And Darren was tired of letting the darkness win.
His magic shot out. The projection had been building in his head since the moment he heard her scream.
Darren stood just long enough to watch his brother collapse.
Something snapped in his chest as his brother fell, unconscious, to the ground.
I betrayed him.
The girl was hobbling to her feet, staring at her hands. She was doing something with her fingers as she stared at the fallen prince at her feet, and then she started to turn.
Darren had two choices.
He could stand there and be a hero, a hero that had just hurt the one person he had sworn to protect, or he could walk away. Walk away from this girl and the shame that was digging into his throat, squeezing until he couldn’t breathe, squeezing until he was locked in a darkness of his own, eating him from the inside.
The boy walked away. He didn’t want Ella’s thanks. It would only remind him of just who he betrayed to save her.
The girl was gone the next day. Darren found out from a servant. Ella’s family had left court and returned to their principality in the west.
Ella hadn’t reported his brother, not that it would matter one bit; the crown prince was protected, and a highborn girl only had so much leverage within the king’s court. But a part of the boy—a foolish, vain part—wished she had found him first.
Ella had looked him in the eyes. She’d known it was him.
But she had just left.
Darren told himself it didn’t matter.
It did.
But he refused to acknowledge it.
He would never see that girl again.
Blayne, for his part, was furious. He didn’t confess what had happened though. When the healer Darren summoned found the older boy, Blayne claimed he had tripped and fallen. Alone. But Darren could see it in the way his brother stalked around court.
For a while, Darren was able to convince himself what he had done was right.
But the next day, Blayne challenged their father in the midst of an important feast. The older boy’s anger sprung out like a whip, and he lashed out. He lashed out, ignoring the rules, and never looked back.
Darren found Blayne later. The boy had to be rushed to the infirmary. There wasn’t a part of him that wasn’t bruised. Bleeding, bones jutting out of his broken skin, Blayne couldn’t even open his eyes.
It took his brother over two weeks to recover. It took another week before he could show himself in court. That’s how long the bruises and cuts took to disappear.
Darren hated himself. That roiling darkness that had made his brother challenge the king, it was his fault.
Not for the first time, the boy had failed to protect his brother. But this time, he swore it would be the last.
7
He had waited for this day for years, and it was finally here.
It had actually come two days before, everyone else had already departed for the Academy, but obligation kept Darren in court longer than the rest. A round of promotions had gone out among the army and king’s personal regiment, and as a part of the Crown, Darren had to be present for both ceremonies.
Sir Audric was now Commander of the Crown’s Army. Darren couldn’t have been more pleased. If he had to trust someone with his brother’s life, now that Darren was to be a mage instead, there was no one he trusted more than his former knight master.
Blayne wasn’t pleased to be left behind. Darren could read the unspoken wrath in his brother’s frosty gaze. But the crown prince had long since stopped voicing his complaints aloud. Coming of age, Blayne had as many responsibilities as Lucius’s himself. Darren had no doubt his older brother would be too busy to notice his absence much.
In five years, how much would his brother change?
The only other thing Darren would miss was Wolf. Heath had promised to look after the mutt in Darren’s stead, but it wasn’t the same. That dog knew his darkest secrets and fears that the prince never spoke aloud. And in some ways, Wolf was a part of himself, a part that would go missing for five long years.
Now, Darren was on the way to the Academy, and nothing and no one would keep him from an apprenticeship at the year’s end. He was sixteen years of age and the best of the training mages in court. Even Marius had taken to calling Darren his protégé.
And everyone knew, if the Black Mage thought Darren was the best, then he was. It wasn’t arrogance. The boy had suffered more than his share to outshine the rest. If the other students were smart, they would pick another faction.
Because Combat was his, and anyone who thought it was theirs… well, he wasn’t too concerned about that.
Darren and his escort, eight intimidating knights in heavy chainmail and helmets of steel, cut across the central fields of Jerar in no time at all. The King’s Road was almost barren—most of the men and women were out harvesting the last of the late summer crops—and they reached the narrow plains and climbing hills within four days’ time. The final leg of their journey was three days through the forest.
Their party was on the last day before they would reach the seaside town of Sjeka, the location of the Academy itself, when they came across a pair of straggling lowborns on foot.
Darren took in their apparent dress—little more than dirt-stained rags and hand-me-down boots—and scowled. The girl was openly staring at him and made no attempt to look away.
Who did she think she was?
The girl had been staring so hard that the horses almost trampled her in the middle of the road, but at the last second, a boy pulled her back.
Why did lowborns even bother with the Academy? The boy would never understand. They had to know its reputation.
Every highborn in court—with years of study and the best mage tutors their family’s coin could buy—was attending. One lowborn might secure an apprenticeship every five years.
If the girl had any brains, and he suspected she didn’t from her slack-jawed expression, she would turn around and apply at the Cavalry.
Jerar needed soldiers. He doubted she would ever make it as a mage.
It had to be the worst kind of luck that the person who came seconds away from knocking him to the floor was the same lowborn from before.
