First Year

by Rachel E. Carter

  We were all nervous. The tension in the air was thick as we poured over our volumes, each silently hoping that we had learned enough to not humiliate ourselves in the weeks that mattered.

  The second and third months were when we would lose the most students, according to Master Barclae’s ominous admission that evening at dinner. “You can’t fake it for long herehe’d warned. “Beginning tomorrow we will see what you can do instead of what you know. Many start to resign because they see what kind of magical prowess they are actually going up against. That, and they can’t keep up.”

  In any case, the entire library was much more quiet than usual. When Barrius came round for his usual dismissal, it took twice the time it usually did for him to clear the first two floors. Everyone was reluctant to leave. Unfortunately, that also made it impossible for me to escape to the alcove unnoticed.

  Irritated, I retreated with the rest of the crowd to my barracks, resolving to sneak my way back at the earliest opportunity.

  After the constable’s final round, I hastily pushed my blankets away and reached for my books in the darkness.

  “Still at it?” Ella whispered from her bunk nearby.

  I should have known better than to expect everyone to have already fallen asleep.

  I clutched my materials and squeezed my way past the scattered belongings strewn across the floor.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” I told her quietly as I passed her bunk.

  “Don’t be up too late,” she reminded gently. “We’ve got our work cut out tomorrow.”

  “I know,” I replied grimacing. “I’ll try not—”

  “Would you two keep it down?” an irritated voice shot out from across the room. It belonged to my biggest fan, Priscilla.

  I hastily crossed the room to the door while Ella told Priscilla where she could stick her complaints.

  Upon exiting the building, I made a mad rush for the backdoors of the Academy. They were only a couple hundred feet away, but the pathway was completely exposed without a tree for cover. Barrius’s staff would be patrolling since it was still early on, and the last thing I wanted was to be discovered.

  I had just made it across and quietly shut the doors behind when I heard a slight squeaking a couple paces to my left.

  I froze. It was too dark to see. Holding my breath, I waited, praying whoever was there hadn’t heard me.

  Silence.

  I waited a couple moments longer, but there was no further sound.

  Suddenly, a chamber door slammed and I heard two servants’ excited voices. They were far enough away that they hadn’t spotted me yet in the shadows, but I knew it was only a matter of time.

  To make matters worse, there was a bright light coming from the furthest end of the hall. The servants’ torch was quickly eating away the shadows and casting an unflattering light across the walls it touched.

  Panic filled my gut. Who knew how far Barrius would go if he found me breaking curfew? I couldn’t get caught.

  I felt my way along the rough sandstone wall, inching towards the light, trying to remember if I’d seen a passageway this close to the back entry of the Academy. Surely the servants had some quarters nearby. I was in the constable’s corridor after all.

  The voices were drawing nearer, as was the light, and I knew I had only a minute or so left before I was spotted. I continued my blind fumbling, ignoring the pain in my hand as I shoved it against the wall’s uncut surface, desperately seeking a handle or crevice that would indicate a room behind.

  My hand caught on a smooth, hard panel, and I knew I had found a door. I felt around for the knob and had only just opened it a crack when an arm shot out and yanked me inside. The door slammed the door shut just as a hand covered my mouth to muffle my cry.

  It took a second for my fear to subside as I realized who had pulled me back. There was the slightest bit of light coming through the cracks in the wooden frame, and it was enough for me to recognize the face of my so-called captor. Darren quickly let go and motioned for me to stay still.

  I could hear the two servants just outside our door.

  “—Know I heard something this time,” the first was saying. “I’m sure of it.”

  “Well, come on then. Help me open this door,” the second drawled, “I bet you there’s a first-year hiding on the other side. The constable will have a field day when we show him!”

  I swallowed and looked wildly to Darren who stood closest to the door. The two of us were crammed in some sort of storage closet. Giant sacks of flour and wheat lined the shelves, and there was nowhere to hide. We barely had enough room to stand, let alone disappear.

  Darren didn’t look too worried, however. Instead, he put a finger to his lips and then shut his eyes, leaning against the nearest shelf.

  Meditation isn’t going to do much good when they catch us, I thought crossly.

  The knob rattled. I held my breath and prepared for the inevitable result.

  Nothing happened. The rattling continued, but the door stayed shut.

  “That’s strange… This door doesn’t even have a lock.”

  “Let me have a go at it.”

  The metal knob continued to shake, but it was no closer to opening.

  I looked to Darren in the shadows, suspicious and relieved. The door had opened easily enough for me. It was clear he was doing more than just meditating.

  “It’s not letting up.”

  “Well, let’s check the gardens, maybe whoever we heard made it outside.”

  “Must have,” the second agreed. “Nobody could have opened this door.”

  The rattling stopped, and the servants’ steps retreated. After a couple of minutes I willed myself to breathe more easily, taking slow gulps of air.

  “They’re gone now. Come on.” Darren seemed impatient as he held the door, stealing nervous glances down the hall.

  I stared at him. “How did you do that with the door?”

  Darren ignored my question. “Are you coming or not?”

  I sighed and joined him in the hall.

