Crown of Danger (The Hidden Mage Book 2)

by Melanie Cellier

  “Yes!” Bryony cried. “We’re going to be unbeatable.”

  But when Mitchell announced the rules of the battle, he had a surprise in store for us.

  “You may use any compositions except those relating to your chosen discipline,” he said.

  “What?” Howls of protest rose from both sides.

  “But that’s not fair,” Royce said. “We haven’t been preparing other compositions.”

  “Well you should have been,” Mitchell said coldly. “It is never a wise idea to become predictable. An enemy will take advantage of it, no matter your strength. I am sure you all have shields, at least, and they are not discipline specific, so I expect every trainee to contribute.” He paused, his eyes resting on Bryony and me. “Well, every trainee capable of doing so.”

  Bryony sighed. “That’s me out then,” she said apologetically to our team. “I only have the one composition, and it’s very much within my ‘discipline’. If you can call being an energy mage a discipline.”

  “You’ll still be valuable for your skills with a sword,” Darius said calmly, assuming leadership as he did for every team he fought with. “Wardell, Armand, and Isabelle, what do you have beside shields?”

  Wardell grimaced. “Nothing, I’m afraid. Although I have a fair few shields. I loaded my pockets with creator compositions when I knew we were in the arena today.”

  “I have a number of binding compositions,” Armand surprised us all by saying. When his cousin gave him a questioning look, he shrugged. “They seem like a generally useful sort of thing to have on hand.”

  I examined him more closely, remembering Frida’s revelations. Maybe there were some advantages to not being completely secure in your position.

  “I’ve been experimenting with fast growing vines,” Isabelle said. She also received a number of surprised looks, but she continued calmly. “Ever since I worked with the growers to make use of them in one of our early battles last year. It didn’t seem a truly effective strategy unless I could do it on my own.”

  “A wise thought,” Darius said. “It’s always better not to rely on others.”

  I kept my face still. I hated that he felt that way but, contradictorily, I also wished he would apply the belief to his brother. I glanced across at Jareth who appeared to be in animated conversation with Dellion. Tyron stood beside them, looking slightly bemused. I grinned at him, and he waved back.

  Darius was also examining our opponents, but there was no friendly glint in his eye.

  “They’ve lost the advantage they would have had from having two guards and a soldier,” he said. “None of those three will be able to use their combat compositions, and I don’t imagine the grower girls will have many workings of that sort to hand. So we should hit them hard and fast with combat-focused compositions of our own. Wardell, you can provide shields for Bryony and the princess. They’ll be leading the way with their swords, so they’ll need effective ones. Isabelle, see if you can take out some of their opponents with your vines. Just remember that you can’t provide any water for them, or you’ll be disqualified, and possibly our team with you.”

  She nodded, although from what Alvin had taught us, it could be argued that water fell just as much within the purview of a grower as a wind worker.

  “Armand, you stand ready with your binding compositions to take out anyone who loses a shield.”

  “And what of you, Darius?” I asked, intentionally using his name after he had relegated me to my title only.

  “I’ll be the one breaking down those shields,” he said coldly. “Unless you have a better suggestion.”

  I held his eyes for a moment, but he didn’t back down, and I was the one to look away. Apparently I could consider myself punished for using his name so freely in public.

  There was no time for more discussion anyway. Mitchell called the start of the battle, and most of the trainees scattered, scrambling apart to give themselves time to retrieve their chosen compositions. Bryony and I charged our closest opponents, however, trusting in Wardell to get us shielded before we actually reached them. He didn’t let us down.

  I encountered Dellion first, but she had already managed to work her own shield, so my first blow bounced away. She retreated anyway, trying to preserve her shield by staying out of my range. I pushed my attack forward, but my focus wasn’t on the haphazard blows I tried to land on the invisible bubble around her.

  I was too busy fighting an internal battle of my own. A number of times now, when faced with danger, I had reached out with my ability despite having only a limited understanding of it. But now I had been training, and it turned out my ability was like a physical muscle.

  The more I practiced with it, the more it responded instinctively without needing conscious direction. What I hadn’t anticipated was how much the energy and chaos of these mock battles reflected the intensity of an actual threat. My energy wanted to reach out and latch hold of Dellion’s shield, and it required conscious effort on my part to prevent it.

  With her shield in place, Dellion had time to draw her own sword, so when her power fizzled and disappeared under my blows, my next thrust was met with the ring of steel against steel. She was looking at me oddly, though, so I knew she could tell something was off with my fighting.

  Without the distraction of her shield, I renewed my efforts with my sword, but the reprieve didn’t last long. With her free hand, she pulled out another parchment, ripping it with her teeth to release a fresh barrier. This one only blocked my more deadly blows, letting the others through, but I couldn’t capitalize on the opportunity when I was struggling to bite back the words that would give me her shield.

  I didn’t even notice my own shield was gone until the tip of her blade danced up my arm, ripping the sleeve of my robe and leaving a long, shallow cut in my skin. Energized by the small victory, she pressed forward while simultaneously withdrawing yet another composition.

