by Agatha Bird
When Connor slept that night, he dreamed of drowning.
CONNOR IGNORED the whispers from the other students as he stalked down the hall the next morning. He caught sight of Elisa and several of their friends at the end of the corridor and called out to them, grinning widely and waving his arm.
Elisa turned and gave him a look. Then she looped her arm through Dugan’s arm and ushered their group into the classroom. Dugan shot him a smirk over his shoulder.
Connor stopped in the middle of the hall, his stomach sinking. A few of his friends sent him guilty looks, but they followed Elisa’s example. Connor stared after them, his fists clenched at his sides, and let the students flow around him until the halls emptied and he was alone.
He took a deep breath through his nose and forced his fingers to uncurl. So that’s how it was going to be. His father had warned him about fair-weather friends. At least he wasn’t around to scold Connor for his naiveté.
The bell chimed for first period, but Connor decided to skip class and take his free period now. He holed up in the conservatory for the rest of the morning.
Once he’d settled, he pulled out his history book and flipped to a well-worn passage in the modern history section:
Though severely wounded in his battle with the Horned Firerex, the largest and most fearsome of Great Beasts, Mage Roth knew he was the last line of defense for the town of Hildebron. He could not wait for the King’s Mages to arrive, for the Great Beast drew ever closer. And so, at only twenty years of age, Mage Roth summoned a great vortex of flame that bystanders claimed shot up to touch the clouds. The battle was short but fierce, and the ground was blackened by rivers of poison and gouts of flame. Mage Roth emerged victorious just as the King’s Mages arrived.
Not since the times of the First Mages had a single mage managed to subdue a Horned Firerex. Mage Roth was immediately welcomed into the King’s Mages, a reflection of his heroism and the sheer elemental power he possessed.
Connor slumped against the desk, propping his chin on one hand while the other traced the words on the page. His father had saved the whole town that day, including Connor’s mother and himself, barely a year old—as he’d been reminded his entire life. Would he ever get the chance to prove himself the same way? Not that he wanted to battle a Horned Firerex, but he was sure he could take on one of the Great Beasts by himself.
Connor paid attention to his father’s reports, and he knew Great Beasts were appearing more frequently in the last few years. The Council said people shouldn’t be overly alarmed and that this happened from time to time, the Great Beasts becoming restless and venturing into the cities and towns, but Connor’s father and the other King’s Mages had been called to defend outlying towns from two Horned Firerexi in the last month alone. He remembered Landyn’s mother talking about the wyvern, and he thought maybe people should start to get alarmed.
He considered bringing up his concerns about the increasing number of encounters with Great Beasts in his next letter to his father. It seemed to Connor that the Council needed every powerful mage they could get their hands on. Maybe even if that mage failed their Trial.
No, he couldn’t think like that. He was a Roth. He just needed time to regroup, and he’d find a way to succeed.
He spent the next few hours idly skimming over his assignments and doodling in the margins of his notebook. None of the material was particularly new or fascinating. His growling stomach informed him it was time to take a break, and when he looked up at the clock on the wall, he was surprised to find the morning already over.
He gathered his belongings and headed to the dining hall. He wasn’t eager to be the center of this sort of gossip, but he could handle it. Thanks to his father, he’d spent his whole life under scrutiny. He’d learned to bear it.
When he stepped into the dining hall, all conversation ceased, only to resume moments later in furious whispers.
He walked slowly between the rows of tables and benches, making his way to their regular table in the back corner. Elisa was already there holding court with several laughing boys and girls.
“Hey,” Connor said with more confidence than he felt, moving to sit down.
“Sorry, Connor,” Elisa said, putting a hand out to block him. “There’s no room for you at the table today.”
Connor looked pointedly at the two empty seats then back to Elisa. She met his gaze steadily and arched one well-manicured eyebrow. He glanced around the table, but no one would meet his eyes except for Dugan. The way Dugan smirked at him, Connor knew he’d find no help from that quarter.
