First Year (22 page)

Clayton kept silent, staring at the floor.

“Don’t forget,” Ian said, leaning in to touch my arm as I passed. “You’re lucky now, which means this won’t be the last time we meet.” He paused to chuckle, “Only next time, you’ll be an apprentice of Combat.”

“How…?” I stepped back dumbfounded. I’d never told him my faction.

“My training master is good friends with Narhari. The entire faction was regaled with tales from the mid-year tourney earlier this month.”

I cringed.

“Given that you’re the only first-year girl with red hair and blue eyes, I figured I had a pretty good idea of who I was talking to.”

I stepped outside the Academy doors and slammed them shut behind me. It was still early in the evening, too soon for anyone else to have left the celebrations behind.

At first, I had only intended on stepping out for a minute. But after hearing how my humiliation had been the entertainment for every apprentice mage in Combat, I’d been overcome with the overwhelming desire to run away and never look back. Realizing, however, that it was not a viable option in the dead of winter, I had figured the next best thing would be to get as far away from the residents as I could.

It was ironic, really, how my moods could change so quickly in the course of an evening. It had taken me all of a month and a half to recover from that day, yet only seconds to bring the emotions crumbling back.

As I plodded through the snow, I was barely conscious of how long I had walked until I found myself at the entrance of the armory. The bottoms of my dress and cloak were drenched in ice and mud, and my hair, which had been pinned neatly back for the ball, was now a wet, curling mess. I should have been upset that I had ruined the one valuable article of clothing in my possession, but at that moment I would have gladly burned a dozen of the same if I’d thought it would bring me any peace.

The Academy was an impressive sight I refused to look back as I tried the handle on the armory door.

It was unlocked.

Opening the door slowly, I conjured a bit of light in my left hand and entered the building quietly. All around me shadows danced, and my casting’s flame reflected off the blades lining the armory walls.

Discarding my cloak, I let it fall to the floor as I approached the back of the room. Near the back wall was another door leading to a second room that I had never bothered to inspect before, but now I did. Pushing the wooden frame open, my breath caught as I came face-to-face with my reflection at every angle.

The room’s walls were entirely encased in mirrors. I could see myself everywhere I turned, a wary, red-haired girl with somber gray-blue eyes and a jade green dress.

Going back to the main room, I grabbed a candle and a broadsword off its rack, and returned to the mirrors. Using a sconce to hold my light in place, I turned back to face the glass.

Almost unconsciously, I started the swordsman drills I had practiced so many times in class. One by one, my steps led way to an intricate dance of blades. I slashed and cut in rhythm, never striking the same spot twice, while I watched my form in the mirrors.

It was strangely soothing as I picked up pace and continued the assault. Forward and back, striking left and feigning right, I parried each attack until I became familiar with its replication in the mirrors.

Instinctively, I summoned an opposing blade to deflect my broadsword’s assault. I continued the dance, metal and metal meeting at every turn.

Each time I struck, the casting blocked. It happened again and again with increasing intensity until the second blade began an attack of its own.

I wasn’t sure exactly how it happened, but as the exchange continued, my magic no longer needed me to direct it when and where to go to parry each blow. It was a mind-numbing revelation, but I forced myself to keep on as shadows continued to play out across the room.

“Very good.”

Startled, I dropped my blade, and my casting disappeared. In the mirror, I could see Darren behind me.

The non-heir stood, leaning against the doorway, with the semblance of a smile on his face. He looked particularly disconcerting tonight in a fitted leather vest and dark pants. After seeing him so many days in training breeches and tunics, I had forgotten how morose his attire usually was. Morose, but also easy on the eyes. Possibly too easy.

My pulse quickened.

“What are you doing here?” I wasn’t sure whether to be pleased the prince had given me a compliment, or mad that he had interrupted me. I wanted to be angry, but it was hard when the prince didn’t have the usual condescension that was always written across his face.

