The Academy Volume One

by Maxine Mansfield

  “Stop it. You’re going to get me in so much trouble.”

  His slow, lazy smile made her heart thump wildly.

  A moment later, the sound of her mother’s voice once more made her heart want to stop. “And I can assure you, Lady Sunwalker, there’ll be no grandchildren from that one. I’ll see to that. Every family has their burdens to bear, and Lark is ours. As a matter of fact, if she continues to eat the way she does, I won’t need to worry about it. No man would want her.”

  Queen Allanna Hammerstrike turned her poisonous gaze upon Lark once more. “Our trunks still need to be unpacked. We brought few servants with us this trip so I expect you to help. You appear full enough to me. Be about your duty to your family.”

  Sarco rose, anger flashing in his eyes. Lark stopped him with a thought.

  “No. What she wants is to hurt me. I won’t give her the satisfaction that she has. She’s my mother. Let me handle it, please.”

  With all the grace and dignity of a princess, Lark calmly rose. She would take no more this day. “It seems I’ve lost my appetite after all, and I’d be more than glad to oversee our servants, Mother.”

  She glanced around the table, making eye contact with each person and smiling warmly. “Please excuse me.”

  She then curtsied, straightened her shoulders, lifted her head high, and walked away. After few steps, Lark paused and looked back at her mother.

  “Oh, by the way, Mother, I really like your hair. I especially love the intricate curls and combs. It must’ve taken your maid hours,” she said, then glanced skyward. “A hat would’ve probably been more advantageous, though. It looks like it may rain.”

  An ominous gray cloud formed directly over Queen Allanna’s head. “You wouldn’t dare,” she hissed.

  Lark smiled. “Wouldn’t I?”

  Fat raindrops began slowly falling then picked up speed as they pelted the top of the queen’s head and rolled down her face, then finally splashed onto the table.

  The queen sputtered, “You, you will p-pay for your insolence. Mark my words!”

  Headmistress Seychelle lifted her glass in a toast. “Now that’s a prime example of why this school is called the Academy of Magical Arts. Shall we resume our dinner?”

  Lark curtsied to the headmistress and walked out of the room with a quiet pride, her head held high.

  Chapter Fourteen

  If ever a man was carrying around a bigger burden this morning than Sarco Sunwalker, Lark would like to see that man. Even from this height, she could easily spot the worry lines etched deeply in Sarco’s face, and she could tell he hadn’t slept any more than she.

  Lark grimaced, turned from the window of the high tower, and flopped onto the small cot in the middle of the sparsely furnished room.

  For what had to be the thousandth time in the past few days, she asked herself why? Why had she allowed herself to fall in love with a man she could never have?

  As if that wasn’t bad enough, what good had it done to hide herself away in this tower built specifically to block mental magic? For days on end, she’d exiled herself so as to not interfere with Sarco’s interactions with both their families and Aryanna.

  Yet every time she heard a knock, Lark still wanted so desperately to rush and throw the door wide open in the hope Sarco had come calling. By mutual agreement, though, he hadn’t come and she knew he wouldn’t. But that hadn’t dimmed her desire for him one single iota.

  Lark sighed as her mind drifted over the last few rotations of the sun. The mind-numbing days had crawled by slowly, but the nights had been unending torment. Long, uninterrupted hours of bittersweet memories had incessantly filtered into her dreams.

  As the grains of sand slowly sifted through the hourglass, the feel of Sarco’s arms, his passionate kisses, his unspoken promises, and the memory of joy beyond her wildest dreams played in Lark’s mind like an unending stage tragedy.

  The cost of that forbidden pleasure had been higher than she’d ever thought possible. The pain in her heart ached to the point where she eventually prayed for dreamless sleep, a short repose, even a single hour of peace. And if the look she’d glimpsed this morning on Sarco’s face was any indication, he wasn’t faring much better.

  She knew well the toll this situation was taking on the man she loved. Each day he looked more haggard, more troubled, more desperate for a miracle they both knew wouldn’t come.

  Sarco was nothing if not honorable, yet here she was, wanting more than anything to welcome him back into her arms, her bed, her heart—and with enthusiasm, no matter the cost.

