The Black Mage: Apprentice

by Rachel E. Carter

  I never got to catch my brother's reply. At that very moment the royal herald chose to announce the Crown. My heart instantly caught in my throat and my gaze instantly swerved to the room's entrance.

  "King Lucius and his royal highness, Prince Blayne."

  The king and his eldest son entered, their icy blue eyes casting out a silent chill as they made their way to the front of the room. They bore matching blood red cloaks and tight-fitted brocade that highlighted their health and the golden thread and gems that lined their heavy, chained fastenings. The room had gone silent the moment they made their approach - although it hardly seemed possible from the heavy pounding in my ears.

  I watched as they settled into their chairs, and then I waited.

  There was an odd moment where everything was still, and then the herald continued:

  "Prince Darren, second-in-line to the throne."

  I started to push my way to the front, eager to catch a better glimpse-

  "And his betrothed, Lady Priscilla of Langli."

  The loud clang of metal brought the eyes of everyone – including him - to me. I stood frozen in place, pale and unmoving as ice, while a red-faced servant bent to pick up his serving platter from the hard marble floor. It had been unceremoniously knocked from his arms just moments before.

  I didn't hear the loud gasps coming from the crowd around me. I barely noticed the red stains that now covered the hem of my blossoming skirts. My eyes were glued to the indifferent prince staring back at me.

  Two pairs of hands took hold of my arms and gently led me to the back of the room, out of the attention of others, while I watched the dark-haired stranger and his lady resume their procession.

  "Ryiah?"

  I watched as the young man took his seat beside the king and his heir, with the dark-haired beauty standing close by and casting a simpering smile while he talked. Not once did the stranger's gaze stray from her face, nor did he hesitate to kiss her hand and laugh easily at something a nearby courtier said in response to the lady's question.

  "Ry, if you want to retire early I'd be happy to join you." Ella's voice was strangely muted – like she was speaking through glass. Her voice was distorted and muffled, more like one long humming stance than a question.

  What was happening? Why was he smiling at her like that? I kept staring, waiting for a break in the façade. Just the barest hint that he wasn't enjoying himself, that he felt something – anything - other than the nonchalance that was plastered all over his face.

  "You should just take her now." My brother's hushed whisper seemed even further away. "Before she does something rash."

  I know they forced you into this. My breathing became calm, steady. That was it, of course. Darren needed more time to talk the king around. It wasn't something either of us had prepared for, but we would find a way.

  Warmth returned to my limbs and I found that the numbness in my legs and arms had receded. I hugged my arms to my chest. He loved me. So I would wait. I had already waited three years, what would a little more time be?

  "Please excuse me." My voice caught. I didn't bother to look to my brother or friend as I pushed my way through to the hall. Faces passed by in a blur, though it was only as I entered my chambers that I realized why.

  Tears.

  I might be willing to wait, but I could not very well stand by while Priscilla paraded the boy I loved in front of me.

  ****

  I waited, counting out the opening and shutting of chamber doors until I was certain the last apprentice had returned from the palace's late night festivities. I waited for an additional toll from the great bell tower and then stealthily exited my chambers, careful not to slam the door and draw the attention of any loitering servants or guards posted nearby. Most were too busy cleaning up after the feast to notice, but one could never be too careful.

  I drew my cloak close and passed the women's hall, continuing on past the men's and then finally up the many flights of stairs and twisting corridors – retracing my steps once or twice - in an effort to locate Darren's chambers.

  "Excuse me, miss, no one can pass this point without an official summons." Just as I reached the final hall I found two guards blocking its entrance. The one who had spoken was eyeing me with a skeptical expression and the other was tapping his scabbard. Tick. Tick. Tick. Neither looked particularly willing to let me pass.

  I had been expecting as much. I let the hood fall from my face so that they would recognize me as one of the apprentices. "Please, if you could tell Prince Darren it's Ryiah, I am sure he will make an exception."

