First Year

by Rachel E. Carter

  There was always the Cavalry.

  Pulling on my ragged tunic, I was grateful that the others would be forced to wear the same. I had already stood out enough this week. I didn’t need anything drawing more attention to how ill-prepared I felt.

  Rather than heading to the library to spend the next six hours studying until my eyes bled, I followed the training field to the hill to where I had sulked so many months ago after my mid-year duel with Priscilla.

  The exams were held in a tower to the west of the Academy, just overlooking the cliffs. I had never been. No one other than the judges would be allowed to hear our responses there. The building was disconnected from the rest of the castle’s structure, and it stood a good hundred feet taller than any of the roofs surrounding it. There was an ominous staircase inside, but it did not intimidate me in the least.

  Each toll of the Academy bell to the east and another first-year was summoned. We had been given our individual count. I was to be one of the last for the day. I stayed on the hilltop, watching the small green specks of nervous first-years enter and exit the doors at the edge of the grounds.

  Once the late afternoon sun had set my turn was fast approaching. I left my post and started the descent. By the time I had reached the tower’s base my count had rung. It was time to begin my ascent.

  For ten minutes, I climbed the stairs with increasing apprehension. The inside of the passage was dark and I had to be careful where I stepped. A small flicker of light from the wall sconces was all I had to guide me in the prevalent darkness.

  After five more minutes, I heard the shutting of a door above and moved to the side to let the returning first-year pass. It was only after the halting of footsteps that I looked up and realized who it was I had come across.

  Darren stood, two steps above me, shadows covering all but the barest fragments of his face. He seemed just as shocked as I, though he was much quicker to recover. But not so fast that I missed the flash of guilt that shot across his face.

  My pulse quickened, albeit unwillingly. The non-heir and I had not been alone together once since that day weeks before, and as much as I might loathe him in mind, my traitorous body was slow to follow.

  “Excuse me,” Darren said, making way as if to leave.

  I started to step aside, but then I stopped myself. I would probably never cross paths with the non-heir again, and trials were almost over. This was my one chance to ask.

  “Why did you do it?”

  After everything Darren had done, it shouldn’t have mattered. It didn’t, really, but I needed to hear the words regardless. Because as long as we kept this distance, as long as he avoided me, there would always be some small part of me trying to explain away his actions. Because of that kiss. That stupid, irresponsible kiss, and the way I had felt because of it.

  Darren narrowed his gaze. “You were always so eager to think the worst of me. Would it really make a difference what I told you now?”

  No. It wouldn’t. “I suppose not.” I glanced away, furious that I wanted his answer anyway. Let it go, Ryiah. I clenched my fists, wishing I could make myself as cold and unfeeling as the prince.

  The movement did not go unnoticed.

  Darren studied me in the shadowy passage, head cocked to the side as if I was an experiment he wasn’t quite sure of.

  The warning bell chimed.

  “You should go,” Darren said abruptly. “The judges won’t take kindly to you being late, especially after yesterday’s trial.”

  I shot him an incredulous look. “It’s a bit of a formality, isn’t it? You and I both know my fate has already been sealed.”

  The non-heir frowned. “You shouldn’t discount yourself, Ryiah.”

  I stiffened. “You are truly something,” I told him, “still playing at your mind games even after all you’ve done—”

  “Mind games?” Darren looked outraged, even though he had no right to be. “Are you really so daft?”

  “Not enough to fall for false flattery twice.”

  “For the love of—” Darren slammed his fist against the wall and glared down at me. “I guess I should congratulate myself,” he declared, “on helping the world’s biggest idiot!”

  “Helping?” I spat. “Helping? What part of your actions was ‘helping?’” I climbed the remaining steps so that he could not escape. Fury was keeping my senseless attraction in check.

  “Was it when you were sabotaging me in the mountains? Insulting me at every turn? Or when you kissed me and then dumped an entire vat full of pig’s blood on me the next time we talked?” I grabbed the non-heir’s sleeve, forcing him to meet my cold, angry eyes. “Really, Darren, which one of those should I be thanking you for?”

  Our faces were inches apart, and Darren’s livid gaze was burning me alive. “You really want the truth, Ryiah?” he demanded.

  I refused to cower.

  “Priscilla was going to go after you whether I led the hazing or not.” He watched the full impact of his words hit me like a ton of bricks. “She had something far worse in mind, something that might have actually made you resign. She hates you. And after she found out that I’d…that you and I…”

  I released Darren’s arm and dropped his gaze immediately, suddenly aware that I had been holding onto both for far too long. There was a heavy pounding in my chest.

  “Jake saw us that night,” Darren continued, unfazed. “Eve warned me what they were planning. I thought maybe if I avoided you, Priscilla would drop the vendetta, but she didn’t.” Darren exhaled loudly. “I am sorry I didn’t warn you, Ryiah, but Priscilla would never have listened to me if I’d asked her to stop. It would have just complicated things…so I told her I wanted to help. I figured it was better that way. I could halt the worst of her plan without anyone being the wiser. She was much more willing when she thought you were a mistake.”

