I made my way over to the next station: the tightrope. The hail was getting bigger, and it felt as though someone were pelting me with tiny rocks. The ground was turning to slush, and my clothes were soaked through.
The rope’s length wasn’t a far distance to cross really, maybe ten feet at most, and no more than a foot or two above the ground. But I wasn’t exactly known for my balance, and now with the rainstorm and my slippery boots, I was especially wary.
“Hurry up,” Jake, one of the two stocky brothers from the prince’s following, growled at me. He shoved me closer, and I swallowed.
Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to take one solid step at a time.
At first everything was fine. I was gingerly making my way across, inching one foot in front of the other slowly. Then the wind picked up and I instantly lost balance. My foot started to slide. I twisted my body awkwardly to accommodate the lost footing.
Somehow, I managed to keep my position on the rope.
I quickly crossed the remaining distance and then hopped to the ground.
The first-years after me charged the rope. As I was walking away I could hear the boy who had shoved me struggling to balance. A second later Jake yelped. Ha.
My glee was short-lived. I had barely taken a step forward when the sound of whipping air alerted me to a danger at my left.
I ducked, only just in time to avoid one of the assisting mage’s magically-steered throwing knives. It was as if someone had read my thoughts. I guiltily made my way to the final station, resolving not to rejoice at any more of my fellow students’ misery.
I picked up a staff and turned to face a swallow-faced manservant. This one looked very thin and wispy, and he clutched his weapon awkwardly. But, like my previous sparring partner, his lack of skill was well-matched for my fatigue.
I made the first move. Feigning a downward swoop and attacking from the left instead, I caught my partner off-guard and managed to place a satisfying hit.
My partner glared at me, no doubt angry at his new bruise, and he lunged at me with vengeance. I hastily put up a defense and deflected his oncoming blows. It was a short three minutes, but it was tiring just the same.
By the time I had started my final sparring session I was at the point of collapse. I was panting so heavily that I was unable to keep my staff level, let alone lead the attack.
As luck would have it, I ended up partnered with the same disgruntled servant as the last two rounds. He had grown confident in my increasingly weak defense, and he seemed determined to take it out once and for all. I had a feeling most of constable’s team was doing the same— seizing the opportunity to take vengeance on all the first-years who had made their lives difficult, even if our only crime was inhabiting the Academy.
“What’s the matter, first-year?” my opponent crooned. He was spinning the staff in his hands as he circled me, looking for an opening.
I refused to respond and focused all of my senses on the pole in his hand.
“Too good for me, are you?” The man lunged left.
My arms shook from the impact and I gritted my teeth. Two more minutes, Ryiah, I promised, two minutes, and then this is all over.
Smack!
My ribcage stung with the sudden impact. I doubled over, cursing my stupidity. I’d stopped paying attention for a second, and the manservant had delivered an especially hard blow to my ribs.
“Don’t know why you first-years bother,” the small man taunted. “It’s the same every year, and yet you still come here thinking you are different.” He positioned himself to strike left again, and I braced myself, too tired to read into the telltale signs that he was feigning the movement.
Wait…
Too late I saw where he intended his staff to land. With all the strength I could muster,I cast out an image of the block I was too slow to carry out. It was the same technique I had been practicing with Ella, but I had never tried it in class.
The loud clap of wood-on-wood resounded in my ears. I gave way to a small sigh of relief. It had worked.
The man turned to our commander a couple paces away. “She cheated!”
Sir Piers shrugged. “She used her magic, just as any soldier would use what skills he possessed in battle.”
“Very good,” Master Cedric said, coming to stand beside Piers. “It would seem you pay attention after all.”
I flushed.
“Thank you, master.” I bowed my head and then hurried to set down my staff and join the group of first-years who had already finished across the field.
When I got to the benches I eagerly grabbed a flagon of water and then sat down to watch the rest of the class complete the drill.
In five short minutes the ordeal was over. As soon as everyone had finished, Piers commanded his audience to spend the final hour drilling with the staffs at a more “relaxed” pace.
Only the most injured were allowed to be seen by a healing mage. Apparently, our cuts and bruises built character. We needed to build up our tolerance to pain, not succumb to it. Piers emphasized that unless we had a deep flesh wound or a broken bone, we were not to be treated.
Only two of us fit that category. A chubby girl with auburn curls had a horrible gash on her lower calf. She’d been victim to one of the throwing knives. Seeing how the girl had only finished a couple minutes after me, I was deeply impressed.
The only other to receive medical attention was Darren’s friend Jake, the burly boy who had rushed me at the tightrope. Apparently, he’d twisted his ankle while falling and broken the bone in a clumsy attempt to avoid hitting glass.
“Glad I’m not that chap right now,” Alex remarked cheerfully behind me.
I turned to look at my brother. He looked in far better spirits than the rest of us, despite the fact he’d been wheezing just moments before. I wondered if he had healed himself, though he’d be a fool to try in front of Piers.
“Oh pipe down, you big oaf,” Ella told him, stepping in beside us. “That boy could have been any of us.”