  The first guard yawned loudly. "Lady Ryiah, if we interrupted the Crown for every person seeking audience we would be out of a job."

  "Yes, but I'm not-"

  "Let her in, gentleman, I can vouch for this one personally."

  Every hair on my neck stood on end. I knew that slick voice like the back of my hand. Blayne. Bells of alarm rang out loudly in my ears but I tried not to let the panic show in my face. Why was he coming to my aid? He hated me.

  Something was wrong.

  The guards lowered their weapons and stepped to the side as the heir to Jerar escorted me forward. I tried not to flinch as he tugged me along, a deep sense of foreboding as we reached Darren's chamber. The last time the two of us had crossed paths, Blayne had made it perfectly clear what he thought of the lowborn girl who shared a friendship with his brother. And then I had attacked him. Even if Darren had informed his brother of his intentions, I highly doubted Blayne had forgiven me for that.

  I hesitated at the door, wondering if Blayne planned to witness my confrontation with his brother.

  "Go on. Knock." The words came out silky and dangerous, with a hint of disgust that was fully evident now that we were past the guard's hearing. I chanced a glance at Blayne's expression and saw the malignant curve of his lips.

  Rapping twice against the dark wood I waited, my stomach in knots. I heard the soft pad of boots against carpet, and then the door swung open to reveal Darren, half-dressed in dark breeches and a loose cotton shirt. Dark bangs fell to the side of his face - but it wasn't enough to shield the guilt that flared in his eyes for just a moment before quickly melding into cool indifference.

  Darren's mouth hardened into a small, thin line. "What are you doing here, Ryiah?"

  My whole body went cold, and for a moment I couldn't believe it was Darren standing in front of me. There hadn't been a single hint of emotion in his address.

  "I need to talk to you." I was trying my best to sound calm. "Alone."

  The non-heir's gaze slid to his brother, and then back to me. His expression didn't waver. "There is nothing to discuss."

  "Darren." My voice cracked. "Please."

  Blayne - who up until now had been a smug spectator, leaning against the frame of Darren's door lazily - snorted rudely. "My dear," he drawled, "my brother has given you his answer. Pick up your lowborn pride and leave before this gets worse. I only brought you so you wouldn't assault those poor guards trying to get over here in the first place. I am well aware of your temper." He pronounced the last word distinctly.

  I ignored Blayne and kept my eyes locked on the one person that mattered. "What did they say to you, Darren?" My pulse was racing. I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. I swallowed and forced myself to continue. "I'll wait… If you tell me you need more time to talk your father around-"

  Blayne let out a high-pitched laugh.

  "Ryiah." Garnet flames stopped me mid-speech. "I don't want you to wait."

  It was as if someone had just plunged me into a bath of ice. "What do you mean?"

  Darren was silent.

  I felt hysteria rising. "Darren." I took a step forward – ignoring his brother's sharp intake of breath - and took the non-heir's hand. "Don't do this. I-" My voice caught. "-I love you."

  The prince frowned and looked pointedly to his brother. "Might we have a moment alone?"

  Blayne's blue eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he ste
pped back with a curt glance at me. "Remember," he snarled, "if you try anything I will have the guards over here at a moment's notice."

  I glared back at him. "I believe your brother asked for some privacy."

  Anger shot across the heir's features – but before he could say anything in reply Darren had pulled me into his chamber and shut the door. Then it was just the two of us facing one another, no noise except for the quiet beating of our chests and Blayne's pacing outside the room.

  "What are you doing?"

  "I am making the best of a bad situation." Darren dropped my hand as he added, "It will be best if you don't make a scene."

  "A scene?" My voice was shrill. "Darren, you told me you were leaving her! Why are you still betrothed to Priscilla?"

  "You know why."

  "I thought you were tired of following rules!" I shouted, furious. "You told me – you promised that day on the ship - even if things became hard you wouldn't give up on us!"

  The prince didn't respond. I closed the distance between us and grabbed both of his shoulders, shaking him. "Darren, look at me!"