  “You call that ‘helping?’” I choked. “You still let her haze me. and it was you, not Priscilla, who led me straight into it.”

  Darren raised a brow. “I was helping you. It was much better than her original idea, and everyone knows hazing is a tradition—”

  “So that’s your argument.”

  “I knew you could take care of yourself,” Darren countered. “Plenty of Jerar’s mages have gone through the same.”

  “You weren’t hazed.”

  Darren rolled his eyes dramatically. “If you must know, Ryiah, I still almost stopped you, only you opened that door anyway, and by then it was too late.”

  A long silence followed his confession.

  He had to be lying. He is just trying to manipulate me again.

  What had he said right before I went outside that night? “Wait, Ryiah, don’t—”

  And then to Priscilla when she was about to attack me: “She’s not worth it.”

  Had he been protecting me? He couldn’t have. But then why had he only deflected my casting when I had tried to attack him? And why had he ceased brawling with my brother the second Alex had mentioned my name? And stopped his own brother that first day of trials?

  Millions of thoughts were racing through my head, and none of them were making any sense. Or rather they were. I just wasn’t sure I wanted to trust them.

  “Still can’t make up your mind about me, can you, Ryiah?”

  I glanced up, startled.

  Darren’s garnet eyes met mine. He seemed tired, and I wondered if it was because of me, or the trial he had just come from.

  “You are probably wondering why I went through the trouble.”

  Yes.

  “I’ve asked myself the same question many times,” the prince continued, “and I have come to the conclusion that somewhere along the lines of this year I went mad.” He gave me a wry smile. “Luckily for me, it seems to only pertain to things that involve you.”

  “But.” I couldn’t think, and my heart was beating impossibly fast. I wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that my irrational feelings were justified but there was still something
missing, something pressing at the back of my mind that I was forgetting. Something important that could void all the explanations he had just put forward.

  Darren was looking down at me, waiting for my response to his long-awaited explanation. Were we friends, or enemies? After all he had done, it would seem the former.

  Friends? But what about Ella?

  Immediately I remembered what I had been forgetting. “What about Ella and your brother?” I burst out. “What was your excuse then?” I was thankful not all sense had left me.

  Darren stopped smiling. “What in the name of the gods are you talking about, Ryiah?”

  “When she was twelve, you left her all alone with your brother. You saw what he was doing and just left—”

  Darren’s expression darkened. “Is that what she’s been thinking all these years?” He glowered. “Why don’t you try asking your friend if she’s sure it was her magic that saved her?”

  “But she said—”

  Darren made a frustrated sound and started to push past me.

  “Darren, wait!” I didn’t know what to think, but I did know that I didn’t want him to leave again, not with all these unanswered questions between us. If it was true and he had been helping me all this time, if he had helped Ella too…

  Darren turned to face me. His eyes were clouded and unreadable. “You need to decide whether I am the evil tyrant in your head, or a friend, Ryiah. I cannot make that decision for you, and I am done trying to earn your trust.”

  I looked away. Trust and Darren? The two were opposite ends of a spectrum.

  The bell tolled loudly, and I jumped as I realized I was now late to my second trial.

  I felt myself go numb. What did trust matter? I would not be around long enough to find out anyway…I reached out for Darren’s arm before he could start his descent.

  Immediately a heady rush of hot and cold was met with an overwhelming sense of home. I felt my breath catch. I had been prepared for the fire, but not the startling refuge that came with it. It took a moment for me to settle my emotions enough to speak.

  “If we were friends.” I hesitated. “What would you say to me right now?”

  Darren’s eyes met mine. “I would tell you that you could still win this, Ryiah.”

  “Thank you.” I released his arm and took a step back.

  Something odd flashed across the non-heir’s face. “Good luck, Ryiah.”

  I felt the corners of my lips twitch, and for the first time I realized I was smiling. I gave Darren the barest of nods, and then proceeded up the stairs. Even though I would probably never earn my robes, there was a startling elation that came from thinking that maybe he thought I could.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “First-year, you are late.”

  I reddened and bowed my head quickly, peeking out from under my bangs at the panel of disgruntled judges before me.

  There, just as in my dream, sat Master Barclae and the Three Colored Robes. This was the first time I was really able to get a good look at the three mages who ruled the Council of Magic. Each of them looked almost unearthly in their magnificent robes. The gold trim seemed to shimmer brilliantly against the rays of the fading sun.

  The Black Mage of Combat had been the one to address me. His head was shaved, and there were two golden hoops dangling from his right ear. He had dark skin and piercing green eyes, the kind that seemed as though they could see straight through to your soul. He was younger than I had expected, no more than thirty-five years at most.

  “What is your name, child?”

  The second person to speak was the wearer of the red robe, a beautiful blonde woman with violet eyes and full red lips. She was older than the Black Mage, but not by much.

  “Ryiah.”

  “Ryiah,” said the third, a formidable older man, with long brown locks and startling yellow eyes. The Green Mage of Alchemy. “You are the one who has given all those fancy highborns a reason to talk. Never in the history of the first-year trials has a student caused so much grief—or damage—to our sacred Academy.”