Darren had been patiently listening to the orientation given by Master Barclae, the head mage of the Academy, when someone collided with his back. The force was enough to jostle him forward so that he tripped on his cloak and nearly ridiculed himself in front of the man he most wanted to impress. Only a swift recovery kept him from face-planting on the floor.
The bumbling oaf was mumbling an apology as Darren turned, condescension written plainly across his face.
And he found himself face to face with that girl from before.
“Sorry.” Her cheeks were flushed, and they darkened when she realized who he was.
Only a fool wouldn’t. The prince was wearing the black hematite stone of his family around his neck, and it was plainly visible over his black cloak and equally intimidating boots.
He had made a point of wearing all black. It was the best way to tell the others exactly which faction he intended to select.
Not only was the lowborn late to their introduction to the Academy—by hours—but she also smelled something foul. Sweat and dirt streaked her face and her scarlet hair looked like a rat had made a nest and decided it wasn’t fit for habitation. Horsehair covered her rags. Did the girl know anything about first impressions? Just because she was lowborn didn’t mean she had to dress like a creature from the swamps.
Darren didn’t want to miss another second of the master’s speech. The girl had already wasted enough of his time. He wasn’t sure why he had spared her any time as it was.
The master concluded his speech and called for his manservant to direct the first-years to their assignments. The crowd dispersed. Darren didn’t bother to stick around. He had already dropped off his supplies at the men’s barracks. When he arrived, the masters had offered him
private accommodations on one of the Academy’s upper floors. But the prince had known that would be a mistake. Convincing the Council of Magic to admit him in the first place hadn’t come easy, and the last thing he wanted was someone questioning his place.
No, when Darren secured his apprenticeship at the end of their trial year, he wanted to make certain no one questioned the validity of a prince.
The prince walked the Academy that night. He took in the looming castle of gray stone and stifled a snort. The place was meant to replicate the decadence of the palace back home, but it wasn’t even a quarter of its size. The stairwell might have been a bit impressive—spiraling in to separate cases as it touched off against the second floor, with a looming many-paned window overlooking the ocean at its center—but from what he had heard, most of his father’s coin went to the mage library and the apprenticeship.
There were a little over a hundred applicants, and from first impression, most would never amount to much. An older boy had even confessed to no magic. He’d shown up at the Academy with hopes it would emerge since it was his last year to apply to the three war schools and he wanted to be a war mage.
Fool. Hadn’t the boy listened to anything Master Barclae said? The masters didn’t take to incompetence. Just like Darren, they despised people who wasted their time. And that older boy was sure to fail.
Only fifteen apprenticeships. The prince already knew the masters would be doing everything they could to discourage their students. After all, the fewer students they had, the more energy they could invest in training the ones who mattered.
Darren looked forward to the next morning. He had a feeling many of the others would be in for a surprise.
He couldn’t wait.
“The accommodations are terrible,” Priscilla declared over the morning’s meal of porridge and some sort of raisin roll, not exactly the spread from back home. “You would think they would offer separate chambers for those who matter,” she continued. “Or at least a bath house free from the lowborns. They smell. And, Darren, you should see what some of the girls look like. There is no way I can survive an entire year with that rabble.”
The edge of the prince’s lip curved up in a smirk. If Priscilla left because of the accommodations, he would have an entire apprenticeship without her presence. Five years. It was a tempting thought. “Perhaps you should leave then.”
The girl sneered at him. “You would like that. You and Eve both. Well, unfortunately for you both, I’m not going anywhere.”
Eve rolled her eyes. “A shame.”
Jake and William snickered. They had heard this argument many times around the training court back home. It had become all the more common the older they got. Any day now, the king would be announcing Darren and Priscilla’s engagement.
“You don’t like me,” Darren said plaintively, “and I don’t like you. Why don’t you do us both a favor and go end this betrothal before it begins.”
“It’s not about what I want,” she hissed. “It’s about freedom. My freedom. And if earning my robes and marrying you to escape my father and the buffoons at court is what it takes, so be it. At least we share the same indifference. I can serve the Crown’s Army and you can go off with your mistresses in the palace. Perhaps I’ll take a man myself, someone who doesn’t brood at every possible occasion.”
Darren grimaced. Priscilla painted such a… lovely picture. But at least with her, there would be no misunderstandings. He had long since given up the notion of a harmonious marriage. And since Priscilla had dropped her flattery, excluding the times when other rivals got in her way, things had been a lot more pleasant.
If pleasant meant only wanting to stab out his eyes half the time.
“Well, it looks like you are all still here. I will try my best to discourage that.”
All conversation fettered off as the Master of the Academy entered the dining hall. Barclae was a handsome man with a sharp face and even sharper gaze. He had a graying mustache that still sported stubborn black hairs that refused to relinquish their youth. The man was the epitome of strength.
He was just as intimidating as the night before, except now he appeared annoyed.
“Have I bored you?” the man drawled loudly, his eyes fixated on someone to the back of the room.
