Soon winter break ended, bleak and boring. The only new addition to my mundane life was my father, drilling me on about my laziness for not sparring in winter. I had no partner but Daniel said he could take me on just to stop father from gnawing away at me.

When we both were outside and darting about, occasionally crossing swords, but his blows were weak, unlike Clive's. Daniel couldn't really fight me so he was evenly making sure we were crossing swords and nothing more.

I despised the pity yet I enjoyed it. Unknown to him, father was practically the leader of the rebels, and his sons were pawns and sold off for connections. I was surprised he was engaged to Heloise and somehow, the thought of Clive and her face fused, and the lack of Clive never left my head.

When school started once more I bid them goodbye, almost afraid of what father will be next time I see him, and the headache that came with his pressure. I'll be his last pawn, after all.

I had sent my letter to Clive but I highly doubt he received it because I had no response, nothing. I waited to catch him private and ask about the letter, but unfortunately mornings were busy.

Boys I barely remembered—Arthur and Noah and the others—rushed to ask me about mine and brag about theirs. The room with Will and Wyatt was silent and Will and I carried an idle conversation; Will talked about how silly his younger siblings were and asked if I enjoyed seeing mine and I said yes. It technically wasn't a lie because without Jonathan and Daniel I had no one else to lean on.

Even if they were ignorant about getting played.

The second class we shared, Clive was still missing. In his absence the popular boys gathered around me, pushing Will to the sides.

Their spit landed on me and I held back the urge to grab someone's collar and tell them to get out of my sight. Why isn't Clive in class? Was my letter connected? My mind raced with theories until class ended and I stayed behind, asking the Latin professor if Clive had given note of his absence.

"Well, that's private matter but you need not worry, Clive Vagrant has informed me he will be missing class for a while."

"A while? Pardon me, but did Clive tell you in person or through the Headmaster?" I pressed on.

My professor smiled. "The Headmaster. He got permission from him, after all."

Damn it!

I had half a mind to rush to the Headmaster's office, but I knew I had no power—no way to take Clive away safely with me. My house was in turmoil, and the Headmaster had guardianship of Clive, who was nothing but a vagrant.

I stood there and my professor said he'll begin class preparations if I had no further questions, and I nodded and left for my next class.

That day I didn't see Clive at all.

The days came and passed, and over a week Clive was gone from the academy, all professors replied the Headmaster had granted him time off.

"Maybe he's injured," some said.

"Maybe his family matters are important," others said.

Even the boys around us had began to ask. Cory caught me one day and asked if I had seen Clive at all.

"No, I haven't. Why?"

Cory scratched at his head, eyes darting around. "I just found it weird he isn't back. I lent him a textbook of mine."

"Which?" I asked.

"The history textbook. Can you grab it for me if you're his roommate?"

"We had different rooms this year," I reminded him. His face fell.

"Aw shucks, I really needed that book."

Watching him sigh and turn and walk away made me realize something incredibly sad. Clive had been gone this long, and only I was counting the days. The only other person who sought him out was for a textbook.

The thought scared me, and I had awful dreams of Clive getting murdered, and everyone just stood around his corpse and said too bad, and walked away. In my dream somehow I, too turned and left, walking away with Will, Cory, and Hale.

I woke up in a terrible mood and it marked two weeks of Clive being gone.

I loved my repetitive life, going to class and taking notes all the while anxious. I had even taken up biting my thumbs, an embarrassing habit I had to stop if I went home.

That day during physical education I was too aggressive against Will, my sparring partner. Wyatt laughed as Will fell back to his butt and stared up at me in fear, his sword knocked out and slid on the ground. The other boys were quiet, not knowing whether to laugh along or comfort me.

Hale and Cory pulled Will up and I asked him if he was fine, my grip loosening on my sword and finally realizing how hard I had been holding my hand.

It was like back when Clive and I used to kill, and I gripped my sword in fear and such—naivety. I hadn't known the true fear of killing someone I knew. Someone who was my peer.

