Non-Heir: The Black Mage Prequel Novella

by Rachel E. Carter

  Darren didn’t bother to stick around. He saw her face flush red as he shoved his way past. For a second, he contemplated the fact that he had been a bit too cold, but it didn’t matter. The girl was friends with Ella and had no problem making assumptions about what he could or couldn’t do. Her attempt at an apology had come a little too late, and if there was one thing Darren had learned, it was to never look weak.

  The girl wouldn’t last the year. Girls like her were soft and easy to break. Lowborns always wanted glory until they realized the hard work it entailed. Darren had worked hard for everything, and a girl who tried to take that away? Well, she wasn’t worth very much.

  The rest of his lessons went exactly as planned.

  It started with a bit of fire. The knight master in charge of physical conditioning wanted a demonstration on the importance of casting and endurance. Darren was only too happy to oblige, and if the hushed whispers and looks of awe were any indication, he had surpassed even Sir Piers’s expectation.

  Conditioning… Darren wanted to laugh. All of those highborns preparing for the Academy had failed to invest the time to train outside of a library. Most couldn’t run five miles without choking. And the lowborns, while better than expected when it came time for endurance, failed miserably at weapons. They didn’t even know how to hold a staff.

  Meditation was a bit more enlightening. He still did well, exceedingly well in comparison to the hundred or so first-years practicing the same, but Darren was a bit jealous of Eve. The girl had a patience he would never master, and it was the one thing in which she would always have him beat. Perhaps swordplay as well, but the years had been good to him, and he towered over her most days.

  Three-quarters of the prince’s year were halfwits. By the end of the day, he could see there were perhaps ten true contenders for the faction of Combat. The students wouldn’t be picking their factions for another two months, but even so, it wasn’t hard to hear the rumors as he passed.

  “Next Black Mage.” Darren heard it almost as often as his name.

  “Pick another faction. Don’t stand a chance now that he’s after Combat.”

  “Wish I were him.”

  “Wish I were her.” That was most often directed at Eve and Priscilla. Both had stood out—Priscilla in physical trials, and Eve in meditation and study. They were easily the best females of their year.

  Jake and William suffered a bit during study, but overall they were miles above the rest.

  The five of them were the best of their year. Even in their weakest lesson, they had never underperformed the top quarter of their class.

  When they took dinner, Darren made it a point to sit with the best of the best. Or rather, he was the best, and he sent away anyone—highborn or lowborn—who was not worthy of his rank. It was a common rule in his life: surround yourself with those you admire, never those beneath you. And now that Darren was finally pursuing his dream, he wasn’t going to waste time with lazy courtiers’ children or peasants that couldn’t perform.

  “Some brawny lowborn tried to flirt with me in training,” Priscilla drawled. She had spoken rather loudly; Darren expected she had done it to pique his interest. Too bad for her, he couldn’t care less about whatever fool thought he had a chance with the cold-hearted beauty. “But he could barely run. He won’t last the week.”

  “Perhaps you could offer him lessons,” Darren remarked dryly.

  She scrunched up her nose. “I heard he’s the redhead’s brother. You know, the girl with Ella.”

  And that was the end of the conversation. Darren stood up, finding the meal suddenly lacking. “I’m going to wash up. Let’s meet up for study later in the library?”

  The others agreed.

  Darren exited the hall, not bothering to look back. Something told him, if he did, he would see her somewhere in the crowd. He wasn’t sure why it mattered.

  But it did, and he just couldn’t figure out why.

  The next night, Darren waited until the servants had performed their final check. He could hear the groans as the boys staggered back to their beds, disgruntled as they dimmed their mage light and the sconces lining the walls.

  Study was hard, harder than even the prince had come to expect. Darren could feel their exhaustion clouding the air.

  People were already starting to fall behind on the second day.

  Not Darren, but others.

  Everyone was fighting just to stay awake, complaining loudly that there was no way they could possibly keep up with the masters’ expectations.

  Darren smirked. He didn’t have to worry about that.