  Darren shoved me away angrily. "What do you want me to say, Ryiah? I made a mistake."

  For a moment there was only silence.

  "We aren't a mistake." Tears were burning my eyes.

  "You had to know we would never be able to marry." His eyes were fathomless. "Even if I had somehow convinced Father to break off my engagement to Priscilla and court you, it never would have lasted long."

  I couldn't breathe. For a moment all I could hear was the angry pulsing of blood.

  And then:

  "YOU COWARD!" I picked up the nearest object I could find – a large glass globe - and lobbed it at his head. "YOU AREN'T EVEN TRYING TO FIGHT FOR US!"

  Darren dodged the globe easily and there was a loud shattering as millions of tiny shards misted the air between us.

  "You shouldn't have done that, Ryiah," he said.

  The chamber door swung open as Blayne and the two guards from earlier strode in, weapons raised.

  I dropped my hands and let the two men bind my wrists, two sets of rough hands dragging me away from the prince. "All this time I respected you for trying to prove you were more than a prince, more than some privileged highborn!" I spat at him. "It's a shame to find out you are no more than your father's whipping boy!"

  Darren's stopped looking indifferent – now the expression he wore was livid. "You want to know the truth?" He shouldered his way past the guards so that he was inches from my face. Blayne watched the both of us with keen interest.

  "I never loved you."

  "LIAR!" I wrestled with my restraints, but the guards were too strong.

  "I never loved you." Darren's laugh was cold and unfeeling. "Did I want you? Of course, I would've been a fool not to… But love? Well, that's just something one claims to win certain privileges."

  "You are lying!" I couldn't believe him. I wouldn't. He was only trying to hurt me to make this easier. It was like our first year at the Academy: he was protecting me, I knew it. He had to-

  "Ryiah, Ryiah." Blayne's tone was scornful. "Surely you know better than that. Think about it. When has prince of Jerar ever married a commoner? Darren didn't want to court you – he wanted to bed you." He snickered. "Why do you think he was so quick to end things after you turned him away?"

  "No." My whole body was shaking. "No!"

  "I'm sorry it had to come to this."

  I couldn't speak – not without bursting into angry sobs, and I would not let him see me cry.

  "You should leave now, Ryiah." Darren's voice was void of emotion.

  My hands trembled violently and I couldn't stop gasping for air. What was wrong with me? I felt like my chest was being ripped apart at its seams.

  "Guards, take her away." Blayne had stopped looking entertained. "This has gone on long enough."

  You do not control me. Before the guards could drag me away I slammed a heel into each of their boots and then bit down on my tongue until it bled, letting the momentary pain send enough magic for my bonds to break.

  Then before the men could stop me I gathered my skirts and gave a mock bow to my audience. "Your highnesses."

  I didn't bother to wait for a reply – I ran down the hall half-aware of Blayne's shouting and Darren's mumbled response. I kept waiting for the sound of angry footfall behind me, but it never came. Darren must have convinced the guards to let me go.

  "I never loved you." I threw open the door to my chambers and slammed it shut behind me. "Love?" I threw myself onto the bed. "That's just something one claims to win certain privileges."

  Darren was the world's greatest liar. Or I was the worst kind of fool.

  Either way there was no victory to be held. Everything had played out exactly the way the others had warned me it would. I had chosen to fly – was it really any wonder the fall would be so steep? My breathing hitched and an unbidden sob tore its way across my chest.

  Then the tears came…

  I wasn't sure they'd ever stop.

  They did, eventually.

  But that only made it worse. I was still crying, screaming, dying inside.

  I didn't remember falling asleep.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  "Alright, listen up, apprentices, I don't want you parading around like a bunch of girls at a convent because you have an audience during today's drills. This morning's exercise was particularly shameful."

  "Is the entire court going to be watching all year?" The words burst from my lips before I could stop them. I couldn't help it – for the first half of our day the palace nobles had been everywhere. Watching the morning run and warm ups around the practice yard, commenting during the non-magicked weapons drills, placing bets on our prowess and rooting for favorites… it was like our first-year trials all over again.