I followed the two of them as we discarded our training staffs and waited for Master Cedric to return and begin the next lesson.
“I wonder what Cedric planned for the Combat castings?” Ella mused.
I bit my lip. Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to be easy.
The next two hours stole every ounce of will from my body until all that remained was the empty shell of a corpse. I honestly have no idea how I carried on from the two hours with Piers prior, but by the time I had finished Cedric’s session, there was nothing left. No strength, no magic, no resolve.
While Piers’s time had revolved around breaking our physical reserves, Cedric’s made sure to tear down our magic’s limits. He started us off with simple castings against one of the various trees surrounding the field. We were to experiment casting various inflictions, whatever magic we so desired as long as it contributed to the practice of Combat.
“Show me what you know! Test your limits, challenge your castings! This is your chance to figure out what you know and what spells you need to improve. If you don’t get the desired effect cast again. Keep casting those ailments until the tree can no longer stand. Don’t worry about the field. My assistants are plenty experienced repairing your messes!”
By the end of the first hour, the pine Ella and I had been practicing on was a crackling tower of flame. I was ridiculously proud, until I saw the giant fissure Darren and his friends had created. Ten pines lay crumbled in its center.
Afterwards, Master Cedric had us drill similarly to how Ella and I had practiced during the previous weeks. Each of us lined up against an opponent, one of us clutching a staff, the other weaponless. While Ella and I had been able to rely on our prowess first, magic second, Master Cedric’s exercise forced one person to depend entirely on their magic to block their opponent’s attack. I was tolerable at first, but after twenty minutes my blocks were so weak that my opponent’s staff kept falling straight through the wavering defense.
During the last thirty minutes the training master had us casting individually with the heavy barley sacks from Piers’s drill. We were expected to blast our targets from afar, by whatever means necessary. Within the first five minutes I had exhausted any left over magic. I could barely budge a sack, let alone cast enough force to knock it backward.
A third of the way into our final drill half the class had run out of magic. Of course, we were still expected to try. But without a magical reserve they, like me, spent the remaining time pretending as they watched the few still casting with unabashed envy.
The non-heir appeared self-assured as he sent the giant sacks flying backward across the field. The castings relied on huge gusts of magical exertion. I couldn’t imagine the power it took to throw fifty pound with the mind. I couldn’t even do that with my hands, and I’d had those all my life.
Darren was not alone either, though he did look the most at ease during the procession. Some of the remaining first-years were even smiling. The non-heir had the most blatant grin of all. From the looks the victors exchanged, it was clear they considered the practice nothing more than a game.
They took turns trying to out-distance one another. Darren was the clear victor, but the blonde girl stood out the most. Darren had cast the most most magic but two of Eve’s castings had gone at least a quarter of a mile further than anyone else’s reach, including the his.
I had a vague suspicion the girl was holding out. I wasn’t sure exactly why but I had a feeling that I would find out at the end-of-year trials. Darren was hard to beat, but something told me I’d be a fool to think he had no rivals here. I suspected Eve was one of them—and hopefully me, if I were to ever catch up.
When the lesson had ended that last impression stayed with me long after I had finished the evening meal.
By the time I had retired to the library’s third floor for the evening I was fighting sleep with every page I turned. My eyelids kept involuntarily falling closed. At some point during the first hour I must have fallen asleep because it was only during the toll of the Academy’s midnight bell that my reverie was broken, and I realized how late it had actually become.
Sluggishly, I gathered my belongings and descended to the first floor study.
“In case you have ever wondered, you snore like a drunken sailor.”
I finished stepping off the ladder’s frame and turned to face Darren. He looked pretty worn out himself, but not so much that I couldn’t catch the wicked humor in his eyes.
I had no energy left for witty banter. “Not that it’s any of your concern,” I said, trying to stifle a yawn, “but I wasn’t asleep the entire time.”
I made my way to the door and was startled to see the non-heir had joined me, books in hand. Usually he snuck out a minute or so after I left, whether as a cautionary measure or to avoid conversation, it was anyone’s guess.
Darren noticed my stare and shrugged. “It’s been almost two months, if you were foolish enough to get caught, it would have happened by now.”
I attempted a frown, but I was too tired to give anything more than a slight grimace. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
He twisted slightly to look at me, the air of mockery gone and replaced with a much more candid light. “I guess I never expected you to last this long,” he admitted, “but you aren’t nearly as hapless as I expected you to be.”
“Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?” I asked, affronted.
He smiled wolfishly. “Interpret it however you like.”
I rolled my eyes as we turned the corner of the hall.
I watched the prince reach for the door. “I wonder if you have ever given someone a compliment that wasn’t a backhanded insult.”
Darren’s grasp on the handle stilled, and he glanced back at me, eyes dancing amidst the surrounding shadows. “I prefer not to. It gives people an unsettling impression of self-importance.”
“Me?” I scoffed. “Self-important? Have you checked a mirror?”
He didn’t look away. “You will thank me one day for not filling your head with false compliments. Adversity teaches one more than flattery ever will.”
“A compliment never hurt anyone.”
