Non-Heir: The Black Mage Prequel Novella

by Rachel E. Carter

  What a fool was he.

  For a moment, he was tempted to seek out his father. The price... It would serve her right for insulting him—a prince. She should know she couldn’t talk to someone like him in such a condescending manner.

  But…

  Darren hesitated.

  But that would make him lose the only confidant he had, and then she would keep the words inside and pretend to smile like the rest of his father’s court. At least when she spoke now, he knew the words were honest.

  Nice? No. But honest.

  Did he want another parrot? Another smiling, meaningless lie?

  The truth was better.

  Honesty, even if he didn’t like it, was better than the false platitudes of the others. She was the only one he could trust.

  The most dangerous ones, the boy decided, are the ones that tell me what I want to hear. At least Eve was honest.

  Darren found Eve later that night practicing her drills in front of the palace barracks. A small flare of anger rose up as he remembered her earlier words.

  But he shook his head in resignation. He didn’t want to lose the only friend he had. So he pulled out his blade instead.

  The girl watched him start up his drills out of the corner of her eyes. They narrowed after a couple moments of silence. “Did you tattle?”

  “I have better things to do than run to my father."

  “Do you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Her lip tugged up. “Because I don’t like being friends with a coward.”

  “We aren’t friends.” His pride was too hurt to let her know he believed otherwise.

  “We are. You just prefer to sulk.” Eve drew her own weapon in return. “If we weren’t, you would have gotten me in trouble.”

  “I told you, I didn’t have time.”

  “Humph.”

  She didn’t bring it up again. They spent the rest of the evening practicing until dusk. But when he finally left that night, it was with the barest hint of a smile.

  She’d let him win for the first time. He knew Eve had cheated, but he didn’t call her out. It was her apology, just as his apology was keeping her earlier words to himself.

  Yes, he decided, a stubborn girl was twice the worth of a simpering lie. Maybe more.

  A week later, Darren was on his way back from training when he noticed a figure duck behind the stables. Naturally suspicious, he’d waited for it to emerge. He knew some of the servants’ children were still waiting to avenge his bullying from the past. It was only a matter of time before they made their assault.

  Let them try. He had his sword, and Sir Audric couldn’t very well blame him for defending himself.

  A minute later, it reemerged.

  When it did, he was surprised to find his brother.

  “What were you doing back there?”

  The heir smiled without blinking an eye. “Thought I saw something, but it must have been a bird.”

  “A bird?”

  Blayne gave an irritated sigh. “Yes, little brother, a bird. A thing that pecks and preens and flies around in the sky.” He scowled in irritation. “And what were you doing following me?”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Well, you might as well now. Father will be expecting us at dinner in an hour.”

  Darren shook his head. “Sir Audric wants me to practice a bit more in the evenings, says it’ll improve my aim.”

  “Sir Audric sure asks a lot of you.” The prince’s mood swung dark. “You chose to obey a doddering old fool over your own brother?”

  “He wants me to be the best.” The boy bristled. He liked the man, and the knight was far too young to be the cripple his brother claimed. “Don’t you?”

  Blayne looked at his hands, picking out little flecks of dirt that had gotten caught underneath his fingernails. “I suppose.” He sighed rather loudly. “Just don’t stay out too late, little brother.”

  “I won’t.”

  Darren waited until Blayne had vanished and then sprinted over to the stables. The thick scent of horse dung and straw assaulted his nostrils as he crept around the back of the building. He wasn’t sure whether his brother had been lying or not.

  It had been hard to read Blayne’s eyes in the dark.

  But he was hiding something, and Darren wanted to know what.

  After a couple of minutes, Darren frowned. Everything looked the same. Heavy pine, a light sprinkling of grass, nothing out of the ordinary. Perhaps his brother had been telling the truth after all.

  Still, his mood had been so abrupt…

  Darren turned back around, and as he did, his boot brushed a mound of dirt a bit higher than the rest. He paused. The soil was looser here.

  Now that he was bending down, the boy could see a small patch of black peeking out beneath the pile.

  Is this what Blayne was hiding? Darren fell to his knees and began to dig.

  When he touched something soft, he pulled away and peered down the hole. What he saw had him stumbling back on his hands, a horrified sound falling from his mouth as he recognized the creature inside.

  A small kitten, barely four weeks old.

  Darren had broken enough of his own bones to recognize the odd way the head hung off its tiny frame.

  Maybe it was dead when he buried it. Maybe it broke then.

  Or maybe a pair of twelve-year-old hands had snapped it in half.

  Darren fought against the latter thought. Blayne never hurt anyone. If there had ever been a question of which boy would commit such a violent act, the resounding answer would have been Darren. Never Blayne.

  Darren pushed himself up off the ground. His brother might have been capable of lying, and perhaps he’d grown a bit colder than years before, but he wasn’t capable of this.

  The kitten must have been dead before he buried it.

  It was the only explanation that made sense.

  3

  Another year passed with the sword, and Sir Audric decided both Eve and Darren were ready for their next weapon. The two would continue with the former, of course, but they would now also be taking up archery, which was something the boy had been looking forward to for weeks.