  The highborns had returned to the palace grounds for lunch, but there was always the threat they could return.

  Master Byron scowled as the rest of the class turned to watch his reply. "Yes. This is one of the court's favorite activities when the apprenticing mages and squires are stationed in Devon. The king himself commissions it. Do you have a problem with spectators, apprentice?"

  I bit my lip. There was no point arguing with our training master, hadn't I learned that by now? "No."

  Byron's stern gaze slide to the rest of his audience. "Anyone else?"

  Silence.

  "Good. Now that Apprentice Ryiah has withdrawn her complaint, let's resume what matters, shall we?" The man made a face. "This year's castings will be particularly poignant. Mentors, you will be casting on command. Mentees, I leave it up to you to form the appropriate deflection."

  "How do we know which casting to defend ourselves with?"

  I cringed as I watched the Master of Combat turn on the second-year who had spoken, an anxious-looking girl named Tully. His face was a mottled shade of red.

  "Common sense. And practice. Lots of it. Do not interrupt me again, apprentice." The training master glowered at the rest of the class. "As I keep attempting to say, these drills will build up your reserve to a multitude of attacks… Given a couple of weeks I am sure most of the fourth— and fifth-years will be ready to advance to un-dictated exchanges, but for this first month I would like the entire faction to train together. Now, everyone take your positions."

  The class quickly dispersed and I found myself trailing after Ella and her new mentor Bryce to the end of two parallel lines. Both apprentices avoided looking directly at one another as they waited for the drills to begin. I cringed inwardly. Ella's pairing was almost as painful as mine. Bryce was one of Priscilla's friends and shared many of her condescending views. This morning he'd made the mistake of telling his mentee she was a fool for consorting with lowborns. Before my brother and I had even risen Ella had already thrown the entire contents of her porridge into the highborn's face.

  Now she had latrine duty for a week.

  Needless to say the two were at an uncom
fortable impasse.

  Still, I had to think animosity was better than guilt. Ella could at least channel her frustration into her castings. With my fifth-year mentor I had already made a fool of myself holding back in a misguided attempt to spare him. Two times during the morning's non-magic sparring I had received a stiff reprimand from Byron and an unpleasant bruise where my new partner's blows had landed.

  I vowed not to let pity affect my actions for the rest of the afternoon. The last thing I needed was for the Master of Combat to assume I'd gone soft.

  Taking a deep breath, I took my place beside Ella, shifting my feet into a comfortable stance as I faced off against the sandy-haired fifth-year fifteen feet across from me.

  Ian met my eyes without expression. He hadn't said a word to me since our unfortunate pairing. Not that I could blame him. The last time we'd exchanged a full sentence I had broken his heart and subsequently ended our friendship.

  Not unlike what Darren did to me.

  I shoved the thought away as soon as it came. I wouldn't, couldn't think about the non-heir now. Not unless I wanted to spend the rest of the day fighting back tears. And I was done crying. I'd had three weeks of that during our travel from the palace to the Academy and then back again. If anything, that experience taught me exactly how heartless I had been to Ian.

  I deserved the fifth-year's silence.

  But it made things extremely awkward. Mentors and mentees were supposed to trade advice and feedback. Suggestions. It wasn't exactly possible if you weren't speaking to one another.

  "And begin. Mentors: ice!"

  I barely had time to throw up my defense. In the blink of an eye Ian had cast out an onslaught of icicles. Sharp, spinning torrents of water tore into the metal shield I had cast. An unfortunate choice. Within seconds the casting had frozen the metal and sent a chilling burn down my arm.

  Ian released his casting just as I dropped my shield to the floor. My whole arm stung. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I knew better than to cast iron against ice. My guilt was going to ruin my training if I kept forgetting to think. Ian could handle himself – any feelings of ill will were buried behind a stone wall of silence.