“Elisa,” Connor said, cursing the flush rising up his neck. “I know you’re upset, but—”
“I’m not upset. I’m disappointed. I’m humiliated. Paired with a water mage? The Oracle must have known you’d fail. You’re a disgrace, Connor, and I don’t know what I ever saw in you. I won’t be tied to a failure.”
Connor clenched his hands around his tray to stop them from shaking. “Elisa—”
“Maybe we’ll see you at the tournament tonight,” Dugan said. “If you think you’re up to it. Kind of a blow to have the Oracle dismiss you by giving you such a terrible Pairing.”
Connor knew a challenge when he heard one, and Dugan’s was about more than just magic.
“Look, Elisa,” Connor said, trying to ignore Dugan’s infuriating smirk. “I know this changes some of our plans, but—”
“Like Elisa said, not enough room at the table,” Dugan interrupted, putting an arm around the back of Elisa’s chair; Elisa leaned into the embrace and gave Connor a pointed look.
So that was that.
Connor looked helplessly at the people he’d yesterday called his friends. No one said a word.
“Right,” Connor said. He squared his shoulders. “See you at the tournament tonight.”
He took his tray outside, his head held high and his eyes straight ahead. It didn’t block out the whispers, but he was a Roth. He couldn’t show weakness.
CONNOR SAT alone on a low brick wall under the shade of a large oak tree. It was a hot day, but he’d never particularly minded the heat. It came with his magic. He’d once watched his father walk into a volcano and emerge with only a slight flush on his cheeks. Connor was going to do that someday.
A long shadow grew next to him. Connor kept his eyes on the tray in his lap.
“Those were my nicest set of robes you scorched yesterday,” Landyn said after a moment, taking a seat next to Connor. He set his tray on the wall rather than try to balance it in his lap. Connor considered doing the same, but he didn’t want Landyn to think he’d had a good idea.
“I’m sorry,” Connor said, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Landyn’s eyebrows lift in surprise. “That you considered those robes to be nice,” he elaborated before Landyn could say anything, and laughed when Landyn sputtered.
He stopped laughing when a giant water bubble burst over his head, soaking his robes and pooling in his tray. His carrots floated in a puddle of water.
“Whoops,” Landyn said, calmly biting into an apple. “Sorry. I have such terrible control over my powers.”
Connor was too busy blinking water from his eyes to reply.
“Why aren’t you with your troupe of admirers?” Landyn asked around a mouthful of apple, licking his lips to get at the juice.
Connor grumbled to himself and looked away. Landyn must have learned his manners from sea walruses.
“What admirers?” Connor replied bitterly. He muttered a drying spell and snapped his fingers. It sped up the drying, so now his robes were only damp. His carrots steamed gently. Unfortunately, his hair dried a lot faster. He could feel it puff into a black halo around his head. He probably looked like a depressed dandelion.
“The ones that usually nip at the great Connor Roth’s ankles, desperate for a pat on the head,” Landyn said. He took another bite, crunching loudly.
“You must have missed the show in the dining hall.”
Landyn pau
sed, finished chewing, and swallowed. “I must have. So you’re not eating out here alone because you’re too good for the rest of us?”
“No,” Connor said thickly.
You’re a disgrace, Connor. I don’t know what I ever saw in you. I won’t be tied to a failure.
“Where’s Elisa?” Landyn asked almost hesitantly.
“Polishing her hook for the next poor bastard she intends to catch, I imagine.”
“Oh,” Landyn said. He threw his apple core over his shoulder.
They sat in loud silence for several minutes. Connor poked at his carrots.
Landyn cleared his throat. “I don’t want to fail the Trial,” he said eventually.
“Me either,” Connor replied. “But it doesn’t look like the Fates care overmuch.”
“We can find a way to make our magic work together. I think I have an idea.”
Connor glanced at him, then looked off into the distance.
I won’t be tied to a failure.