  When the knight master pulled out three painted targets, Darren wondered who would be joining them.

  “Ah, your highness, so nice of you to join us.”

  Darren spun on his heel to find his brother trotting down the field. Blayne was wearing a pair of training breeches like his own, and the same shirt and wrist-guards.

  Blayne smirked. “Don’t look so surprised, brother. Every king knows how to shoot.”

  Sir Audric didn’t seem surprised. “I trust Commander Salvador has taught you well?”

  The crown prince nodded as Darren gaped at his brother. The head of the King’s Regiment had been giving Blayne private lessons?

  “For how long?” Eve’s voice rang out.

  “Two years. One hour most days.” Darren was sure he detected a note of pride in Blayne’s response.

  Still, the boy couldn’t help himself. “Two years?”

  “So I could participate in this year’s hunt. Father wants me at the head with Salvador’s best men.” The thirteen-year-old laughed. “It’s all for show, of course, but the hunt is, after all, the Crown’s favorite sport.”

  That it was. And Darren had been looking forward to impressing the others with his skills. He didn’t have any yet, but he had hoped six months would give him enough time to learn before the event was held. He was ahead of the boys his age with the sword and the staff, why not the bow too?

  It irked him that his brother was already better. Darren was supposed to be the best, and yet Blayne had been receiving lessons with a better knight than him. He liked Sir Audric, but four years of playing “who is the best knight-to-be” with Eve had left him more competitive than before.

  Sir Audric finished lining up the three targets atop their straw bales. They were fifty yards away. “This is one quarter the distance you will
be practicing with later on,” the man declared.

  Darren looked to Eve, who was already studying their newcomer with narrowed eyes. He wouldn’t be surprised if she fancied him. Lately he’d noticed his brother surrounded by young women wherever he went. Several had even started to sit at their table. One of them, the daughter of Baron Langli, was especially persistent. It was unpleasant. Darren had started to take lunch at the barracks with the rest of the palace’s regiment. At least the soldiers talked about something besides the dresses they were going to wear for the next ball.

  Eve had joined him that very next day, but Darren had to wonder now if she might have preferred to stay like the rest.

  He told himself he wouldn’t care if she started to prefer Blayne’s company to his. But he would, because it would mean losing the one friend he had.

  “Now, let’s head out to pick your bows.”

  The knight led them to the regiment’s armory as he had for the swords just a year past. Blayne walked straight up to a small double-curved bow that looked lean and light, pulling back on its string with his thumb. Darren watched as his brother did this to three other bows before finally coming back to collect the first.

  “Very good, your highness.” Darren and Eve exchanged a look at her father’s praise. The man was never that friendly with them. “Now, you two, notice how Blayne tested the draw of the bows before deciding. That weight should always be three-quarter’s your strength. Since you are young but well on your way in training, I expect the draw to lie anywhere between twelve and eighteen pounds.”

  The girl obediently went to follow Sir Audric’s instruction, but Darren was determined to prove himself. He plucked a bow much taller than Blayne’s.

  He couldn’t pull the bowstring back even a little.

  “It’s too heavy for you,” Blayne called.

  When Darren returned the bow to its rack, it rattled the bars.

  “The longbow is intended for battle.” Sir Audric handed him a bow like his brother’s. “You want one that curves forward at the tips. These bows are lighter, easier to carry during the long hours of a hunt.”

  Darren tested the draw, trying to imitate Blayne’s movement as he pulled the bowstring to his jaw with a straight arm. He had to test five more bows before he was finally able to make a choice.

  After a couple more notes on the proper fitting of a bow, the knight led his charges back out to the field. Each carried a quiver of arrows on their back.

  Five hours later, Darren’s shoulder was on fire. His arms ached and the pads of his fingers—even with the gloves the knight had given them to wear—were sore. He could barely hold a fork during dinner; he spent most of the time picking at his food with his hands.

  “Your brother beat both of us.”

  “I know.” Darren scowled into his palms. “He is years ahead.”

  Eve cleared her throat. “We’ll be better soon. Blayne’s aim was sloppy.”

  “You think?”

  “I know.” She gave him a nudge. “It won’t always be like this. One day we’ll be the best at everything, you’ll see.”

  A couple weeks later, it was the end of spring, but the storms had yet to cease.

  After a rough session of training, with limbs shaking and every article of clothing soaked to the bone, Darren headed back to the palace. He could barely see in the thick stream of rain; it had made practice particularly unpleasant. Worse, while he had missed most of his targets, Blayne and Eve hadn’t.

  Something soft and solid slammed against his legs.

  The boy glanced down to find what could only be described as a pile of bones. Small, matted tufts of fur clung to its sopping skin. Beady, black eyes peeked out from its head, and the ears were small and frail twin flaps twitching from the cold.

  The mutt couldn’t have been more than a couple months old. It didn’t look like one of the palace hounds. Its fur was too long and its frame too small.

  “How did you get in?”

  The pup just gave him a glum stare.