  This one, when she ripped it, clearly wasn’t a shield. Dancing orbs of fire sprang into life and circled above her head. They cast an almost fiendish glow over her, making her wide grin look reckless and dangerous.

  I could feel the heat of them from where I stood, the length of two sword blades away, and before I knew what I was doing, I had whispered, “Take control.”

  I instantly realized my mistake, but it was too late. The orbs streaked away from her toward me. To an observer, it must look like she had sent them to attack me, which meant I had only the briefest moment to fix my mistake before they began to circle above my head instead of hers. How would I ever explain that?

  They wanted to attack someone—it was their crafted purpose—so, in panic, I gasped, “Attack!”

  The balls of flame went flying in all directions. I whirled, trying to see who might be in their path. I had sent them out without guidance, and they raced toward everyone in my vicinity.

  The first person my eyes latched on was Bryony. She was fighting Jareth, dancing in and out of his reach, laughing. But the prince had already succeeded in destroying her shield, and she was helpless before the incoming fireball, not even seeing it coming.

  “Get down!” I screamed, sprinting toward her, my sword lying forgotten behind me.

  She started, turning toward me as I launched myself across the remaining distance. I reached her at the same time as the fireball, knocking her to the ground in a sprawling tangle of limbs.

  “Verene!” she had time to gasp, and then the tip of a sword appeared at each of our throats.

  We froze.

  “Yield,” I said, my voice shaking, and Bryony echoed me.

  The swords, and the two wielding them—Jareth and Dellion, our two strongest opponents—instantly disappeared. Slowly, I pushed myself up onto my feet and held out a hand to help Bryony.

  “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be thanking you or blaming you,” she said, her cheerfulness a little forced. She was obviously disappointed to be removed from the battle so quickly.

  “Definite
ly blaming me.” I fought back the moisture that wanted to spring into my eyes. “I made a big mistake, Bree.”

  She stared at me, dropping her voice so low I almost couldn’t hear her words. “You mean that was you? With those fireballs?”

  I nodded miserably. “I wasn’t planning to do it, but I took over Dellion’s composition. And then I had to do something with them. Goodness knows what she thinks just happened.”

  “Hopefully she thinks there was a flaw in her composition, and she just lost control of it,” Bryony said. “I don’t see how she could guess the truth.”

  I groaned. “And meanwhile, I managed to take both of us out of the fight. And who knows who else? I can’t even bring myself to look.”

  Bryony cast a glance back over her shoulder and grimaced. “Maybe better not to.”

  I groaned again. “I didn’t expect it to be so hard. My mind knew it was a training exercise, but my body felt like it was in danger, and it wanted to act.”

  A gasping moan interrupted me, and Bryony and I both spun around. Someone else had been “killed” and was slowly departing the field of battle. But unlike us, Isabelle moved slowly, carefully holding one arm still across her chest.

  Bryony rushed forward to support her under her good shoulder, but I stayed frozen in place, my eyes glued on the raw burn that marred the full length of her forearm. Isabelle saw me looking and managed a weak smile.

  “I don’t know what Dellion was thinking with such an uncontrolled working, but it was certainly effective in the end.”

  I knew I should step forward and help her, like Bryony was doing, but I couldn’t make myself move.

  “Raelynn?” I managed to ask, finally thinking to look around the arena for the healer.

  “Those fireballs took out Frida as well,” Isabelle said, “but she only lost a little bit of hair. Mitchell put out the flames before they could do any damage and then sent her to fetch Raelynn. Unfortunately she was sitting all the way over there.” She tried to point to the far side of the arena but winced at the movement.

  “Here, sit down.” Bryony guided her onto the lowest tier of seating. “I’m sure she’ll be here any moment.”

  “Oh, poor dear!” called a familiar voice, puffing a little. “Just sit tight for a minute.” Raelynn appeared, her healing case slung over one shoulder.

  As soon as she reached us, she put it down on the seating and began rummaging inside. Before long, Isabelle had been treated with a pain relief composition followed by a burn treatment.

  She gave a long sigh of relief as she examined the healthy skin of her arm. “Thank you,” she said with feeling.

  “My pleasure.” Raelynn beamed at her. “I was disappointed no one in your year chose healing. It’s such a satisfying thing to see the pain leave someone’s face. And no one is ever sorry to see you arrive.” She chuckled before turning to Bryony and me. “And what about the two of you? Any injuries?”

  I shook my head. “Only to my pride. I managed to take us both out of the battle without sustaining a single scratch.”

  She chuckled again. “An achievement indeed. You can count yourself fortunate if you ask me.”

  Frida approached, having circumnavigated the arena floor at a slower pace than the healer.

  “It’s too bad you can’t heal my hair.” She plucked at the burned strands disconsolately.

  “Never mind, dear.” Raelynn patted her arm. “We can chop it shorter, and no one will even notice.”

  “But I don’t want it shorter.” Frida’s heart wasn’t in the complaint, though. She already knew she would have to get it cut.

  I climbed higher up the seats, choosing one positioned some distance from my year mates and the healer. Bryony slowly joined me.

  “It was an accident, Verene,” she whispered. “And Raelynn is always on hand for arena battles. They know trainees have accidents.”