“What did you have in mind?” he asked.
“An elemental battle,” Landyn said. He seemed startled, like he’d expected Connor to put up more of a fight. “Our powers are opposing elements. We could use that to our advantage.”
Connor felt a small bud blossom in the scorched earth of his hope. “How so?”
“Can you conjure illusions? Creatures made of fire?”
“Yes,” Connor said, that cautious bud sprouting leaves. “Can you conjure creatures too?”
“Practically since birth,” Landyn said, waving a dismissive hand. Connor was a bit skeptical, since that kind of magic required precise control and a certain degree of power, but perhaps Landyn could manage something small. “If we conjured a creature from each of our elements, we could have them battle each other. It would look impressive. I was thinking of using dragons.”
Connor could already picture it: one small dragon, blue and sinuous, spitting streams of water; another dragon huge and fierce, breathing gouts of flame.
“Which one would win?” Connor asked suspiciously. “I want mine to win.”
“Sweet merciful rain!” Landyn said, throwing his hands in the air. “Is that all you care about?”
“I want mine to win,” Connor repeated stubbornly. “It’ll probably be bigger than yours anyway.”
“Fine, yours can win. Your honor will be restored, and you will reign as Lord High Mage of the school once more.”
Connor rolled his eyes. “Don’t get your robes in a twist. One of us has to win. You’re only mad that I called it first.”
“Yes, I’ll weep for days. Lunch is nearly over. Do you want to meet up and practice after last class? You have Divination, don’t you?”
Connor squinted. How did Landyn know that? “Yeah,” he said. “I don’t know, maybe. There’s a tournament tonight.”
“Ah, yes,” Landyn said. “Pointless displays of power by you and the other arrogant braying jackasses.”
“The tournaments help us hone our abilities. You could join in… if you had any real power.”
“You wound me,” Landyn said, standing and gathering his tray. “I’ll be in the arena if you decide you’d like to do some spellwork.”
He hesitated and leaned forward, putting his hand on Connor’s shoulder. “I’m sure, whatever happened with your friends, that it will all blow over. They’re shallow people with short attention spans.”
Connor snorted. “Thanks. Now get your hand off me before I burn it off.”
“Do it and I’ll make it look like you wet yourself.”
Connor shot Landyn a crooked grin, feeling strangely better. “You might not be so bad, Glendower.”
“You remain entirely terrible,” Landyn replied and squeezed Connor’s shoulder before he left.
CONNOR FOUND Landyn in the library later that night. “You said you’d be in the arena.”
“I was there for a while,” Landyn said, marking his place in his book before looking up at Connor. “And then I— What in the nine seas happened to you?”
Connor flopped down on the chair across from Landyn. “I was at the tournament.”
Landyn looked him up and down. “Is this where you tell me that I should see the other guy?”
“No,” Connor said. “I am the other guy.”
“Ah. So the scorched sleeves?”
“Errant fire spell.”
“And the soggy robes?”
“My dueling partner accidentally threw his whirlpool spell at me instead of the other team. And,” he continued before Landyn could ask, “the hair is from a wind spell and the dirt is from a quicksand spell. All completely accidental.”
Landyn sat back, the corners of his mouth twitching. “What clumsy dueling partners you had.”
“It’s not funny, marshbrain.”
“Believe me, it’s a little funny.”
Connor shifted in his seat and hissed as it pulled at the rapidly forming bruises on his ribs.
Landyn’s expression changed. “Are you all right?”
“I’ll be fine. Dugan snuck a boulder spell at me while I was distracted.”
“You’re not supposed to duel with spells like that!”
“Relax,” Connor said, rolling his eyes. “I know it’d be high level for you, but I can usually melt any rocks before they hit me.”
Landyn looked at the ceiling and gave an exaggerated sigh. “Stars save us from displays of machismo. I take it you’re done with tournaments for the time being?”
