"You'll ruin the line if you go alone," a boy hissed, shoving a sugared pastry into Shen Yu's hand as she stepped out of the courtyard.
"Keep it," she said, straightening the willow-leaf sword at her hip. "I don't want you to choke on it."
"I baked it myself," Li Ziru protested. "That's not choking. That's—" He fumbled for a compliment and landed on, "thoughtful."
"Then stop babbling." Shen Yu tucked the pastry into her sash. Her voice did not invite argument. Li Ziru brightened like someone who had successfully handed over a gift.
"You're practicing on the terrace today, right?" he asked.
"I am," she answered. "Don't follow. You'll trip over your own feet."
"That's true." He grinned helplessly. "But watch. I'll cheer."
"Good." Shen Yu pushed through the wooden gate into the training terrace where Windborne Pavilion's apprentices lined up under the cold wind.
"There's the five-root freak," Yuan Xiu called from the benches. Laughter rippled. The name carried the same tone as a curse.
"Don't start," Feng Yuan said from his post, voice low and hard. He watched with the kind of attention that made students stand straighter. His arms were folded; his eyes measured like a judge's scales.
"She should be expelled before the trial," a voice near the back said.
"Bring proof," Feng Yuan said. He took no bait.
Shen Yu stood on the mahogany planks, sword at ready