  The guards would never let in a stray. It was probably one of the lower city pets left unattended. Perhaps it snuck onto the grounds through the shuffle of feet at the palace gates.

  The pile of bones let out a keening wail.

  Father’s going to be furious. The boy bit back a sigh. He couldn’t just leave it behind. It would freeze, or one of the lords’ sons would use it to fuel their own entertainment. He never understood why they did that. All the fights he had picked were with a peer who could fight back. There was no glory in a poor, defenseless stray.

  Just another reason he avoided them when he could.

  Maybe he could bring it to Heath. Darren picked up the pup. It settled into his arms without a moment’s hesitation.

  “Don’t get comfortable,” he warned.

  The pup ignored him, nestling closer against his chest.

  By the time Darren had reached the kennel, he was already regretting his choice. The pup had all but made a nest in his arms.

  “What have you brought ‘ere?” A giant of a man peered down at the boy. He was missing three of his front teeth and his voice was gruff. Most of the servants found the kennel master a bit intimidating, but Darren never had. The real monsters kept their true faces hidden; it was the beautiful ones that made him wary.

  “Found it wandering the grounds.” The man took the pup from his arms and the boy stepped away.

  “Don’t look like one of ours.” Heath paused. “I’ll ask around the market… but if no one claims ‘im, I’m gonna ‘ave to let the mutt go. Your father would never approve.”

  The prince nodded and started back toward the training grounds. He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter either way. But a lump still stuck in his throat as he walked away.

  The boy returned to the kennels the next day, and the next couple of days after that. He wasn’t sure why he did. He was busy enough with lessons and trying to out-shoot Blayne in training. He had never visited the kennels before, and he had no reason for coming. But somehow, every evening he found himself leaning against the pen post inside the kennel master’s building, watching the pups play.

  The mutt was a frail thing, hardly an equal to its counterparts. The hounds were lean and built for speed. The only thing the shaggy-haired mutt had in excess were its fleas.

  But there was something about the way it kept fighting to keep up with the rest of the pack. The hounds kept knocking it to the ground, baring their teeth and nipping at its heels when it tried to play, but it still refused to give up. And for that, Darren admired it.

  “The others continue to ‘og the scraps, your ‘ighness, but look at that. Still growing. I say, if it’s that determined to survive, then it deserves a real ‘ome.”

  “Does that mean you are going to keep it on?” The boy tried to keep his tone as level as possible.

  “I’ll take ‘im back to my quarters if I hear of your father’s coming. It’s the best I can do, lad.”

  The boy picked at a burr in the pup’s coat.

  “I know this ‘un misses you when you’re gone.”

  Darren scowled and withdrew from the pen. He didn’t want to know it was attached, not when he was trying so hard to ignore the way he looked forward to these visits.

  The kennel master gave the prince a long look. “You know, your highness, the king plans on you and that brother of yours picking one of the litter as your own for the ‘unt—”

  “No.” The prince’s reply was instantaneous.

  “But—”

  “It is kind of you to keep it on, Heath.” The boy let go of the fence and started toward the doors. His life was a series of choices, and in this, the rule was clear. “My father wants a hound. So I will pick a hound.”

  “And your archery, how is it coming along?”

  “Very good, Father.” The crown prince sat a bit straighter in his chair as he lifted his chin to meet his father’s scrupulous gaze. “Today I shot one hundred and fifty yards.” Blayne hesitat
ed for just a moment before adding, “And I hit four of every five targets.”

  Darren glowered at the king’s right. He knew what was coming next.

  “And you?” Lucius turned his steely gaze on his youngest.

  “Well.”

  “I was asking for a number.” The king’s tone made the room turn as cold as winter. Blayne sunk low and turned his attention to his plate while Darren set down his drink, his fingers numb.

  “One hundred, Father.”

  “Only a hundred after five and a half months of training? I expected more.”

  The boy ground his teeth. “I didn’t have two years with the commander to guide me.”

  “Your brother isn’t training to be a knight. You have had four years under Sir Audric training for that blasted school.” The king’s voice was a growl. “A knight should be best at all weaponry. There is no excuse for your negligence.”

  The ten-year-old gave his father a forced smile. “Yes, Father.”

  “Tomorrow during the hunt, you will not partake. We will say you injured your arm in practice and you will only speak to the others when directly addressed to praise Blayne’s performance.”

  “You don’t want me to shoot?” Darren had been training for months on end, every spare second of the day. He might not be as good of a shot as Blayne, but he was certainly better than other kids in his year. Even Sir Audric had remarked on Darren’s incredible progress.

  “We can’t have the court witness any blemish on the Crown. Your poor skill would only call embarrassment to our name.”

  “So what am I supposed to do?” The boy knew he was treading in dangerous waters, but he couldn’t seem to stop the words from spilling out. “Why have me participate at all?”

  “Because you are my son and you will do what I say.”

  Darren hated those words. Just another rule dictating his life, and now stealing the one dream he had. He ate the rest of his roast in silence and listened as Blayne flourished under their father’s approving remarks. What a change from just a few years before.