Magic Academy (A Fantasy New Adult Romance) (6 page)

Mae’lin smiled at her, almost
bashfully really. “I always told them they were foolish. Truth
be told,” he remarked with a shrug of his shoulders, “they
never react well to humans who make them wonder or strike their
interest. It bothers them.”

“Well… I suppose that’s
good.” She wasn’t doing it for them, or to embarrass
them. She simply wanted to do what she was best at. Always. “You
never answered if you were competing.”

“Oh,” he said, brushing a
hand back over his blonde hair. “Oh! Yeah, of course,” he
remarked, a bit of a blush forming on his own pale cheeks. “I’m
giving it a shot … My family has enough sorcerers of our own
working the business, so… it’s make the cut at one of
the academies or else…” he shrugged his shoulders again.

“It’s not often humans
compete,” he blurted out. “I mean… that makes you
pretty special… is all… I’m sayin’.”
He gulped.

Was he nervous around her?

Suddenly her stomach tightened, and she
felt nervous too. It was as if all her forced confidence slid out of
her and was replaced with the heat of her blood rising to the
surface. She finally really looked at him, not just through him, and
a lump developed in her throat.

She tried to swallow it down. “I’ll
be special if I get picked.”

He was handsome in his own way. Though
all elves were, his long, lanky nature gave him a curious look that
contrasted his kin. It made him stand out more, she realized, for the
others tended to be so perfectly uniform humans could hardly tell
them apart. “Either way…” he began, but then
nodded firmly. “Same boat as me then. Well… kinda.”
He knew it wasn’t. No human could be competing for such
recognition on the same level as an elf, of course.

She forced a smile, but it was lopsided
and awkward as she scuffed her black shoes into the ground. “Well…
goodluck. I mean…” she trailed off, her tongue tied. She
had no idea how to talk to these elves, even if they did seem
genuine.

But then, did she know how to talk to
her fellow humans that well either?

The longest conversation she’d
had with anyone in her life might’ve been with a demon.

“To you too,” he said with
a boyish smile, though she knew he had to be well beyond her years.
Elves always were somehow.

The horn sounded signalling the call
for competitors to assemble, and Mae’lin gave a bow and
gestured for her to go ahead. “I shall see you in the fields
then, Firia. Goodluck,” he remarked genuinely.

Inside the grand tent Firia couldn’t
help but be amazed at the staggering scope of the area it covered. It
spanned the entire field, and housed within it dozens of house-sized
enclosures where different groups, each showing their own banner,
prepared for the festivities and competitions.

The boom of the organizer’s voice
carried over the crowds, clearly instructing the young hopefuls on
where the competitions would be held.

Firia had only two real tricks up her
sleeve: her ability to manipulate heat and fire, and her familiar.
She still held some small hope that the familiar wouldn’t be
necessary to impress the academies, so she wanted to keep that one in
reserve. Though she was at a distinct disadvantage.

The competitions were mostly highly
regulated things, where the hopefuls competed on a series of tasks
that were laid out. These were contests that basically only wealthy
elvish families could aspire to, as only they could afford to give
their children the private tutors necessary to master so many little
introductory spells to numerous schools of magic.

When she heard the announcer declare
the “general aptitude display competition,” she knew that
her best chance lay there. As she shuffled through the crowd towards
the indicated area, she saw Mae’lin doing the same and knew he
was in the same boat.

Upon arrival, however, she saw the
competition would not be small. The crowd of young hopefuls was
enormous! The ring where they would display was large, but as she saw
they were only filtering through a couple at a time, she realized the
wait would be long.

It wasn’t fair. They had all the
advantages, and still they couldn’t cut it in the specialized
fields. She was here because this was the best she could aspire to as
a human from meagre means. They had every advantage and still they
thought themselves to be on the same playing field as her.

No. They thought they were better than
her.

Her head lifted high and her eyes
narrowed as she looked around, seeking some way to move ahead. To
catch the gaze of someone important.

The contests began in the meantime, and
she realized, even as she scanned for some way to get ahead, that the
reason they were being filtered two at a time was for the sake of
comparison. The first pair off was odd, only one of them seemed to
get that fact, and while the other did her best to impress the
judges, the more prepared one simply did his best to outdo her.

It was a short match for that reason,
and quickly they shuttled them off, one towards one of the academy’s
area, the other towards the edge of the tent-dome where she’d
doubtlessly be forced to wander home defeated.

It only heightened her sense of
urgency, and as the contests continued – growing more fierce
with time – she wedged her way to the front as best she could.

Once there, she got a good sight of the
next competition. The tables arrayed with components for ease of
display. There were sconces for fires, which she noted first and
foremost, there were basins of water – quickly refilled from
the last competitors – and an endless assortment of wooden
fixtures, practice dummies and all sorts of spell components.

The pair-off began with one performing
a dazzlingly elven display before conjuring forth fireworks-like
explosions from their fingertips. It was small, but it looked intense
with how concentrated he was.

The other countered with her
telekinesis, throwing a blanket over his hand and dousing out his
display with merely the power of her mind. It not only won applause
but laughter, and the young elvish woman was taken away with a grin
on her face to be haggled over by the academies.

Firia saw then, in the midst of
watching the furor in the centerfield, a curious sight. A
brown-haired man. A human. He was dressed well for not being an elf,
and looked determined. Confident.

She tried to move towards the kindred
spirit, but before she could get anywhere near him, he was ushered
through onto the field and she was left standing behind the academy
students, blocking off access during the competition.

Still, she was where she wanted to be,
and with a prime view of the most intriguing fight of the day other
than her own, as far as she was concerned.