  But the prince did desire more time among the Academy’s books. The school’s library was a towering fortress—two levels of shelves as far as the eye could see. Scrolls dictated the magical history of Jerar, the practice of casting, and warfare. And if there was something Darren desired, it was more of the last.

  The prince was used to long hours, and his lessons were nothing new, but those books...

  The servants had made it very clear that first-years were not allowed to wander the halls at night. The masters had established routines for a reason. Students needed a clear mind, and one that was heavily fatigued would suffer, but Darren never backed away from a challenge.

  So, like the night before, the prince waited until the boys were all settled away in their beds and the barracks was a shadowy den. Then he slipped out, his hood pulled low over his eyes.

  Darren slunk along the dark passages filling the Academy walls. He traced familiar sandstone as he drew closer to the library itself, but he cursed when one of his boots scuffed the floor.

  Somewhere behind him there was a scuffle of feet as one of the patrolling servants rushed in his direction.

  Quick as a flash, the prince ducked into the room, softly shutting the heavy doors behind him. There was a moment’s indecision as he debated which shelf to hide behind. As the voices drew closer, he ducked behind a bookcase to his right.

  A second later, the doors swung open and torchlight lit up the entry just yards from where he stood.

  Two servants entered the room.

  “But I thought I heard someone—”

  “You think you hear a lot of things,” the second snapped. “But once again, you’ve managed to waste my time.”

  “But shouldn’t we still search?”

  “Really, Frederick, who would sneak off to library of all places?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Out!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  And with that, the voices vanished as the doors swung closed with a loud thwack. Their footsteps faded moments later; Darren suspected the servants were returning to check on the barracks.

  Darren chuckled as he withdrew his hood, palming a bit of casted light in his hand. The thrill of almost being caught had been a rush he hadn’t felt in a while. These nightly sessions in the library might become routine just for that.

  The prince settled comfortably into one of the many couches, a pile of books resting on the table nearby. This was better than the palace. He was miles away from his father and Blayne and finally enjoying the freedom he had fantasized about for so long.

  Here, Darren wasn’t second-born. No one cared that his brother came first. He wasn’t a non-heir when all they saw was a mage. Darren was still a prince, but he was free of the Crown. The masters admired magic and physical prowess, and that was all that mattered.

  Darren was no longer the shadow in the corner. He was now the sun lighting up the room.

  Much later that night, there was a clatter as Darren was gathering the last of his notes.

  It came from up above.

  The prince’s gaze shot to the stairs. Someone was here. He wasn’t alone.

  Darren got up to investigate, and as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw a shadow descending a ladder from the higher floors. As it lowered itself to the stairs, the figure came into the light. He could see its outline through the flickering light in his fist.
<
br />   When it finally turned around, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

  “You?” Darren rasped.

  “You’re not the only one who wants to get ahead,” the lowborn stated primly. Her gaze was defiant again. There was no hesitation, just challenge. “You know, us commoners, not all of us are just here to ‘socialize and talk about feelings.’”

  For a moment, just a moment, Darren flinched. He had been cruel to her the day before in the hall. They both knew it, and the girl looked like she wanted to slap him across the face.

  She was with Ella when she questioned your place.

  Darren’s shoulders tensed and his eyes narrowed. He couldn’t believe he had almost apologized.

  The girl seemed to recognize his expression. She sighed and broke his gaze, starting toward the door.

  She was going to get caught if he didn’t warn her.

  “Wait!”

  The lowborn spun and Darren cursed his tongue, wondering why he had called out to her in the first place.

  The girl shifted from one foot to the other, waiting for him to continue whatever he was planning to say.

  “Don’t take the right hall.” The words spilled out of his mouth, and he couldn’t understand why. She was nothing to him. “Barrius had Frederick patrolling there last night.”

  “A-all right.” The girl looked so confused. Her face was still lit up by the light in his palm—and Darren stared a moment too long. Her eyes weren’t just gray, he realized; there were flecks of blue too.