  Darren shut the door behind us, softly, and turned to face me.

  “Don’t make any sudden noises,” he instructed. “There’s still bound to be a few more servants up at this hour.”

  He started off, heading towards the west corridor, and I called out after him, “Where are you going?”

  The non-heir turned and gave me an odd look, or what I was convinced was one. I couldn’t be too sure since it was dark again without the servant’s light in the passage.

  “The library. Where else?”

  I felt like a fool.

  “That’s where you’re headed, right?”

  “Yes.” I raced after Darren as he started down the hall.

  “Try not to get us caught this time,” he said.

  I didn’t reply, deciding silence was better than the retort I had half a mind to say. He had saved us after all, even if he was being conceited about it.

  We made it the rest of the way without any trouble. It seemed the two we had first encountered were the only servants concerned with patrolling the east wing of the castle, and we didn’t run into anyone in the west passage leading up to the library either.

  Entering the giant study, I watched as Darren shut the doors behind us and conjured a bit of light in hand. There was just enough to clear up the shadows between us and cast a dim glow on our surroundings.

  I cleared my throat. “Thank you…for helping me back there.” The words were hard to say.

  The prince scoffed. “I didn’t do it for you.”

  “Just take my thanks,” I told him exasperatedly. Whatever his motives were, they had helped me twice now.

  Darren looked amused. “Your thanks?” His expression seemed to imply that they didn’t amount to much.

  I balked. “Well, don’t read too much into it. You’ve been nasty enough that I guess fate was bound to have you do one decent thing for me.”

  The prince recoiled. “And I suppose
you think you’ve done nothing wrong?” he demanded. “In case you failed to remember, you and that girl you always go around with tried to get me thrown out of here.”

  “Well, you are a prince,” I shot back. “You have to admit it isn’t exactly fair.”

  “I will not apologize for my birthright,” Darren said stiffly. He narrowed his eyes and added callously, “I am tired of trying to explain myself to everyone that questions my right to be here. Especially people like you.”

  I glared right back. “I may not be as well-off, but even if I was, I wouldn’t use bloodlines as a means to demean everyone else.”

  “I wasn’t referring to your trivial heritage.” He looked at me contemptuously. “I care little enough whether you grew up in the fields or a damned palace.” He took a step closer and looked down at me, speaking the next few words slowly. “When I say ‘people like you’ I am referring to the ones that so clearly have no real magic or potential of any kind.”

  I clenched my fists until I could no longer feel, fire burning in my veins. Prince or not, I had never come to this close to hitting someone.

  “You.” I couldn’t even come up with the rest. I was livid.

  Darren continued, unaware of how dangerously he was treading. “Really, it’s unthinkable that the masters could even consider the possibility of denying me in favor of someone like you who plainly has no purpose attempting the robes in the first place.”

  My nails dug into my palm, and I was vaguely aware of the warm trickle of blood filling my fist. Heat clouded my vision, and Darren’s smug face filled my mind. When I say people like you. His words were like fire, singeing my skin every place they hit.

  “What are you—stop! STOP!”

  My vision cleared, and I saw Darren madly shaking the sleeves of his tunic, flames spouting from its edges. The flames were getting bigger every second and perilously close to his arms.

  “Don’t just stand there!” he shouted. “Make it stop!”

  I looked down at my hands, which had since unclasped. There was no more pressure or pain. The fire should have snuffed out on its own like it had that time with the moss.

  Only it hadn’t. Just like that other time, with the bandit. What was wrong with me?

  “I can’t,” I exclaimed, panicked.

  “Well, I can’t get it to either!” he shot back. “My magic isn’t—” He cut off mid-sentence and swore as a flame nicked his skin.

  “RYIAH!”

  I raced over and bit back a cry of pain as I helped hold his sleeves while he pulled his arms out one by one. As soon as he finished, I hurriedly lifted the tunic off and tossed it to the floor, stomping out the remaining flames against the black marble.

  “You fool!” Darren declared as soon as the fire was extinguished. The sleeves of his thin undershirt were scorched in several places, revealing painful red swells on both wrists and part of his forearm.

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Of course, you didn’t mean to!” the prince snapped. “You have no control over your own magic!”

  I winced. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Darren lifted one arm at a time, testing the extent of his injury.

  “Do you want me to help you back to your quarters?” He needed to soak those burns before they started to blister. I didn’t have to be my brother to understand that much.

  Darren laughed hoarsely. “I’m staying right where I am. I didn’t come all this way just to turn back.”

  I gaped at him. “You can’t be serious. Your arms…”

  “I’ve experienced far worse than this.” The prince picked up his books and paper and carried them over to his usual chaise. He noticed my stare and added wryly, “You don’t become the best if you aren’t willing to stick your hand in the fire.”

  “I always thought that was an expression.”

  The corner of his lip twitched, and for a moment I thought Darren was about to smile. “I think it was… until tonight.”

  For the rest of the evening I remained on the first floor of the library with the newly-injured non-heir. I could have retired to my alcove, but there was a certain amount of guilt—and curiosity—that prevented me from leaving. Whatever I thought of Darren, he was never what I expected.

