Calen gave the order at the lodging door, before the bell. The class would sit in the lower east stands for the morning bouts, under Hoff’s eye, and they would come back when the sand was empty.
“Watch the feet,” he said. “Count the touches. Say nothing until the flag is down.”
“Count the touches,” Liss said.
“Count the dead?” Tobin asked.
“Count what they show you,” Calen said. “Not what you think they will do.”
Kade adjusted the collar of his coat. “The Duke will count his own touches.”
“Then count them with the class,” Calen said. “Walk.”
The lower east stands were already full when they arrived. The air smelled of lamp oil and sweat and the sweet bread the sellers carried in baskets. A child on a father’s shoulders waved a paper flag with a Silverspire tower printed on it.
