All those drills were paying off, Nicholas had to admit as he fought against an amazing fencer in the salle d’armes at the most elite training camp in Europe. He was grateful for both Kings Row and Camp Menton.
Images from his expanding world flew through his mind as his and Marcel’s épées clashed. Coach pushing him to work on the basics, Harvard believing Nicholas could do it, Eugene’s unfaltering support, Melodie showing him moves she’d learned from both Bastien and Marcel himself. Above all else, over and over, he heard the echo of Seiji’s stern instructions, remembered Seiji’s relentless drive toward perfection, unyielding in the way only Seiji could be.
He made a space in between breaths to think, even though it might slow him down, and when Marcel made an attack by lunge, Nicholas instructed himself to combine beat and pressure together to deflect the blade. Nicholas slid into attack and scored a point.
He didn’t score enough points to win, but he made a decent showing. When the match ended, Marcel’s eyebrows were raised.
“What, Exton boy?” Nicholas asked, trying to sound as indifferent as Aiden.
“Nothing,” said Marcel, and offered his hand. “Good match. You caught on to some moves really quickly.”
Nicholas beamed and shook. “Yeah, soon enough I’ll be the best. Next time we fence, I’ll beat you.”
“We’ll see,” said Marcel skeptically. “Anyway, you’re all right, for a beginner.”
“You’re all right for a friend of Jesse Coste.”
Marcel’s eyes darted toward Jesse, whose attention was fixed resentfully on Seiji. Marcel appeared to come to a decision.
“You’re wrong about Jesse,” said Marcel. “There’s a reason he’s the best, and there’s a reason he draws the best fencers to Exton. When we face you at state, you’d better be ready.”
Nicholas thumped Marcel on the back. “Sorry, buddy. My team’s the best, and we’re gonna win the state championship.”
Their promising friendship was cut off when Marcel looked disdainfully down his nose at Nicholas.
“C’est impossible,” he said firmly, then shouldered the bag of equipment and made his way out of the salle d’armes.
That was as good a way as any to end this. Nicholas turned and made for the stone passageway that would lead them out of the salle d’armes and toward his friends and the party. Then he stopped as Jesse Coste blocked his path.
“I’m going to fence you one day,” said Jesse.
“Count on it,” said Nicholas.
For the first time, Jesse favored Nicholas with one of his golden-boy smiles. “Take all the time you need to learn. Listen to your coach and your captain, attend every training camp you can. Drill with Seiji every day. Reach every bit of your potential. I want you to. I want you to be at your best when I beat you.”
Nicholas wanted to scoff at Jesse, but his mouth was dry, and he couldn’t laugh. It sounded so plausible, the future Jesse’s words painted. Nicholas could handle Jesse being better than him when he thought of that as a temporary thing.
The idea that Jesse would always be better, that Seiji would always think so, that his father would always think so, was much harder to bear.
He and Jesse stood staring at each other until they were knocked apart by Aiden, striding past them and brushing them both off to opposite sides, as though flicking cobwebs off his shoulders.
“Oh my God, you people had your chance for a big, tense fence-off, and you didn’t take it. Knock it off before I bang your twerp heads together. I’m hosting a glamorous after-party, and I’m going to be dazzling in formal wear, and since I had this bonding experience with all of you, I just want to say”—Aiden took a deep breath—“stay far away from my party. Seriously, I hate your faces.”