I reached out shakily to see Will's hands; Clive had done that to me a year ago. His hands weren't hurt and I had merely knocked his sword away and picked it up for him. Hale looked at me.

"If you aren't feeling good take a rest, Nathan. You've been like this all day."

Will nodded. "I wasn't hurt, but I think fighting with anyone else like that could prove fatal." He paused, as though thinking, Maybe Clive would be fine, but he closed his parted lips.

"Great," Wyatt snickered sarcastically. "Now they'd better see how weak my partner is."

"Will isn't weak!"

My voice came out a shout, and I froze.

"It's fine, Nathan. Go and sit for a while," Will assured me.

"Are you mad because you lost the Headmaster's favor?" I glared at Wyatt. "You two were always going to be paired against Clive and I, that man loves to pit us against one another! Now he only gives Clive those 'missions', as he calls—but it's all a joke!"

"I was a knight in training!" Wyatt stormed to me but I raised my chest, ready to fight.

"We were his fighting dogs," I growled.

"Even so, it meant something more! We were chosen, different from these boys!" Wyatt screamed. "If my partner was Clive, I could've stayed a knight!"

Boys looked confused but gathered around us as we argued.

"Was it really worth it? Killing people?" I whispered.

Wyatt stopped, wordless, and that's when I knew for sure they had killed people, too. I thought of our victims and how they begged.

I thought of Clive.

"You'll never understand," Wyatt whispered. "I wanted to be partners with Clive. I always wanted to be like him."

Clive was once the center of the school's attention, but for a year he had cast away his status in the academy just to be with the gloomy Rottings son. I thought of what they knew of Clive—an innocent, strong, and encouraging personality.

He was so much more than such words; he bore a burden we could never imagine.

"I wanted to be like him, too," I said. "I love him."

Wyatt looked at me, and the boys nearby gasped and whispers traveled.

"What? You love Clive?"

"Why are you two not partners?"

"But you two are not talking to each other—"

"Where is Clive? Do you know?"

Saying those words made me realize how sad I had been this year, and how much I missed him. I loved him, after all. We fought and we had a secretive life, we killed and lost and found each other, again and again.

Yet now I knew of his secret with the Headmaster.

I had to save Clive this time.

The faces of our friends' shocked faces didn't deter me at all, and I glanced briefly at those boys who meant nothing compared to Clive. I sheathed my sword quietly despite the words I heard and left for the benches.

***

I dressed and left the large gymnasium where my class was and went to the dorms, snow crunching under my boots. It was February and so lonely without him. Even watching Clive from a distance was better than none at all.

I entered the dorms and sneaked up the stairs and then to Clive's room. I tried the door and it wasn't locked. In a hurry I opened it and snuck in.

The room was empty. I opened the curtain for light and searched and saw it. His unmade bed, and a certain familiar envelope next to his pillow. He had opened it in a rush and the paper was jagged, and I opened my own letter and saw it was creased and parts of the ink had smudged.

Clive had cried reading my letter.

Relief and regret flooded me; I was pleased to know he read it, but it hurt that I couldn't save him despite my high and mighty words.

I reread my own letter and choked back screams. I cried and sat there on his bed, crying so quietly but my throat could not make any sound.

His room was messy as always, but his notes were on his desk, and a history textbook was there.

Later that day I handed Cory the textbook.

"What—is this yours?"

"No, it's yours," I replied.

He checked the inside and a bookmark that I assumed was his was there. His eyes widened. "But how did you find this?" he asked.

"I just took it back." I was quiet as the boys looked at me, pointing fingers. I could imagine what they were saying about me.

"You know how the boys are strange about you now?" he asked. "Listen, you can eat lunch with Hale and I, and of course Will. Ignore Wyatt, Noah, and that group."

The kindness should've made me happy, but I'd trade anyone for Clive. I forced a small smile.

"Thank you."