  In reality, she should have the grace and fortitude to push him away from herself and toward Aryanna. Someone had to be strong. Lark knew it wasn’t her, because all she found herself doing now was pleading with God Draka for the opportunity of one more moment with Sarco. One more chance to touch his face, to see his smile, to feel his kiss, to show him her love. One more night to be held in his arms.

  She hugged herself tightly, trying without success to ward off the feeling of flying apart. An entire lifetime with Sarco would not be enough to sate her hunger for him.

  How would she ever survive this?

  He had become a part of her being, her very soul. After the ceremony tonight, he would be promised to Aryanna and life as she knew it would end. Her body would continue on, but she would never recover.

  Lark scrunched her eyes tightly closed, trying her best to prevent the seemingly ever-present tears from escaping yet again.

  Tonight, Sarco-Keltoris Titus Sunwalker, High-Elf Wizard, heir to the Lordship of the elfin kingdom of Landis, would stand before her father, King Alfred Zavier Caden Hammerstrike, and ask for the hand of her sister, in marriage.

  Her sister. Not her.

  There would be ceremony and chivalry, diplomacy and etiquette, magic and legend. The ballroom would overflowing with every single soul at the Academy in residence. Except her.

  There would be dancing and feasting, singing and laughter galore. It would be the party of the millennium. Even the renowned twelve who sat on the Council of the Elders would be in attendance. All because of an ill-fated, eight-hundred-year-old prophecy.

  Her breath caught painfully in her chest. How could fate be so unkind as to bestow on her the one and only man she would ever love then snatch him away without mercy? And there was no one she could even talk to about her pain.

  When Grandmother Ava had come to visit, even though she was the only person who’d ever acted like a real parent to her, Lark had tried her best to smile and block her real thoughts from the kind old woman.

  Grandmother was the moderator of the Council of the Elders. To let Grandmother into the far reaches of her mind would’ve been the same as betraying Sarco.

  There had been other visitors as the last couple of weeks before the ceremony had slowly drifted by. Like Aryanna, whose presence and gay chatter only served to make Lark feel guiltier if that was possible. Then had come Laycee, with her ever-present escort Leeky Shortz in tow. Even the antics of the gnomes couldn’t bring a smile to her face. Her twin sisters, Ally and Audrey, with their identical smiles and mindless prattle, had come, and so had Briar and Uthiel, with words of kindness and news of the upcoming festivities.

  Sherman Bobert Limburger the Ninth had even showed up to help pass the time. But no one could ease the pain in Lark’s heart.

  At least Sherman had been able to take care of one little problem for her. Ally and Audrey had been pestering her to show them around the Academy. When Sherman enthusiastically agreed to take on that duty, Lark could have kissed him. Though she loved the twins, the last thing she wanted was to have to entertain them.

  She’d even lured Sherman off to the side and told him about the tiny scar on Ally’s wrist from the bite she herself had inflicted as a child, so he’d be able to tell one sister from the other. The look on the twins’ faces when Sherman told them apart right from their very first meeting had been the only thing to bring a smile to Lark’s face the entir
e past week.

  Walking back to the window, Lark breathed in large gulps of air as pain hit her anew. Just a few short hours from now, Sarco would be lost to her forever.

  Even though the tower walls had been built specifically to withstand and block the majority of mental magic, lightning flashed in the distance and thunder rolled. Clouds grayed and converged as they opened a cold deluge on the crowd below. The wind whipped viciously as the inhabitants of the Academy courtyard scattered and ran for cover.

  Only one man stood his ground. Sarco Sunwalker stared upward through the drenching rain with such a look of sadness on his face it hurt Lark’s heart to watch him.

  “I know how you feel, Wonderful. I miss you.” The tremor of his whisper filled her mind to overflowing and, in the small tower room high above the courtyard, Lark wept.

  ****

  “Think you could’ve cut it any closer? I swear, you’re going to give me a heart attack, Cyrrick. Sarco just took the podium and is about to speak. I don’t know how I let you talk me into this. It isn’t going to work. I just know it isn’t. Something will go wrong. It always does.”

