Daughter of Nox

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Freya dropped her bag onto the floor of her dorm room and then fell back on the bed.

"I swear, I feel more tired now than I did when we left." She stared glassy-eyed up at the ceiling. "Isn't the point of vacation to feel rested?"

Etta leaned up against wall near the front of the room. "Don't ask me. I feel fine."

Freya groaned and flipped onto her stomach. Since the night that Hela had walked in on their conversation about the Esque, insomnia had been Freya's new best friend. Her mind never shut off, running at light speed all night even though her body was totally exhausted from a day in the bay. Etta, on the other hand, looked like a perfect example of what vacation was supposed to do.

It didn't help that Freya's father hadn't returned. In fact, he'd been incommunicado since his wave on her first day, and she didn't know what to make of the silence. He'd been gone before–longer than this, actually–but he'd never while she'd been gone too. For all she knew, this was his way of testing her ability to be the strong and solitary First Marshall he very mistakenly believed she ought to be.

If her father's continued silence was stressful, then the news they received about the final F.O.X. sim might as well have been the beginning of a nervous breakdown.

"It's a free-for-all match!" Etta's eyes widened as she read over the wave on her datapad. "All first year Novices will be competing against each other with only the top five teams earning a merit."

Freya felt her stomach turn at the news as she thought back to the second strike she'd earned in Air Trials. "Do the other teams earn a strike?"

"It doesn't say, but we have a briefing for it this Friday night in the mess hall." Etta ran a finger over the screen of her datapad. "They'll probably cover it there."

"Why do we need a briefing if we know it's going to be a sim?" Freya said. "I mean, just knowing it's a sim kind of takes the whole scared-for-your-life thing out of it, don't you think?"

"You only think that because you didn't get shot during the last one," Etta said. "Sim or not, I'm terrified of doing another one. Those things hurt like all flaming hell."

Freya aimed a lazy kick at Etta that went wide. "I did too get shot."

Etta didn't look up from the datapad. "Grazed in the ankle doesn't count, Fray."

Freya started to argue the point when she saw Etta's eye widen.

"What is it?" Freya asked.

"Slag me," Etta said, still not looking up.

"Your face is making me anxious," Freya said. "Stop using your make-Freya-anxious face."

"They've assigned us teams." Etta met Freya's eyes. "And guess who's in charge of yours."

"Please say not Hela."

"Not Hela."

Freya let out an anxious breath. "Seriously?"

"No," Etta said, "not seriously."

Freya aimed another kick that missed, though it was considerably less lazy.

"You told me to say it. I was just trying to be a supportive friend."

"I order you to tell me what's on that datapad, Second."

Etta shrugged casually. "Well, there are names on it. One of which may, be good, or bad," she said, then added, "probably bad."

Freya sat up. "Arthuretta Heath, if you don't tell me right now then I'm going to personally shoot you during the sim."