First Year (26 page)

We gained a few new faces to our study group, others who had been upset by the hazing—only they, like the rest of us, had not had the courage to speak out against it. Alex had also acquired a fan base, and unlike his exchanges with Ella, his present flirtations were met with success.

Ella seemed unusually irritable. I couldn’t help but notice. At first she’d been happy that we were no longer the outcasts of our class, but after two weeks she sang a different tune.

“Just look at them fawning over him,” she complained, sawing away at a defenseless piece of cabbage. “They are treating him like he’s a god… They wouldn’t look twice at him a month ago!”

“You sound jealous,” I told her, grinning.

She glowered at me through a mouthful of stew. “I am
not
jealous. I am
disgusted.”
She eyed my promiscuous brother, who was now seated a good five spaces ahead, having been crowded out by his newfound admirers.

“It’ll pass,” I told her. “You’ll get your friend back.”

Ella didn’t answer. She was too busy watching Alex to hear me.

I smiled to myself the second she looked away and he glanced our way. Alex hadn’t forgotten Ella. He was just enjoying the chance to make her squirm. Not that I could fault him. She hadn’t given my brother the time of day until he had stopped trying to charm her. Then again, I couldn’t blame her either. She knew his reputation, and the last thing I wanted to do was lose a friend.

It was funny how our minds worked.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Before I knew it, two months had come and gone since the winter break. With the absence of hazing, all focus had returned to study.

Five more had resigned from Combat: two during the period prior to hazing, and three after they had reached the limits of their potential.

There were others whose development had ceased as well, but they refused to acknowledge it. For most of us, we had gone too far to quit.

I was lucky. Even as others’ stamina was fading, my magic was continuing to build. Ella’s too. It could be argued that those of us with the least training had the most opportunity to grow, but I knew that was not the only factor. While I had yet to outdo the more talented first-years of Combat, I was passing others whose limits had started to stall.

I still had a long road ahead, but I was fast approaching the top third of my faction.

Unfortunately, Darren, Priscilla, and Eve were still at the head of our class, alongside Ray, one of the lowborn boys their group had adopted early on. It was frustrating, but none of them had finished building their magical stamina either.

It seemed that no matter how hard I tried, the prince would always be one step ahead.

I’d started waking up and training two hours before the morning bell to improve my weapons skills for Piers. I practiced an extra hour of casting with Ella each evening in hopes of impressing Narhari. I was still up long after the midnight hour studying for Eloise and Cedric… but none of it changed my standing.

I was still behind
him.
 

I wanted to be rewarded for my efforts, and I couldn’t help feeling as if the gods had jilted me. Would it never be enough? After everything I had been through, everything the non-heir had done to make my life a misery, it would have been nice to stand a fighting chance. Because I knew. If I was paired up with Darren, or any of his friends during our end-of-year trials, I would lose.

Well, I wasn’t giving up now. I’d made it this far, the next three months couldn’t get much worse. And if they did, well, I’d already taken part in several nightmares.

“I’m sure all of you have been wondering what the trials are going to be like,” Master Eloise declared loudly as she entered the giant library, bearing a mountain of papers in her wake.

Everyone stopped talking at once. The woman had addressed the very thing we’d been anxiously awaiting for weeks.

The large woman took her place at the podium beside a fidgeting Isaac. “As of this morning, you have officially crossed the two-month threshold…”

I bit my lip apprehensively. Someone was nervously tapping a quill to my right.

“Yes, my dears, two
short
months remain, and then your lives forever change.” Master Eloise regarded the class grimly: “Some of you might already be familiar with how the process works—perhaps through family or friends who attended our school in the past—but I can assure you that it is a completely different experience when you are the one undergoing the exams instead. Given the proximity of your impending trials, we have decided to enlighten you as to what role your academic learning will play.”

Master Isaac joined his counterpart: “To a contender of Combat, brute strength is everything. I can hardly deny this. You have spent countless hours learning how to fight, and to cast. It is a very hard, very grueling feat to have endured as much as you have. Please keep in mind, however, potential and training are not all that makes up the great faction of Combat, and they will not be all the judges look for in your trials.

“They judges want to see a warrior, not a soldier. Soldiers follow other soldiers into battle—they obey orders, fight valiantly. A warrior can do the same, but he is also a commander, an independent mercenary, and a strategist. The warrior fills many roles, and the capacity to do so requires an intelligence that ordinary soldiers are not trained to possess.

“In the course of your study thus far, Master Eloise and I have been attempting to impart the groundwork that would behoove a warrior’s learned wisdom. You have been introduced to the principles of climate, Crown and Council law, geography, strategic planning, diplomacy… and, most importantly, the history of Jerar.

“Each one of these disciplines will play a pivotal role in an apprenticeship, should you be so fortunate. Because of this there will be two trials for each first-year. The first test will focus on your magical prowess. The second, the application of your studies in this classroom.”

Eloise cleared her throat. “Every student will be given a twenty-minute audience alone with the judges. The panel will be asking questions directly related to your strategies in Combat. They
expect
to hear citations from Academy lectures, but what they
want
is to understand how you would make those facts a part of your own approach. The tactics of warfare are ever changing—the more creative your technique is, the more they will take notice. The worst disservice you can possibly do for yourself is quote a plan that is factually-challenged or has been proven flawed by history.”

A couple of students groaned, and I thanked the gods I had made it a point to carry out my nightly studies.

Master Eloise narrowed her eyes at the class. “I take it you feel unprepared. Well, fortunately for you, the next two months will be spent reviewing everything we have covered.
Unfortunately,
that will not be enough to make a difference for the ones that need it most. Still, I advise you to try because being able to tie
everything
in, and think in terms of strategy rather than relying on brute force
…that
will be what separates a novice from an apprentice in your studies here at the Academy.”