Darren took a step forward, ignoring my question. Instead of answering, he motioned for me to pick up my blade.

Clumsily, I reached down to grab the weapon, and by the time I had pulled myself back up, the non-heir was holding a blade of his own.

“Begin,” he said.

I didn’t know what to do. I had never gone up against the prince. Priscilla, yes—shamefully—and once Jake, but never Darren. He was the best there was, and he only ever sparred with the top of our class, which I was certainly not.

“Ryiah, I am trying to help you,” he said tiredly.

I clutched the sword and widened my stance.
You can do this,
I decided.
You’ve got nothing to lose at this point.
 

Darren began to circle, and I imitated his pattern. The mirrors were distracting, and I forced myself to concentrate solely on the dark-haired boy in front of me. He was almost cat-like in his movements, lunging in and out with a surprising grace that spoke of years of practice in contrast to my own awkward attempts.

Still, it was painfully obvious the non-heir was holding back.

“Just get on with it,” I told him, blocking an easy strike and countering with one of my own. “I know you are much better than this.”

Darren frowned amidst blows, though he still carried on smoothly as his sword wove in and out of the air before us.

“This is not about me beating you,” he replied. “I want you to cast out your magic again, like you were doing before you noticed me. You shouldn’t have to think before you use it now. When you fail to defend yourself with the real sword, I want your casting to engage me instead.”

I tried calling on the blade again, and it came along easier than the last. I willed it to hold its own defense, as Darren had suggested, and continued to strike and parry with the sword I held in my hands.

Darren began to move faster—so fast, in fact, that I had trouble keeping up.

As his blade struck out unexpectedly, I didn’t have time to think. But just as his blade should have cut into my unprotected shoulder, my casting and Darren’s handheld blade collided, leaving me untouched.

This continued to happen. Each time Darren’s sword struck out, my magic blade deflected what my real one was unable to reach. The prince’s cuts, unlike Ella’s much slower ones, did not allow me enough time to visualize how my casting should guard. With Ella, I’d always had enough time to realize my mistakes and project the intended defense in time. With Darren, he was too fast for thinking. My magic had to rely on instinct, something it’d never been capable of doing before.

After ten more minutes of sparring, without a single hit on either side, Darren lowered his blade, and I followed. He was breathing a little uneasily, though nothing like the heavy gasping of my own.

“That was incredible,” I said, when I finally was able to speak.

Darren produced a bench and took a seat, setting his sword to the side. “You’ve come a long way.”

I continued to stand, awkwardly. There was an odd expression in the non-heir’s eyes, as if I was being appraised, and I was immediately conscious of what I must look like.

“Why did you come here?” I asked before I could stop myself, trying to break free from the strange feeling that had formed in the pit of my stomach.

“I followed you.”

“What do you mean, you followed me?”

“I mean,” Darren said, stretching lazily, “that I was on my way to the barracks when I saw you leave the Academy and stomp off angrily into the snow. I wanted to see why someone would choose to ruin her dress—”

I flushed.

“—and enter the armory, of all places, during the middle of a ball.”

Well, when he said it that way…
Still: “It’s not any business of yours, what I choose to do at any point of any day.”

Darren regarded me amusedly. “It’s not,” he admitted, “but given our erratic rapport, forgive me if I was curious to see what my
favorite 
classmate was up to.”

I glared at him. “You are not exactly my first pick either.”

He laughed, loudly, and it caught me off-guard. I’d been expecting him to find offense.

“You know, Ryiah, it might just be the festivities tonight, but I don’t find you nearly as grating as usual.”

I guffawed. “Well, my impression of you hasn’t changed at all.”

“I would be aghast if it did.” Darren stood up, bench and blade disappearing. He started toward the doorway and then turned back suddenly. He looked annoyed for some reason, and he seemed to be having an internal debate with himself.

I stared, watching the non-heir with interest. I had never seen him at a loss for words, and I had to wonder what had caused the out of character reaction in a person of such close-guarded composure.

