It was easy for Lucivar to detach from the practice, going through the motions coolly, thinking about something entirely different. The solid sound of wood hitting wood, however, broke his reverie. It took Lucivar only a moment to spin his Eyrien stick, deflecting the false blade slicing toward his collarbone and sweeping his own blade up through his opponent's belly, turning the blade to finish by cutting his throat.

"Freeze."

Lucivar blinked and registered his opponent, unharmed. He met Falonar's angry folden eyes and snarl with a cool, even gaze.

"Falonar, don't leave your belly open. Offensive at the loss of defensive would have you killed. Lucivar, good job. Step back, you two. Next pair."

Lucivar felt a quiet glow of pride. Lack of criticism was rare, but praise, even small, was even rarer from Hallevar. Stripping off the sweaty tunic-shirt he was wearing, he took a gulp of water, shaking out his shoulders.

"Falonar, get off the field!" Hallevar snapped. Lucivar stopped, stiffening. He could feel Falonar's gaze burning between his shoulder blades and felt his stomach turn over, knowing what would happen.

"Stop pretending you belong here. You never will."

Hallevar was shouting something angry, but Lucivar wasn't listening anymore. He drew his shoulders up toward his ears, hunching his back like a cat at bay.

"Half breed bastard," Falonar said casually, tossing the words out as if they meant nothing, but Lucivar could hear the note of savage satisfaction in his voice. "You'll never be anything more than"- he spat – "a half-"

Lucivar smashed into him with a furious yell before he could finish.

He'd heard the words before, whispered behind his back or muttered just far enough away that they couldn't be challenged. But like this, from Falonar – the shame was a lead ball in his throat that he couldn't swallow.

Surprised, Falonar went down hard, the Eyrien stick flying loose from his hand as he flailed for balance. Lucivar kicked and punched wildly, fury roaring in his ears, a fire in the pit of his stomach that was not assuaged by the thud of fists hitting flesh. It took a long time to realize that someone was yelling at him, and then he was dragged roughly to his feet. His face hurt, and is chest ached where a lucky kick had connected. Lucivar lifted a hand and touched the throbbing ache that was his nose, fingers coming away bloody. Looking up at Falonar, he was pleased to see that he'd come out of the fight better.

He realized someone was yelling at him still and tried to concentrate, but his heart thudded too loudly, drowning out everything but the oil slick of anger in his veins.

His gaze moved down as Falonar's lips moved. It was easy to read the word.

Bastard.

The word stretched into two hateful syllables. He didn't hear himself snarl as Falonar turned away, flanked by his friends, but he felt it vibrate in his throat, humiliated fury putting a glazed sheen on his eyes.