I barely remember the next day. The faces of my classmates are blurred streaks of colour, but I remember how I felt. I felt different. I felt changed. Because I was no longer Amber. I was Clove.
The other career students' attitudes towards me had changed. They no longer smirked and jeered. They now regarded me with... respect? Awe? Maybe even a little... fear?
We were led straight to the training centre. Kieryan glanced at me. I'm sure I saw him wink. And I soon discovered why.
"Today, I've organised a game." Kieryan told the class. The students perked up slightly.
He walked over to the knife-throwing station.
"A knife-throwing tournament," he told us, with a grin. Slowly, a smile spread across my face. My classmates looked at me, warily, and I walked over to the knives. Picking one, I turned to my class.
"Let's get started." I said, coolly.
There were 13 people in my class.
Hania and Elian were eliminated straight off, for missing the target 5 times in a row. Next, Cato took the knife. His first throw missed, and he stamped his foot, frustrated. He threw again, and narrowly missed. I could see the blood rushing to his head as he picked up the knife and sent it spinning towards the target.
It hit the outer ring. Satisfied, he threw again, hitting the middle ring, and again, hitting the outer ring once more. He was through to the next round.
Lucile missed the target completely, as did Freya. The pair joined Hania and Elian over the other side of the room. Four down.
Clara hit the outer ring once, the middle ring twice, and, on her fourth throw, the bullseye. Her fifth narrowly missed, but it was enough. She was good. She was very good.
Robin, a weedy, dark-haired boy, hit the outer ring once. Kieryan hesitated, then eliminated him. Dylan was next, hitting the middle ring three times; enough to put him through to the next round of the tournament. He joined Cato and Clara.
Three through, five eliminated. Five left.
Oak, a tall, brown-eyed boy, hit the middle ring twice; just enough to put him through to the next round. The force with which he threw the knives startled me; as though it were not just a game. As though it were a matter of life or death. As though the knives were flying towards someone he hated with all his heart.
Caelyn was next, his knives narrowly missing the target. His face red with frustration, he joined the group of eliminated students.
Four through, six eliminated. Three left.
Araya, a pretty girl with shiny brown hair, hit the bullseye three times, and the middle ring once. Her final knife dropped uselessly to the hard floor. She nervously joined Cato, Clara, Dylan and Oak. Their anger was evident in their faces; anger at this girl, for daring to beat them, for daring to outshine them, for daring to present a challenge. I gulped. Maybe I should just miss a few throws; be eliminated early, rather than face their wrath?
But I knew my pride wouldn't let me.
Diana hit the outer ring twice. Kieryan, after a few minutes' consideration, decided to eliminate her. To be honest, I think she was relieved.
Then it was my turn.
I took a deep breath in. I steadied my breathing. I took the knife from Kieryan with shaking hands. I could do this. I was Clove. I was unstoppable.
I threw the knife.
It missed.
My classmates jeered as Kieryan handed me the second knife. I was not Clove. I was Amber. Small, pale, weak. Yesterday was a fluke. I had no talent, no skill, nothing. I was nothing.
My second knife missed.
Kieryan handed me the third, his gaze hard and unwavering. The gleam of the metal was cruel, cold, evil. It held in its silvery glow a perverse beauty. Wrapping my hand tightly around the metal, a shiver ran up my arm. Power. I could kill him. I could kill them all.
My cold black eyes gazed around the room. I imagined the knife leaving my hand, flying straight towards Cato, wiping the smile off his face. In my hand, my uncaring hand, I held the power to do that.
I turned back to Kieryan. The edges of the knife began to blur. His eyes found mine.
"Clove." He said.
I stared at him. The sunlight on her hair, the smell of cloves.
I blinked, and turned to the target.
My knife was already hilt deep in the centre. I stared at it, then glanced at my hand. My classmates were looking surprised, even slightly impressed.
"Good throw," said Kieryan, his eyebrows raised. I hadn't even noticed it leave my hand.
I took the fourth, and instinctively threw it as I turned. It joined the third, in the centre of the target. Two seconds later, three knives were hilt deep in the target. A smile tugged at my lips.
"Cato, Clara, Dylan, Oak, Araya and Clove are through to the next round." Kieryan said, flashing me a quick grin, while Cato, Clara and Dylan glared at my back.
He beckoned, and we followed him over to the other side of the room, where targets swung gently from ropes.
"You have 3 tries. You must hit the target at least twice to reach the finals." Kieryan told us.
Cato went first, hitting 2 of the 3 targets. Clara missed twice; she ground her teeth in frustration and joined the group of eliminated students. Dylan narrowly missed all three, and walked over to join Clara, as did Oak.
Araya stepped forward, and threw the knife. She hit the first target, and the second. Her knife sank into the third, and she nervously joined Cato.
I took the first knife, and threw it hopefully. It missed. I blinked.
With a moving target, I realised, you have to aim for where the target will be when the knife reaches it, not where it is when you let the knife go. More carefully this time, I threw my second knife, aiming to the right of the target.
It sank hilt deep into the wood.
Grinning, I applied the same technique to the third knife, hitting the target a second time.
It was between me, Cato and Araya.
Kieryan produced a bag of tennis balls. He lined the three of us up, and threw the first ball.
As one, we threw our knives.
Before we knew what was happening, the ball was pinned to the opposite wall.
Kieryan walked over to it, and pulled out the ornately carved knife, examining the hilt. The second knife lay on the floor at his feet, and the third was embedded in the wall, a few feet to the left.
"Araya's," he announced, holding up the first. He collected the knives and handed us our knives.
I hit the second, and Araya hit the third. Cato hit the next two. I hit two, then Araya hit another. Cato hit the ninth, leaving it at three all, with only one knife left.
My palms were sweating, for this was more than a question of pride. It was a chance to prove myself, a chance to be taken seriously and maybe even a little feared. The thought sent shivers up my spine.
As though in slow motion,,our three knives flew towards the target. Mine collided with Cato's, knocking it away from the ball. Araya's pierced the ball, and mine and Cato's hit the ground with a clang of finality.
Araya had won. But I knew that Cato and the others would not let her get away with this.
And I was right.