“For what it’s worth,” he said finally, “a shield is not meant to be hit head on—”

Huh?
 

“—it’s meant to be held at an angle so that you can deflect or, at the very least, lessen your opponent’s blow. If you do it right, it gives you the chance to lead a counterattack, something that most opponents are unprepared for in the heat of the moment.” Darren paused to look directly at me, two fevered flames taking hold of my breath. “You should try it next time.”

Before I could reply, the non-heir disappeared, leaving me alone with a series of unanswered questions.

It was much later that night, after I had already fallen asleep, that I woke up with a start.

You should try it next time.
 

At first, after the prince had left, I had been irate. His remark was just another insulting critique, one that insinuated I didn’t know what I was doing, all in the guise of advice.

But then my nightmare had come and gone. And in it, just as each night before, I relived that horrible day on the battlefield. The day Priscilla had made a fool of me in front of our entire faction.

The day haunted me each time I closed my eyes.

Only this time I noticed something that I had never cared to discern before.

My shield.

Each time Priscilla had led the assault, I’d held my casting directly in front of my body. I had assumed that the best defense was one that left no part of me exposed to her attack…but, by doing so, I had let the full force of her magic hit my shield head on. Not only had her casting destroyed my defense, it had sent me sprawling to the ground.

What would have happened if I’d held the shield at an angle instead?
According to Darren, it would have deflected and lessened Priscilla’s blow. Maybe even have left her open to an attack of my own.

I was so used to fighting with weapons directly, I had never stopped to consider how I used my defense.

And that’s when it hit me.

The non-heir had been trying to help me.

Against Priscilla.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The next morning I was up long before the morning bell. Rather than lying in bed wide-awake, I headed down to the armory with a renewed sense of vigor. Others might choose to sleep in during their week off, but I fully intended to spend each and every day practicing until my lungs collapsed.

I was afraid of losing the magical
and
physical stamina I had worked so hard to build during my time at the school thus far. But, as it turned out, I needn’t have worried. The new routine I was following left me just as exhausted as my sessions with Piers, and like my days in Narhari’s class, I kept on until the pain in my head overwhelmed me. It was much harder to push myself on my own, but I managed as best I could.

The room with the mirrors provided a much-needed reprieve from the monotony of my training with Ella, and while she and I still practiced each day, I spent a good portion of my mornings in the armory. There was something intrinsic about being able to watch my reflection as I performed each routine.

Using the casted blade as an opponent, I was able to see how my physical movements gave way to my intended assault. I had become fair enough at discerning my adversary’s moves through the usual telltale signs, but I’d never been able to watch for my own until now. It became quickly apparent that I was an open book. It was no wonder Ella and Clayton had always been able to counter my blows. I was horrible at hiding my offense.

My “feigning” had not been fooling anyone, but as I continued to edit my form, it began to become more convincing. My stance no longer gave away lunges until a split-second before I engaged, and while still relaxed, the muscles of my arm remained fluid until the decisive moment I struck. I began to practice the patterned drills we had learned in class with a variation of my own. Eventually, my body’s movements and the steps I took no longer revealed an assault. I still slipped up from time to time, but for the most part I was an unreadable opponent. Even my casting had trouble anticipating where to defend.

I struggled at the newness, but I was beginning to feel more confident at the prospect of a free-form exchange. Since my match with Priscilla, I had been worried about the end-of-year trials. I was sure at least one part of them would be a duel or battle of some sort, and what better way to test a student for the faction of Combat than actual combat? In class and with my friends, I had only ever performed a pre-set routine, or drills. Real opponents would not be so obvious. Priscilla hadn’t been.

I needed to be prepared. The mirror room was the necessary solution. It gave me the perfect opportunity to hone my skills and practice technique away from the rest of my year. If I wanted to do well in my trials, I needed to be unpredictable. I could not control how much potential I had, but I
could
do everything in my power to ensure my technique was further along than the others in my class.