Connor lowered his gaze to the table and picked at a notch in the wood with the edge of his thumbnail. “I thought maybe we could work on that idea of yours.”
“Did you?” Landyn asked, raising his eyebrows until they nearly touched the light brown hair that fell over his forehead. The smirk flickered back to life on his face.
Smirking suited him, Connor thought. Landyn had a sharp face and thin lips that perpetually curled at the corners. He seemed to be waiting for something from Connor, his smirk still firmly in place.
“Look,” Connor huffed. “You don’t want to fail. I don’t want to fail. We don’t need to be friends, and I know we don’t like each other, but we can work together until the Trial is over.”
“Of course,” Landyn said, his voice crisp. His blue eyes went cool as lake water. “We’ll keep it professional. How ridiculous to think we could be friends.”
Regret tickled the back of Connor’s throat, and he fought the urge to apologize and bring the warmth back to Landyn’s eyes. Connor’s father had always said apologies meant you’d been wrong, and if you admitted to being wrong, you admitted to every other kind of weakness.
“You mentioned dragons?” Connor said instead, wondering why it felt like he’d swallowed a boulder spell. “We might as well get started with this whole ordeal.”
Landyn closed his book with a snap and stood. “I did. But I’m turning in for the night. We can begin this ordeal some other time.” Then, before Connor had a chance to reply, Landyn stepped around the table and strode away between the bookshelves, quickly disappearing from view.
Connor smacked his palm against the table, leaving a scorch mark shaped like a handprint, and sat back in his seat, blowing out a huff of air that lifted the dark curls from his forehead. The Pairing Sigil throbbed in his hand.
“That went well,” he said.
For the second night, he dreamed of drowning in turbulent water.
THINGS DIDN’T improve the next day. He thought if Elisa had time to sleep on it, she’d realize that she was blowing this out of proportion. He got to his first class early and sat down in his usual spot, watching as students filed in.
When Elisa entered plastered to Dugan’s side, Connor’s stomach gave an unpleasant roll. “Hey!” Connor said, pasting on a smile. They looked at Connor; then Elisa went up on her toes to whisper something in Dugan’s ear that made him laugh, and they walked right past Connor’s seat without a word.
He didn’t expect to be welcomed with open arms, but h
e deserved more than being tossed aside like soiled robes. He and Elisa hadn’t always agreed on everything—and their romance wasn’t going to be the basis for any ballads—but Connor had thought they were friends. They’d planned a future together. Connor thought that even Dugan, who had mostly been Connor’s rival since first year, would still have his back when it came down to it.
He was disappointed in himself for not seeing it. Elisa only cared about him until he was no longer useful, and Dugan was all too eager to take Connor’s place.
Connor didn’t try to talk to them at lunch. He stood by an empty table near the door and wolfed down his food, watching them talk and laugh as though nothing were wrong. He dumped his tray and went in search of the Oracle.
He ran into Headmaster Relvin on his way.
“Connor, my boy!” the headmaster said, his voice bright and brittle. “How are you getting on? Worked things out with young Landyn?”
“Sure,” Connor said, fidgeting. The entrance to the Oracle’s chambers lay a hundred feet down the hall where two Sacreds, the Oracle’s attendants, stood guard.
Despite Landyn’s mother’s warnings, Connor didn’t think it would be a big deal for him to speak with the Oracle. The Sacred Mages liked to drone on about the Oracle and its mystical powers and how it was an ancient creature with whom young mages should not trifle, but the Sacreds smelled like flower petals and spiced wine, and Connor didn’t take them very seriously. His father had always said that if a mage wanted an easy life, they became a monk. The Sacreds only had to work one day a year on Pairing Day.
There probably wasn’t any great trick to speaking with the Oracle, anyway. After all, Connor had managed it just fine at his Pairing.
“Wonderful! I trust you’ll inform your father. I’m sure he will be eager to hear it.” The headmaster clapped Connor on the shoulder. “Your father was very concerned about you.”