  I wondered what he had meant by experiencing “far worse than this.” Darren was a prince. How much suffering could a child of the Crown have had? I bit my lip. He must have been jesting, trying to appear valiant, though he was wasting his efforts on me. I was hardly the one he needed to impress.

  Still, he hadn’t sounded like a braggart or appeared remotely interested in my reaction. If anything, there had been an edge of bitterness to his tone. It was unsettling.

  What did a prince have to be bitter about?

  “Are you done staring?”

  Dropping my quill in surprise, I flushed and met Darren’s amused gaze.

  “I-I didn’t realize I was,” I mumbled.

  He fingered his burnt tunic. “You know, I was wrong about you earlier.”

  I gaped at him. Was Darren apologizing?

  “But I hope you understand why I wasn’t wrong to assume it.”

  I bristled. “What are you talking about?”

  Darren pointed to the book in my lap. “We’ve been down here for thirty minutes, and you have yet to turn the page. For someone so bent on Combat, you sure are making a lot of mistakes.”

  “How did you know I was going to pick Comb—”

  “Please.” Darren rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen you in the practice yards. No one spends that much time trying to impress Sir Piers for his charm. It would be admirable, if you actually knew what you were doing.”

  “Pray, enlighten me,” I growled.

  He cocked his head to the side. “Hard work doesn’t mean anything here if you don’t have the castings to back it.”

  I glared at the prince. “I have magic. You saw it.” And you just admitted that.

  Darren raised a brow. “I know. But you aren’t trying to develop it.”

  “I am trying!” I resisted slamming the book in hand.

  Darren shot me an incredulous look. “You spend all your time in those books and drilling with your friends.”

  “What does that even mean?” I demanded.

  Darren smiled wolfishly. “If you really want an apprenticeship, I am sure you’ll figure it out.”

  The next morning I awoke with a sense of dread. My stomach was in knots, and Darren’s mocking counsel had done nothing to assuage them. The best first-year in the school had insinuated I was making a huge mistake. And instead of telling me how to fix it, he had left me to fend for myself.

  You spend all your time in those books and drilling with your friends. What was wrong with that? I devoted more time than any other student, with the exception of his highness himself, to my studies. Wasn’t that what I was supposed to be doing?

  And what did Darren mean when he said he had been right to assume I was one of “them,” the ones with no real magic or potential? We hadn’t even started casting yet. How could he even discern who the ones with potential were without seeing them cast beforehand?

  He had to be alluding to Master Cedric’s lessons. His were the only ones I continued to struggle with. But it was meditation. Who hadn’t fallen asleep during it?

  And, sure, I hadn’t exactly tried to improve my standing there. But I only had so much time. I couldn’t do well in everything. What more could Darren expect of me? Surely learning to fight and Master Eloise and Isaac’s lessons were more important than focusing on a blade of grass for two hours?

  And why did it matter anyway? Why was I so upset over something the non-heir had said? He wasn’t a master. He was a first-year, a very, very opinionated first-year.

  I shoved my blankets off my cot and stood resolutely. Darren didn’t know what he was talking about. He was just trying to unnerve me. Maybe my potential scared him. I wouldn’t put it past the prince to try and intimidate me into leaving.

>   Determined not to give Darren’s words another thought, I hurried to the dining commons to join my friends.

  “Ready for a change?” Ella greeted me.

  I smiled weakly. “Would it make a difference either way?”

  Alex chuckled.

  Ella elbowed my brother. “Well, ready or not, you two, we are about to embrace the magical realm of blood and bandages.”

  I groaned. “Lucky us.”

  It was bound to be a long, arduous week.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The first day of Restoration did not want to end. If I had ever complained of lack of time before today, I regretted it now.

  Four hours were spent staring at complicated diagrams of human anatomy. Thousands of foreign sounding names for the parts of the vessel and the various rules one was expected to understand in order to mend. We learned about the most common complaints during a knight’s service, and I was surprised to see how much time was spent going over natural maladies. Battle wounds were, apparently, too advanced for the week’s orientation. Instead, we were to focus on the most common inflictions: jungle rot, frostbite, burns, and dehydration.

  Alex and I had an advantage thanks to our years in the family apothecary. Unfortunately, most of that knowledge was lost to some frazzled recess in the corners of my mind. Darren’s warning from the night before kept invading my thoughts, destroying any semblance of concentration I had.

  The next few hours were even more disheartening. Piers had kept our regular conditioning, with its various laps and lunging and stretching between, but he had traded our staffs for heavy, weighted sacks of grain.

  We were instructed to carry, lift, and drag them up and down the field. Repeatedly.

  “Those are your patients,” he barked. “Don’t think you’ll always be able to treat a victim in the middle of a battlefield. If there’s still a fight going on, you’ll need to get them to safety first. So pick up the pace, children!”

  By the end of the exercise my arms were too weak to even reach up and adjust my ponytail.

  Master Cedric’s exercise wasn’t any better. I had thought our first week of actual casting would change things, but it didn’t. At least not in the way I had hoped.