  I swallowed uncomfortably.

  “What do you have to say for yourself?” Master Barclae asked, watching me carefully.

  All eyes narrowed, and I willed myself to speak, despite the wave of nausea that was fast approaching. This would be my one chance to explain, in my own words.

  “I never meant to destroy that building,” I said, eyes on the ground. “I had only been trying to disarm Ray, the other student that I was up against… Someone once told me that I could use pain to call on my magic. He’d warned me that it was unstable, and I wouldn’t be able to control it if I tried.”

  I forced myself to continue: “But I had nothing left. No stamina, no magic, nothing. If I didn’t try, I would have had to admit defeat and…and I couldn’t do that knowing there was still something I could use. I knew the armory was off-limits, and I know it went terribly wrong, but I had to try.” I glanced at the Colored Robes, desperation in my eyes. “If you want something as badly as I do, you can’t give up. I’m sure each of you had a moment like that, where you had to make a choice, and you chose your robe, no matter the consequences—”

  “You impaled yourself on a sword,” Master Barclae said dryly.

  “I would do it again, a thousand times over if I thought it would help.” I couldn’t help feeling less confident than my words. “It was the only way I could access my magic.” I thought of Darren’s warning so many months before. “Better to lose a limb than a battle.”

  “You are a fool,” the Red Mage told me shortly. “It wasn’t a limb you almost lost. It was your life, and the life of that boy you were with. All for a trial.”

  “A powerful fool,” the Black Mage corrected, smiling behind the palm of his hand. “She could rival the prince in that outburst.”

  The Green Mage chuckled, “Until she kills herself in the process.”

  “True,” the Black Mage acknowledged.

  The Three glanced to Master Barclae, and he cleared his throat. “We shall now begin the second portion of your trials, Ryiah. You will have twenty minutes to address three questions, all concerning the art of strategy in Combat…”

  I returned to my barracks much later that evening feeling confident, confused, half sick and half mad. The trial had only lasted a half hour, but the questions the judges had asked left me reeling in self-doubt. Had my answers been good enough? I thought they had. I’d cited several battles for each scenario they had given me. I’d weighed the resources, the weather, the landscape, and the politics of each situation to the one approach I thought would best suit their needs. I’d considered all the right questions: Was it a full-scale invasion, or was it better just to send a small regiment to conduct the mission? Was it on our homeland, or in a neighboring country?

  For each question they had asked, I’d had a million queries of my own. I’d been desperate to show the product of my endless nights in the library, and even more frantic to prove I was more than the reckless first-year they had seen during the first half of my trials.

  You could still win this.

  Could I?

  The next two days were the longest of my life. I spent the time in restless wonder, following my friends around the small town of Sjeka and trying not to think about what lie ahead.

  “It’s in the hands of the gods now,” Alex declared, as Ella and I followed him into the town’s bakery. Ella bought us each a sticky bun, and we exited the fragrant shop licking the honeyed sugar off our fingers.

  We had five more hours before the naming ceremony. All of us were trying to pretend the trepidation did not bother us as much as it did.

  “I’m surprised your adoring fans haven’t stolen you away from us today,” Ella told my brother. She’d intended for her comment to come off lightly, but the slight resentment in her tone had destroyed any pretense of indifference.

  “I told them to find a new hero,” he said easily. “It was off-putting to have so many beautiful ladies r
eturning my favor.”

  Ella scowled. “Well, I hope you don’t regret that later, when you are alone with your jokes and no one to listen—”

  “Oh, I won’t be alone,” he said, winking at me.

  I rolled my eyes and walked ahead, letting the two of them return to their silly banter. I wasn’t sure how I would feel if Alex started to court my best friend, but I had finally decided the decided it wasn’t my decision to make.

  Entering the town’s apothecary I found my parents discussing the merits of witch hazel with the frazzled shop owner while my younger brother raced over to greet me.

  “Ryiah!” Derrick’s eyes were as big as saucers. “We didn’t see you at all yesterday! Ella said you locked yourself in the barracks!”

  I gave a small smile. “I was wallowing in self-pity, but I am done now.”

  He beamed. “Good. Because today you are going to get a black robe!”

  I raised a brow. “Apprentices don’t get robes until they graduate.”

  “Ah-ha, so you do think you’ll be apprenticed!”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want you to get your hopes too high, brother. I lost my first trial, in case you have already forgotten.”

  Derrick didn’t bat an eye. “Just because you didn’t win doesn’t mean you’re disqualified.”

  I ruffled his hair. “You always were my biggest fan.”

  “Ryiah.”

  I turned and saw Clayton standing in the middle of the doorway.

  He looked nervous. My stomach fell. I had been evading Clay ever since he’d introduced me to his parents.

  I didn’t know how to let him down nicely, and so while it was petty, I had figured the best way was to avoid him as much as possible. After all, we only had one more day at the Academy. One day and then we’d never have to have the awkward conversation to begin with.

  Too late.

  My brother snickered. I slammed the ball of my heel into his foot. Derrick yelped and then hopped away to join our parents at the back of the store, shooting me a mean look.