He snorted. “If I had listened to everything the courtiers sang, I never would have gotten to where I am today. The people that tell you what you want to hear are the most dangerous enemies you’ll ever meet.”
I stared at him. “You must have had a dark childhood if you mistrusted anyone who was ever kind to you.”
Darren tilted his head and gave me a wicked smile. “You’d rather I tell you what you want to hear?” The prince took a step closer, effectively closing the gap between us. “What do you want me to tell you, Ryiah?” His hand was still on the doorknob, leaving me pressed against the wooden frame as he leaned closer, his face only inches from my own.
My breath caught in my throat. I could feel tingling from the top of my spine to the tips of my toes, and my skin was unnaturally warm. My heart rate slowed. I felt light-headed, thrown off by the dark, bottomless eyes boring into my own.
What are you doing, Ryiah? Some part of me, conscious of the disaster that was about to unfold, pleaded to return to sanity. But all my senses were in chaos.
I didn’t like how Darren was able to turn my body against me. He had stolen reason and made me no better than a swooning convent girl whose only purpose was to marry and waste her life away bearing spoiled palace brats. Like the one in front of me now.
“You should never trust a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Darren said faintly. His eyes burned, scalding my flesh as if he had torched me with flame. “Because the only thing the wolf will ever want to do is break you.” He reached down to catch a strand of my hair that had somehow fallen loose, twirling it with his finger and watching me the way a hunter regarded its prey. “Is that what you want me to do?” he murmured. “Do you want me to break you?”
Yes.
Wait…
What was wrong with me? I snapped free of the tempered fantasy to glare up at the manipulative young man in front of me. “I don’t know what lines you feed the ladies at court,” I told him angrily, “but they won’t work on me.”
He laughed softly. “Are you sure?”
I opened my mouth to protest, and Darren stepped aside. “Rest assured you are not one of my conquests, Ryiah.”
I choked indignantly. “I would never!”
The non-heir raised a brow. “You have a long road ahead of you, my dear. If you want to join the victor’s circle, you are going to have to stop taking offense to everything I say.”
“If I want to join your ‘victor’s circle?’” I shot him an incredulous look.
The dark-haired prince opened the door and waved me forward. “I wasn’t lying when I said you might have potential.”
“Well, as long as it’s been decided,” I said sarcastically.
“That,” he said slowly, “is a decision I have yet to make.”
I woke the next morning feeling as if I had downed an entire bottle of my parents’ precious wine stores. My head spun, my limbs ached, and my dreams had been alarming to say the least.
If you want to join the victor’s circle.
Frustrated, I heaved my pillow at the wall. I don’t want or need your help, you self-inflated peacock.
Do you want me to break you?
I felt bile rise in my throat as I recalled my weak-willed reaction during the prince’s attempts to disarm me.
No. I want you to leave me alone. I tore off the bed sheets and hastily pulled on my breeches and tunic.
“Bad dream?” Ella inquired from the bunk beside. She looked groggy as well, and I could tell from the way she stretched, flinchingly, that I wasn’t the only one who would be suffering during today’s lessons.
“You have no idea.”
“Well, it’s a new day,” she remarked. “I’m sure another session with Piers and Cedric will leave your nightmare far behind.”
Not far en
ough though, I grumbled.
CHAPTER EIGHT
On the last day of Combat’s orientation, no one had resigned, and Piers came into practice with a raging fervor.
“I told Barclae I’d cut this flock by five!” he roared. “And yet you have all remained to spite me… Apparently your lot has a backbone. I intend to break it. No one leaves my class today until I have five.”
I exchanged nervous glances with Alex and Ella. We had all known this was coming. Piers had been growing increasingly upset as the week progressed, and today would be the accumulation of his wrath.
We were not mistaken.
Piers had teamed up with Master Cedric and his team of assisting mages to create the four most intensive hours of our time thus far. Instead of the traditional obstacle run around the stadium we were led out to the mountainous terrain just east of the Academy and the Western Sea.
Today there was only one rule: don’t ask for help. There would be no healers. The only way we would receive treatment was if we withdrew. We’d had almost two months of training: “At this point you either have what it takes—or you resign.”
The course had been designed for Combat, but we were still expected to participate even if it wasn’t our intended faction. Endurance and stamina were prerequisites for all lines of magic. Any student that chose to leave would never have made it far anyway.
Now we were now supposed to race up and down a treacherous trail dodging a random assault of castings. The constable’s team had been invited to participate too, only unlike the last six days they now lurked throughout the entire mountain, awaiting unsuspecting first-years to engage.
We were to reach a ravine that was only accessible by a long climb and descent a good hour or two in each direction. And, of course, somewhere in the middle of that narrow valley was a chest filled with a hundred copper tokens.
There were one hundred and twenty-two of us.
“You have not completed my course until you hand me your token,” Piers warned. He didn’t tell us what would happen if we didn’t, but it was clear that those without would be subject to some sort of horrific test, the kind that wouldn’t end until he had gotten his five deserters “by whatever means necessary.”
First Year Page 12