  Not the blue of ice like his father and Blayne, but blue like a clear, rushing falls. Blue like the sky during that moment, that single moment at dawn, when everything ceased to matter, everything but that moment...

  And despite the smell—she must have been mucking the stables, because it was something foul—the girl wasn’t nearly so ragged when she was fighting back a smile.

  She might even be pretty.

  What in the gods’ name is wrong with you? Darren scowled as he realized he had helped the lowborn despite all desire for the contrary.

  “The last thing I need is for you to get caught and make it harder for me to come here at night,” he snapped.

  The girl’s smile faded back to a glower of her own. “My furthest intention.” Her tone stated very clearly she shared his sentiment… for whatever this was.

  Darren watched her go.

  There was something about this girl. He wasn’t sure what it was, but every single time they crossed paths, she had found a way to get under his skin.

  She’ll be gone by the end of the month. He had seen how she clutched her books. She was terrified of failure, and she was lowborn.

  He was caught between admiration and distaste.

  But she snuck out like you. Of all the first-years, she’s the only one who cared enough to risk her neck. She might not be the best, but she’s resilient.

  Not even Eve or Priscilla had thought to go to the library. But this girl, whoever she was, had. She was going to fight for her place at the Academy. He had seen it in her eyes.

  Something told Darren she would pick Combat. Not just any girl would challenge a prince.

  And tonight, the girl hadn’t backed away.

  She hadn’t shown fear.

  She might be reckless, naive, and stubborn even, but she was a fighter.

  And something told him he would want to know her name.

  Ryiah and Darren’s story continues in First Year, Book 1 of The Black Mage series. Want to get a copy for free? Just click HERE.

  Author’s Note

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  Acknowledgments

  This book would’ve never been written without the FANS. You guys are the ones who begged and wheedled for Darren, so thank you for finally convincing me to write this book.

  Thank you very much to my awesome sauce beta reader SAKINA MADRAS for giving me the honest truth and your invaluable feedback on this (and also advocating for the fans and begging me to write this in the first place).

  I’d also like to give a big thank you to my lovely PROOFERS who helped me in a last-minute crunch. You guys are much better at spotting those pesky typos than me: MIRANDA STEED, SANDRA DEEB, MEGAN MCGORRY, and ASHLEY CHEESMAN.

  Special shout-out again to MEGAN. Thank you for cheering me on throughout the writing process (also teasing me with all of her yet-to-be-written story ideas and Fletchy!) and your (and Monica’s) lovable loathing of my favorite non-heir. You took a chance on my books from the very beginning, and I’ll never forget all your support. Can’t wait to read your finished books one day!

  As always, my career therapist, best friend, and partner-in-crime, R.L. BLALOCK, I owe you an acknowledgement in every book I write. You’ve literally seen my writing at its worst (Cat-Sand-Rain, enough said) and I’m so proud of you for publishing your first book. We’ve been inseparable since seventh grade, and here we are still sharing the same dreams and hopes together over a decade later. Let’s make it until we are crusty and old, shall we?

  My EDITORS (Hot Tree Editing) and my amazing COVER ARTIST (Milo) who have been with this series from start to end!

  And finally, my HUSBAND. You let me take a part-time job and sell my car to write the first draft of The Black Mage series when I realized I needed to follow my dreams. I’m sure everyone else thought I was crazy to give up everything for a chance to write, but you’ve stuck by me through every trial and turn, and look how far we’ve come in just a couple of years. We’ll never fall; we’ll never fade. No matter what, until the bitter end, we’re going to be the last ones standing. I love you with every part of my soul. Nice guys do finish first in real life.

  About the Author

  RACHEL E. CARTER is a young adult and new adult author who hoards coffee and books. She has a weakness for villains and Mr. Darcy love interests. Her first series is the bestselling YA fantasy, The Black Mage, and she has plenty more books to come.

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  Also by Rachel E. Carter

  The Black Mage series

  Non-Heir

  First Year

  Apprentice

  Candidate

  Last Stand

 

 

 
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