  “I can’t compete in the arena,” I said, feeling the weight of the words, but knowing they were true. “I just proved exactly why my ability isn’t safe to use in a situation like this. And I also proved that I can’t stop myself from using it. It’s too dangerous.”

  Bryony chewed on her lip, looking worried. “But you can’t just choose not to participate in combat class. You don’t mean you’re going to go home?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not going home. But I’ll find a way. I just need to think on it.”

  Bryony still looked doubtful, but she didn’t say anything. I finally forced myself to look toward the remaining battle, just in time for Mitchell to declare Jareth and Dellion’s team the victors. I groaned again.

  The rest of my team were already straggling back toward the seats. Darius came from the rear, stalking through their midst to take the lead. I swallowed. He looked thunderous.

  When he reached the seating, however, he stopped to talk to both Isabelle and Raelynn in a quiet voice. As soon as he was satisfied that his team member had been successfully healed, however, he strode up the steps toward Bryony and me.

  I stared at him in confusion, my overloaded brain trying to understand what was happening. Darius never approached me and never spoke to me unless forced to do so.

  “What was that?” he snapped.

  I stared at him, scrambling to think of an answer. How did he know what had happened? How could he possibly know?

  “I—”

  “There are many ways to avoid a fireball,” he said in a freezing tone. “All of them are preferable to tripping over your own feet and taking down one of your best teammates with you. With both of you plus Isabelle gone, and Jareth and Dellion freed to come against the rest of us, we didn’t stand a chance.”

  I gaped up at him. Normally I would have responded sharply to such an attack, but I was too conscious of my own overwhelming guilt to do anything but stare at him.

  “What? Nothing to say, Princess?” His voice taunted me, more hurtful than a slap.

  I saw the rest of our year, along with our instructor, staring up at us in shock and steeled myself. I might not have it in me to defend myself, but I wouldn’t let them see my pain either.

  When I continued to say nothing, Darius turned and strode back down the stairs.

  “Verene,” Bryony whispered, horrified.

  I shook my head, not meeting her eyes. “No, don’t say anything. I deserved that, even if it wasn’t for the reasons he thought. I injured Isabelle, and it could have been far worse.”

  “That doesn’t make what he did all right,” Bryony muttered, always the rebel.

  But as if to underscore my words, Mitchell had begun a public reprimand of a mortified-looking Dellion. Apparently none of us were to be using anything as dangerous as fireballs until we were sure we could control our own compositions.

  Every word he said hit home, further convincing me I couldn’t risk returning to the arena. I just had to find a way to convince Mitchell to allow me to withdraw without failing second year.

  Chapter 11

  I stumbled through classes for the rest of the day, not meeting anyone’s eyes and keeping my ability locked tightly inside. I had let myself grow overconfident, and Isabelle had paid the price. Along with poor Frida’s hair and Dellion’s pride.

  But by the time I had paced up and down my sitting room fifty times, my emotions had subsided somewhat. I was still determined to find a way out of arena combat, but I could also see the truth of Bryony’s words. Trainees spent four years at the Academy precisely because they were not expected to be instant masters of their skills. And we fought in a shielded arena with a skilled healer on hand because we were expected to make mistakes.

  Just because no one else knew of my training, didn’t mean I wasn’t training just like the rest of them. And I had to let myself make mistakes.

  As my initial feelings of guilt eased, I found my pacing taking me closer and closer to the tapestry on my wall. What had happened to my team in the arena might have been my fault, but Darius didn’t know that.

  His critici
sms had been unjust. But, more importantly, they had been completely unlike him. The crown prince didn’t lose control in public, and I had never heard him speak to anyone in such a way over an error in training.

  This wasn’t even the first time my new abilities had caused me to fail my team in the arena. He hadn’t known the true cause when it happened last year, either, and yet when we spoke in private, his only concern had been for me. Any lingering doubts that something strange was going on with Darius hardened into certainty.

  Without stopping to think it through for once, I pushed the tapestry aside and opened the door. Only once the door was already in motion did it occur to me that I should have knocked.

  I rapped awkwardly on the open panels. Now that I was here, I didn’t want to take that final step into his sitting room. I didn’t want to know if he had reset his shields to exclude me.

  The room stood empty. It looked just like it had on my one previous visit, almost a mirror image of my own except for the deep burgundy furnishings. We had been interrogating an assassin on that occasion, and my eyes moved to the place where he had sat before flitting quickly away, the memory an unpleasant one.

  It hadn’t occurred to me that Darius might not be here, and I was about to withdraw again when the closed door to his bedchamber opened. He stared across the length of the sitting room at me, both of us frozen in doorways.

  “Verene?”

  “I need to talk to you.” I swallowed, trying to regain some of the certainty that had sent me through his door. “Right now.”

  Something flitted across his face that I couldn’t read, and he gestured for me to enter. We met in the middle of the room.

  “What you did today,” I said. “After the attack—”

  “I’m sorry.” He cut me off before I could continue. Reaching out a hand, he took a single step toward me before stopping and rocking back on his heels. “Verene, I’m so sorry.”