“What’s going on?” I ask him, nodding to the rest of the class. My eyes linger on Cal, currently doing push-ups in perfect form.

“You’ll see in a minute,” Maven replies, his voice oddly dull.

When Arven enters with Provos, even he has a strange spring in his step. He doesn’t bark out an order to run, and approaches the class instead.

“Tirana,” Instructor Arven murmurs.

A girl in a blue-striped suit, the nymph from House Osanos, jumps to attention. She makes her way toward the center of the floor, waiting for something. She looks equal parts excited and terrified.

Arven turns, searching through us. For a second, his eyes linger on me but thankfully shift to Maven.

“Prince Maven, if you please.” He gestures to where Tirana waits.

Maven nods and moves to stand beside her. Both of them tense, fingers twitching as they await whatever’s coming.

Suddenly, the training floor moves around them, pushing clear walls up to form something. Again, Provos raises his arms, using his abilities to transform the training hall. As the structure takes shape, my heart hammers, realizing exactly what it is.

An arena.

Cal takes Maven’s place at my side, his movements quick and silent. “They won’t hurt each other,” he explains. “Arven stops us before anyone can do real damage, and there are healers on hand.”

“Comforting,” I choke out.

In the center of the quickly forming arena, both Maven and Tirana prepare for their match. Maven’s bracelet sparks, and fire blazes in his hands, streaking up his arms, while droplets of moisture leech from the air to swirl around Tirana in a ghostly display. Both of them look ready for battle.

Something about my unease sets Cal on edge. “Is Maven the only thing you’re worried about?”

Not even close. “Protocol’s not exactly easy right now.” I’m not lying, but on my list of problems, learning to dance is at the very bottom. “It seems I’m even worse at dancing than memorizing court etiquette.”

To my surprise, Cal laughs loudly. “You must be horrible.”

“Well, it’s difficult to learn without a partner,” I snap, bristling at him.

“Indeed.”

The last two pieces lock together, completing the training arena and fencing in Maven and his opponent. Now they’re separated from the rest of us by thick glass, trapped together in a miniature version of a battle arena. The last time I watched Silvers fight, someone almost died.

“Who has the advantage?” Arven says, questioning the class. Every hand but mine shoots into the air. “Elane?”

The Haven girl juts her chin forward, speaking proudly. “Tirana has the advantage. She is older and more experienced.” Elane says this like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Maven’s cheeks flush white, though he tries to hide it. “And water defeats fire.”

“Very good.” Arven shifts his eyes back to Maven, daring him to argue. But Maven holds his tongue, letting the growing fire speak for him. “Impress me.”

They collide like storm clouds, spitting fire and rain in a duel of the elements. Tirana uses her water like a shield and to Maven’s fiery attacks, it’s impenetrable. Every time he gets close to her, swinging with flaming fists, he comes back with nothing but steam. The battle looks even, but somehow Maven seems to have the edge. He’s on the offensive, backing her into a wall.

All around us, the class cheers, goading on the warriors. I used to be disgusted by displays like this, but now I’m having a hard time keeping quiet. Every time Maven attacks, closer to pinning down Tirana, it’s all I can do not to cheer with the others.

“It’s a trap, Mavey,” Cal whispers, more to himself than anyone.

“What is it? What’s she going to do?”

Cal shakes his head. “Just watch. She’s got him.”

But Tirana looks anything but victorious. She’s flat against the wall, dueling hard behind her watery shield as she blocks blow after blow.

I don’t miss the lightning-quick moment as Tirana literally turns the tide on Maven. She grabs his arm and pulls, spinning around so they trade places in a heartbeat. Now it’s Maven behind her shield, pinned between the water and the wall. But he can’t control the water and it presses against him, holding him back even as he tries to burn it away. The water only boils, bubbling over his blazing skin.

Tirana stands back, watching him struggle with a smile on her face. “Yield?”

A stream of bubbles escapes Maven’s lips. Yield.