⧗ CHAPTER NINE ⧗

The combat lessons were difficult to watch.

Dmitri had seen some bad things, and granted this wasn't nearly as bad. Nowhere close. But it was still hard to observe without wincing as pair after pair of girls faced off against each other, their eyes cold, their bodies tense and swift. Strikes with their fists or edge of their palms, kicking and sweeping their legs. Lunges and throws and even a flip — Dmitri wasn't entirely sure what forms of combat they were practicing. Not just Karate or Aikido or Jiu Jitsu, but a combination of many things.

It was held in a room not dissimilar to the mirrored walls of their ballet lessons. Only with matts instead of bars, barefoot instead of slippers, and no music at all. Just the huffs, grunts, coughs of impact after impact.

Comrade Kuzmina paced back and forth, a silver whistle on her lips, watching each match with a hawk-like gaze. She only blew the whistle when the match was over, or when a girl went too far; usually it was the latter. Ksenia kept getting penalty calls, smiling and nodding sweetly every time she was reminded of the rules.

Dmitri had attended the last dozen or so lessons in the past month and a half or so, but only as an observer. Watching their moves, listening to Comrade Kuzmina, trying to interpret the lessons for girls as applying to himself. Gendered language was often used, with the emphasis that the girls would not be facing easy opponents in the field, but much larger, stronger ones. Men. Big and strong, packed with enough meat and muscle to feed a small town, and nothing like Dmitri himself.

His arm was improving, in small steps. Mostly he just sat in the corner and worked that ball of clay through his fingers. Despite everything, it actually seemed to be working. His grip strength was stronger, and Dmitri could hold simple objects in his right hand now; he could use a cup, could put his clothes on with two hands now. Zippers and buttons weren't so awful now.

But his shoulder still kept him up at night sometimes. He still couldn't hold a pencil, or write effectively with it. Dmitri winced as Ksenia knocked down Sabina in a rush of breath and hair, a loud thump as Sabina's back hit the mat, hard enough that Dmitri felt the gust of air from impact.

Sabina grimaced and groaned, getting back to her feet, holding the small of her back as she hobbled back to the sidelines and grumbled under her breath. She flopped down next to Dmitri, flicking some braids over her shoulder and managing to put on a brave face for him. "Oh, don't give me that look, братишка, I'm a big girl, I'm fine."

"I wasn't giving you a look," Dmitri mumbled, running his hand through his hair to hide his embarrassment. Bratishka. Little brother. Sabina and Oksana had taken to calling him that, and it was both cute and utterly humiliating. Someone else used to call him that, too, not that Dmitri could remember. He didn't have any siblings. Not biological ones, at least. He'd never been so close to anyone to have called him that. "Just looked like it hurt, that's all."

"Nothing that won't heal," Sabina assured him, a playful nudge of her shoulder. "Don't look so glum.

They turned to watch as Oksana brought down Annika, in a manner much less brutal than Ksenia had performed. But Ksenia, as always, was the last girl standing. There was no question she was the top of the class, grinning with victory, still standing on her mat as if she were waiting for another challenge. But none of the other girls stood to face her. After going through them and each other, no one was in particular shape to be going another round.

"Oh, come on!" She goaded at the other girls, throwing out her arms. "What, none of you little принцессы wish to go? Where is your courage?"

"Let's go, girls," Comrade Kuzmina clapped her hands as well, an encouragement that didn't get any of them to their feet. How they almost shied away, or averted their eyes. "One last round before class is finished. No volunteers?"

No one raised their hands.

Ksenia turned her gaze on Dmitri. "You."

At first, Dmitri thought she was joking. Smiled despite himself. No way in hell was he getting up there. But then Comrade Kuzmina was glaring at him, not contradicting Ksenia's demand. Shit.

Sensing his hesitation, Ksenia sneered, "Oh, what? Are you afraid, little котенок?"