The tall, brown-haired human strode up
to his place, facing off against an elvish man at his side. He didn’t
waste any time, and flipped his overcloak back before moving his
fingers in a hypnotic gesture. As his competition began his own
spell, she couldn’t help but notice the elf was having a hard
time with his own chant.

Curiously, the crowd tittered here and
there, watching the elf get tongue-tied and begin to sway.

It was confusing to her; she didn’t
quite get what was happening, because you weren’t allowed to
cast spells upon an opponent in the competition, so he surely wasn’t
hexing the elf or else he’d be disqualified. She looked around
and saw only some of the other competitors seemed to understand, but
all of the students and professors in the stands were openly amused.

There was something going on that was
clearly lost on the less educated.

Before she could decipher it, however,
the elf fainted. Not a single spell cast as he hit the ground.

Applause broke out in the stands from
some select few of the senior academy students and professors who
could overcome their racial bias, while the unconscious elf was
carried off, and the triumphant human brought to be negotiated over.

It was her chance then, and all the
world was abuzz with what would happen. The whole trajectory of her
life would be set then and there, and –

She watched as the elvish guards picked
some others behind her, sending them on ahead of her.

He stole her thunder!

Damn it
, she cursed, her blue
eyes turning cold as her hand shot up in the air as if she were in
class. “Hey!” Her shout could barely be heard over the
din of the crowd, and she repeated it, louder.

How dare another human compete, just
before her. Distracting them from her.

She didn’t know where the
animosity came from, truly, but her frustration was making her skin
buzz and he was the only target she could think of. She expected to
be treated poorly by the elves, but for them to usher him along and
ignore her?

It was an insult!

The head “usher” glowered
at her. “Wait your turn,” he snarled, keeping her back as
the contest resumed.

The other beside him turned her gaze
upon Firia, “We’ve had one token-human for this year, and
that may be enough if you don’t watch yourself.

It was my turn
, she pouted,
unable to hide her anger.

Her breath was quickened and she wanted
nothing more than to show them all, to impress them with her
demonstrations.

Yet she couldn’t even understand
what the token human had done.

She was out of her league.

The competition went on, the ushers
passing her up again and again. She wanted to lash out and say
something, but the look on their faces said they’d relish the
opportunity to retaliate and maybe cost her her chance entirely.

When Mae’lin came up by her he
looked to her with some surprise. “Firia?” he said as
they moved to take him and another, holding her back yet again. The
elf looked surprised, “Why is she being held back?” he
asked.

“Take your turn or shut up,”
he retorted.

It was the only time since being passed
up that she was able to feel anything other than hatred, and she
stared at him intently. “You win this, alright?”

Mae’lin didn’t take the
opportunity though, the tall, lanky elf hesitating and refusing the
tug of the usher’s hand. “What’s going on here?”
he asked stubbornly.

It got him exactly what she thought.
“Fine then,” said the usher, and another elf was taken
and the competition went on as before. “You two can wait,”
he growled, pushing the confused-looking Mae’lin over towards
her.

Firia sighed as she looked up at the
elf, her arms crossed beneath her small bust. “Why’d you
do that, huh? You know why they’re holding me back. They
already have a human, they don’t need another.”

Mae’lin’s ovaline eyes
looked truly baffled, then saddened. He didn’t have any words
for her, but she could read the sadness in his gaze. Not for himself
so much as her.

Still, the competition carried on.

There were so many surprises that day
for her, but by the time the pool of candidates was whittled down and
evening was drawing near, she saw that the not only was the
competition thinning, the viewers in the stands were too.

A sickening feeling began to sink in:
she might not even get her chance to compete. She might be denied her
shot at that one slim hope.

The thought of that was sickening to
her. It made her stomach – already roiling from being empty –
turn and sicken.

Mae’lin seemed to want to comfort
her, but he didn’t know what to do or say that wouldn’t
make matters worse. So he stood beside her, arms folded, anxiously
hoping.

How was it possible she felt so alone,
even in the bustling crowd? So hopeless, even on the cusp of her
great chance?

She felt it then, the slight tickle of
his presence within her. It was faint, like the brush of his warm
hand against hers. Just a thin strand of comfort.

It managed to steel her resolve again,
but she felt lost and frustrated. What was she supposed to do? If she
drew any more attention to herself, they’d just throw her out.
If she waited patiently – obediently – then they’ll
never even look at her.

Either way, she wasn’t going to
win any favour. She wasn’t going to succeed.

Her blue eyes narrowed as they scanned
over the remaining crowd, over the “competition”. There
had to be something she could do.

All she saw was the gloomy reminder of
how few remained. Less than a dozen, herself and Mae’lin
included. Though as she nearly lost hope, an odd motion caught her
sight: someone returning to the stands to sit and view.

It had only been the opposite for
hours: people leaving. So she looked and saw a most strange thing, an
old, human wizard. He wore voluminous robes, fine and decked with
symbols of accomplishment and power. He was no minor wizard, he was
an elder sorcerer even by the standards of the elves, dressed as and
seated where he was.

As he stroked his grey, trimmed beard,
he looked out over the field, and she swore for a moment he locked
eyes with her, even across the near-endless span of the fields.

The ushers held up their hands. “That
shall be all the competition for this evening! Sorry, but the rest of
you will have to return on the morrow.”

Tomorrow. Firia knew what that meant.

She was seething. There were so few of
them left. It would barely take any time to see them through. She
wasn’t even being afforded the dignity of losing to someone
better.

She was just being passed over.

She felt terrible for Mae’lin,
for the fact that he’d thrown away his chance just to try to
help her. Yet she wasn’t selfless, and her blue eyes went back
to the strange human in the stands.

It was a strange sensation. It was as
if his steely eyes bore through her to her soul from across the
field. The moment dragged on, and it felt as though tendrils probed
her inner-being, prying and prodding.