After four hours of magical theory, Ella, Clayton, and I left class with more apprehension than when it had started. We’d already heard rumors that there were two parts to the trials, and Eloise’s announcement had just confirmed it.

I was relieved, in a sense. I was in very good standing compared to most of my faction. The downside was that now everyone else was going to be attempting to catch up. Until today, most of the students had been focusing solely on casting. Now that they knew half of our trials would be devoted to military tactic and strategy, derived entirely from Eloise and Isaac’s course, there was bound to a plentitude of sleepless nights ahead.

“So I think the both of us will be joining your late-night library runs,” Ella told me, as she and Clayton sat down beside me for lunch. The rest of our study group was still missing. No doubt Ruth was running late from her lessons with Master Ascillia, and I could see Alex at the end of the room flirting outrageously with a pretty girl from Restoration.

“Just make sure no one notices you when Barrius comes round to do the final dismissal,” I warned. The last thing I needed was to get caught because half the class had suddenly decided to take up late-night study.

“Does Darren still go there?” Ella asked abruptly.

My face burned. “Not since that kiss.”

Clayton’s goblet fell to the floor with a loud clatter. He ducked under the table to retrieve it.

Ella raised a brow, grinning, and I scowled in return. I knew what she was thinking, and I did not care to comment.

Clay had been going out of his way, recently, to try and make me laugh. He was thoughtful, kind, good-looking… but it didn’t matter one bit.

There was only one person I felt anything for, and
he
was the last one I ever wanted to see.

The next month slipped by far too quickly for comfort. If a student wasn’t in the library, they were on the field, practicing drills or conjuring spells out by the armory. Most of us weren’t even aware of the passing of days. We were far too consumed with our studies to take notice.

The trials were to be a weeklong affair. The masters had since broken down the exact schedule, and now that everyone knew what they would entail, we were frantically preparing for the worst.

For Combat, the structure would be almost identical to our midyear tourney. Each one of us would be taking part in a duel, and the competitions would span out across a day. This time our matches were expected to play out between fifteen minutes to an hour—however long it took for one person to concede. The main difference was that our opponent would be random, decided entirely by chance. Each student would draw from a bag of tokens, and whoever had the matching statuette would be the person we went up against.

I wasn’t sure if I was excited or alarmed by the change. I might not fight Priscilla, but I could end up sparring with someone far worse. Eve and Darren were the true contenders to beat, and it would be even harder to go up against a friend. There could be no victory to the latter.

Restoration’s first trial would be a healing demonstration of sorts. Students would be taking turns curing one another of projected ailments. It had sounded well enough, until Alex pointed out an unpleasant factor: the more he restored, the more complaints his or her partner would be forced to endure. “In other words,” my brother had noted, cringing, “you better hope you go up against someone who doesn’t know what they are doing because if they do, Master Cedric will be inflicting increasingly painful conditions for your partner to ‘cure’ you of.”

Ruth told us Alchemy would be the first trial to take place. Her faction’s section would consist of two parts: the brewing and application of various potions. The first half of the day, her class would be mixing their draughts according to the judges’ request. The final hours would be spent experiencing the resulting effects.

After the initial trials concluded, there would be two days in which every student was called before the judges for a private oral exam in the west tower of the Academy. That was the portion Masters Eloise and Isaac had warned us about.

On the seventh day, the judges would make their choice. They’d spend a good portion of the day before weighing one student’s performance against the next, and then, after the evening meal, they would call everyone to the atrium for the results.

It was bound to be the most nerve-wrecking week of our lives.

“I don’t think I am ready for this,” Ella confided over the course of a late evening in the library long after everyone else had gone to bed. She and I were pouring over a mountain of scrolls for the hundredth time while Clayton snored loudly on the study’s couch behind us.

“I don’t think we’ll ever be ‘ready,’” I told my friend, trying to stifle a yawn and failing. “If they wanted us to be ready, they would give us more than a year.”

Ella sighed. “Well, let us hope the time was not in vain.”

“Agreed.” Despite my calm response, I was terrified. I knew I had done everything I could but self-doubt was a hard habit to break.

Throughout my entire stay, I’d been able to tell myself the trials were months away. That I had plenty of time to become the greatest Combat mage the school had ever seen. Now ten months had come and gone, and I had no more room to pretend.

I was as good as I was going to get. I only hoped it would be enough.

“Welcome proud families, friends, visiting mages and nobility. Today marks the beginning of our first-year trials. I am Master Barclae, the current Master of the Academy, and I will be your guide to all that encompasses the competition for the next seven days…”

Master Barclae continued on as I scanned the rows of high-rising benches across the training field. I knew my family was somewhere in the audience, but with the sheer magnitude of people and the dramatic costume of the spectating nobility in front, I could not make out their faces.

Right now, all forty-three of the remaining first-years, myself included, were lined up facing the stands so that the audience could get a good look at the surviving applicants. It was a bit degrading to be introduced by each of our faction’s training master while the first couple of rows whispered amongst one another.

I had no idea who most of the spectators were, yet they all had opinions about me and the rest of my class. Which one of us looked the strongest. Who was the weakest. Who would be apprenticed. And who would fail.

Barclae had gathered all of us that morning before the visitors had started to arrive. He and the rest of the staff had explained exactly what we could expect to see in the next few days. Our families would not be the only ones arriving, he had noted. Graduated mages would also be returning to catch a glimpse of the newest faces, and so would the Crown and its ensuing nobility.

It was true that King Lucius and Prince Blayne had family participating this year, but what I had not realized was that the king and his court came
every
year. Since the Crown was funding the Academy, the trials were “an opportunity to check on the progress of its efforts.” They also made for entertainment—nobility contributed donations in exchange for the privilege to attend. They made sport of the event, taking bets and wagers on the rest of us.