Darren shifted on his bench to see who the man was glaring at.
It was the lowborn from earlier, and… Ella? Darren couldn’t tell for certain, but she had an uncanny likeness. Both were staring at the floor, shaking their heads in response to the master’s question.
“Really, I insist, what is so fascinating that you needed to interrupt my lecture?”
The lowborn said nothing, but the second raised her head with a defiant lift of her chin.
“Him,” she said. It was Ella, and she was pointing at Darren.
The prince’s jaw clenched as he saw the disgust in her eyes. The look she shot him made it clear she hadn’t forgotten that night at the ball.
Fury filled his chest. How dare she. Not only had Darren saved her, but his brother had nearly lost his life in the infirmary because of it. Blayne never would have been foolish enough to challenge their father if he hadn’t been so humiliated.
And now here she was at the Academy.
“Ah.” The master’s gaze flit from the prince to the girl. “Him. What about this him?”
Ella stood, and Darren’s nails dug into the wood. “The Council’s Treaty states no heir of the kingdom can undertake training as a mage. T-to prevent the Crown from interfering with matters of magic.”
Not only was Ella there, but she was also trying to get rid of him. A prince. The future Black Mage. And she did it all with the audacity of a snake, except now she couldn’t even meet his eyes.
“True,” the master agreed, and Darren’s fingers gripped the wood so hard they hurt. “But the doctrine was alluding to first-born children who would be inheriting the throne. Prince Darren is not.”
“But we’ve never had a prince before—”
“You’ve never had one before because nobody was good enough!” Darren snarled.
The lowborn, at least, had the audacity to wince. Ella just stared at her hands.
Master Barclae laughed harshly. “Ah, my dears, you are so young to have already made an unpleasant impression with a member of the royal family.”
Unpleasant? Darren’s eyes burned crimson fire. Those two had just earned his permanent wrath. And for a moment, when he had first realized it was Ella, he had thought… no, it didn’t matter what he thought. That girl was not worth his time. And that lowborn, that stuttering redhead that continued to find herself in his way, he didn’t know who she was, but she would regret the day she ever questioned a prince.
They both would. And he would be laughing all the way.
“What happened at that dance?”
Darren shot Eve a look that stated clearly the earlier event was not up for discussion.
Priscilla looked pleased. Of course she would. The only girl she had ever deemed as competition was not on good terms with her prince.
“That lowborn,” Priscilla declared, “that one that was with Ella, she’s the one that smelled like manure last night in our barracks. I could hardly stomach the stench.”
“And yet somehow you managed.” Eve’s remark was quiet but dry. She, of all people, harbored the best intentions toward the lowborns in the Academy. Darren supposed it was because her father, Commander Audric, had once been a lowborn at the School, and squires were just as competitive.
Darren didn’t care for lowborns any more than highborns. Each had their own way of ruining his day. The less he dealt with either, the better.
“At least she was polite,” Eve added. “Not everyone can afford to stop at every inn along the way for a lavender oil bath.”
“Doesn’t look like much,” William grunted.
Jake nodded along. “In the lessons, she was quite slow.”
The girl wasn’t the only one who was slow, bu
t Darren didn’t have the energy to critique the brutes. He was too busy concentrating on the rest of the day’s events. After lunch they transitioned from book learning to casting.
It would be his chance to make an impression, and he wanted to make sure it was something the others wouldn’t forget. After all, like the masters said, the more first-years they discouraged, the better.
And he knew of two first-years he wanted to leave.
As he was turning the corner, someone collided into him, knocking the contents from his arms and stuttering an apology. It took Darren of all two seconds to recognize the culprit.
Darren ground his teeth as he knelt to the ground.
Scattered parchment and books he had painstakingly arranged for his study were littered across the marble tile.
It was her. Again.
The gods had a cruel sense of irony.
“I’m so…” The lowborn’s apology faded away as she realized exactly who she had hit. He heard her hitched intake of breath.
The idiot lowborn was everywhere. She had to be the clumsiest fool in the Academy.
She reached out a pale, freckled arm to help, but Darren snatched the scroll out of her reach. He was not about to entertain any notion of friendship with the likes of her.
“Your grace,” she stammered. “I want to apologize for earlier.”
Your grace? It was ‘your highness’ but she couldn’t even manage the correct greeting. He bit down on his tongue. He had more pressing concerns than the likes of her.
Darren glared, but the girl kept rambling on. “It wasn’t right. You deserve a chance just as much as anyone else, especially since you are not the heir—”
Enough was enough. “Thanks,” Darren bit off, “but I don’t need some backcountry peasant asserting what I can or can’t do.”
Gray eyes flashed angrily. “I didn’t mean—”
“Look,” the prince spat, “I didn’t come here to socialize with commoners and learn about their feelings, I came here to be a mage.” Especially inept ones like her. “I’ve got more pressing affairs than listening to you apologize for your own incompetence.”
Non-Heir: The Black Mage Prequel Novella Page 8
