him talk. He does it too much.”
“This doesn’t involve you,” Jesse said. Then a smile woke on his face, sparkling and alluring, and dread coiled in Seiji’s stomach. “Unless…”
There was a certain tension in the air suddenly. Or perhaps it was only in Nicholas, and so Seiji could feel it all through his own body.
“Unless?” Nicholas asked quietly.
“If Seiji doesn’t want to fence for some ridiculous reason,” said Jesse, “that’s all right. I will lower myself to fence with you. Same terms. If you win, I’ll acknowledge you as a legitimate opponent. If I win, Seiji comes to Exton. Here it is. Your one chance to be taken seriously as a fencer. What do you say?”
There was a long moment with Jesse’s offer hanging like a bright offering in the gloom. Seiji remembered the way he and Jesse had first met. Seiji was used to other kids his age hating him for showing them up, and Jesse had smiled and said he hoped they’d have a good match.
Then and now, Jesse seemed to offer a golden ticket to belonging.
Seiji could see Nicholas was tempted.
Then Nicholas said, “I’ll pass. Stop being gross. Seiji’s my friend. I’m not gonna trade him in like a Pokémon.”
Seiji felt his shoulders ease down a fraction.
Jesse bit out, “I get it. You’re scared, because you know I’ll win.”
Nicholas rolled his eyes. “I’m not scared of losing. Happens to me all the time.”
“Prove it,” challenged Jesse.
Nicholas shrugged. “Okay. Marcel, wanna fence?”
Marcel glanced at Jesse, then sighed. “Sure. Someone should fence around here.”
He picked up the épées lying on the seat beside him and offered one to Nicholas. Nicholas took it with a grin.
Since it appeared he was about to be a spectator to rather than a participant in a match, Seiji went and sat on the seat beside Aiden. Immediately, Aiden slid away from Seiji. He appeared absorbed in a game on his phone that involved cupcakes.
Jesse sat down on the other side of Seiji. Involuntarily, Seiji glanced toward him. He was startled by what he saw. Jesse looked gray as old stone, all his gold hidden under dust.
“I’m sorry,” Seiji told him.
Bewilderment descended on Jesse’s face, followed by something even stranger. He almost seemed hopeful.
“For what?”
“I know you came to Camp Menton to fence,” said Seiji. “I understand if you feel I wasn’t playing fair.”
“Seiji,” said Jesse. “I don’t care about this camp at all.”
Seiji frowned. “Then why did you come here?”
“You don’t know why?” Jesse asked.
Like Seiji, perhaps Jesse was trying to appreciate world travel more.
“To appreciate the French countryside? Menton is sometimes referred to as the Pearl of France,” Seiji said. “Did you know that?”
“I didn’t know that,” Jesse answered slowly. “Listen—”
Seiji’s head turned.
“I can’t. I have to watch Nicholas’s fencing match now, Jesse,” Seiji told him. “We always watch each other’s matches. It’s what friends do.”
Jesse went silent. Seiji thought perhaps he hadn’t known that rule.
Nicholas and Marcel assumed en garde position. Then Nicholas went on attack, like he always did, though Marcel’s technique meant that he was able to beat back Nicholas with ease. Nicholas’s form was getting better, Seiji thought with some pride.
He and Jesse had always dismissed fencers whom they could beat, but now Seiji had watched and given a great deal of thought to how Nicholas fenced. He hadn’t found it wasted time. Dismissing people, Seiji thought now, might have been a mistake.
Both Marcel and Nicholas moved in that circular space, on a piste that gleamed silver in the moonlight. Marcel was an excellent fencer, who moved with the grace of training so ingrained it was instinct. He scored several points on Nicholas, but Nicholas slid away from some attacks, left-handed and lightning swift.
“He’s fast,” Jesse admitted grudgingly.
Seiji leaned forward, elbows on his knees, so he could watch more closely. “Yes,” he agreed distantly, mind on analyzing the match. “Nicholas is the fastest fencer I’ve ever seen.”