Kitten. Dmitri barely kept himself from bristling at the cutesy insult. He couldn't let her get the better of him, but he also found no way to back out of this. Everyone was staring at him. Waiting. And he didn't want to think what would happen if Comrade Kuzmina decided he was being disobedient. Get detention, or something, and have to spend even more time doing something unpleasant.

So, very reluctantly, Dmitri got to his feet. Left behind that ball of clay, brushing his hands against his pants and trying to steel his nerves. His education so far in combat had only been learning the most basic stances, participating in the practices at the beginning of classes before backing off as the sparring began. And as soon as he was on the mat, facing Ksenia, Dmitri was horrified to find that all he learned had suddenly escaped him. He couldn't remember how to plant his feet, which one went forward, what arm to raise to defend himself.

Didn't have the time to figure it out before Ksenia was on him.

Dmitri didn't even see her move. Just felt her heel slam into his gut and he was knocked to the ground. Completely breathless, coughing, before the pain bloomed across his stomach.

But at least it was over. At least it was quick. Or so Dmitri thought — because Comrade Kuzmina didn't blow her whistle. And Ksenia stood there, blonde locks askew, waiting for him to get back up.

"Again!" Comrade Kuzmina demanded.

After the first terrible moment of dawning realization, Dmitri sucked in a sharp breath. And got back to his feet.

And down again he went. Barely up for a second before Ksenia had swept his feet out from beneath him. The third time, Dmitri was slightly better prepared, knew what to expect. Sort of. He'd flinched when he saw her arm swinging and brought up his own on complete instinct, managing to block it. But Dmitri had closed his eyes, and didn't see the follow-up blow that knocked him down again.

"Again!" Comrade Kuzmina called, her voice ringing sharply across the room. "Again!"

Each time Dmitri obeyed. He didn't want to, but he did. What choice did he have? It would be over soon. Ksenia would get her kicks in and then they could leave and maybe he'll lie down somewhere nice and quiet and let the bruises develop.

But right now, each second was passing by with excruciating slowness. His muscles were cramping and Dmitri knew his own body was betraying him, not responding the way he wanted it to. Giving into Ksenia and allowing her to reap entertainment from this beat down. But she never drew blood. At least, Dmitri didn't think so. He didn't count accidentally biting his own cheek when she caught him across the ear.

What may have been the eighth or the dozenth or the twentieth time, Dmitri lost count, he got up one last time. Didn't even raise his fists. He had meant to, but his arms had just hung at his side. Maybe if he had another second, they would have obeyed his thoughts. But Ksenia never showed mercy.

The base of her palm slammed directly into his shoulder — right above the scar. Dmitri didn't even have time to gasp, the pain was so sudden as he fell. Didn't even feel the impact, all he was aware of was the sharp, awful sensation, like a hot blade being pushed through his shoulder, slowly, inch by inch, through that same wound.

Tears sprung into his eyes and this time, Dmitri didn't get up. Couldn't. He was vaguely aware of some gasps, one of his sisters calling his name. But it all sounded far away, as his body curled up into the fetal position, tucking his bad shoulder as far under him and away from further attack.

A whistle blew, and a shadow fell over him. Dmitri felt something tickle his cheek, soft strands of hair. Warm breath brushing against his skin.

"Is this what you do?" Ksenia hissed into his ear. "When the world is out to kill you, are you just going to lay down and die?"

Dmitri squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting her to see him cry. Maybe it was already too late, she was so close, and the pain was nearly as overwhelming as those days in the hospital, when the morphine wore off. He wanted to say something, to snap, to spite her, but nothing came to mind. Only his cheeks heating with shame.

"That's what I thought," She sniffed, pulling away. "You're weak. You don't belong here."

And with that, Ksenia turned on her heel and left him there, curled up on the mat. Even as Sabina and Oksana rushed to his aid, Dmitri couldn't find it in himself to reassure them.

Ksenia was right.

What was he doing here?