  The look he gave her calmed her jangled nerves as nothing else could have. It was a gaze filled with confidence, love, trust, and just a touch of that exasperating elf arrogance she found so appealing.

  “Ary, my love, don’t be irritating today of all days, please. I have everything under control. Nothing is going to go wrong. We’ve planned this perfectly. I’m a diplomat, for God Draka’s sake. This is what I do. It’ll work, you’ll see.”

  Princess Aryanna glared in his direction before turning her attention back to Sarco standing regally in his royal-purple robes and getting ready to address the Council of the Elders and her father. “Something doesn’t feel right about all of this, Cyrrick. Tell me again what exactly I’m supposed to do and what is going to happen after your brother says the words we changed.”

  Cyrrick sighed, but she didn’t dare chance another glance in his direction.

  “It’s simple, love. Sarco will recite from the book. You will scream. Your father will be insulted and demand retribution. I, the diplomat, will step forward and offer the genius alternative of the quest to regain Sarco’s honor. Your parents will have no choice but to accept this suggestion as it is a traditional barbarian custom.”

  “Oh, I can scream, all right. As a matter of fact, I want to scream now,” she whispered, but the only indication Cyrrick gave of having heard her was the shake of his head as he kept talking.

  “Sarco will go on and complete the quest to appease your family and restore his honor. He’ll earn the right to choose his bride. He, of course, will choose your sister, Lark, and not you. Your parents won’t be happy, I’m sure, but there won’t be anything they can do about it.”

  She stomped on his foot. “How can you act so nonchalant? This is the rest of our lives you’re talking about.”

  Cyrrick cupped her face with his hands and gazed into her eyes. “My heart’s pounding like it’s about to explode right out of my chest, if that makes you feel any better.” He tweaked her noise. “Just remember, when the time comes, you must act sufficiently saddened by Sarco’s choice. Your parents can never know they’ve been tricked. If this works, my love, we’ll all get to live happily ever after.”

  She hoped so.

  Sarco opened the small leather volume. A hush fell over the banquet room.

  Panic rose in the back of her throat, and it was hard to breathe. “Tell me one more time this is going to work. I mean, it has to. I can’t have caused my sister so much pain for it not to work, can I? You should see her. It’s all I can do to not fall to my knees and beg her forgiveness every time I’m in her presence. They must end up together. We must end up together. Please, Cyrrick, tell me. I swear, I’ll believe it.”

  Cyrrick smiled and her heart did a flip. “Do you trust me, Ary?”

  She nodded.

  “It’ll work. As God Draka is my witness, it’ll work.”

  ****

  Sarco waited patiently in the center of the brightly decorated hall for the ceremony to begin. The small leather volume lay open and ready in his hands. The page he’d memorized for so long blurred as his eyes burned. His mind sought Lark, needing the comfort and strength only her spirit could bring to him. He tried for a fleeting moment to connect with her thoughts before giving up, knowing she wasn’t here and wouldn’t be. She was in her tower. He wished, for what must have been the hundredth time since walking to the podium, for her presence. He felt so very alone.

  He had dreaded this night and what he must do his entire life. There was no getting out of it, however. Duty bound him. He stiffened his spine and tugged on the collar of his robe as he took in his surroundings. He had to admit, Headmistress Seychelle had out done herself.

  There was more gold displayed on the four thrones where his parents and the barbarian king and queen sat than in the coffers of most kingdoms. And the members of the Council of the Elders each sat suspended above the proceedings on cloud-like pillows.

  Sarco smiled at Lark’s grandmother and his Uncle Arizon, who were in their matching scarlet-red robes while the rest of the council was all arrayed in royal blue. It always boggled his mind that his uncle was alive and well after all these years.

  Even though it had only been a couple of weeks since he’d seen Arizon Windstrider, and that visit hadn’t turned out as he would’ve liked, to once more be in the presence of so great a wizard was still an honor.

  From somewhere above, music played.

  The room filled quickly, and the crowd spilled out onto the floor. Sarco shuffled his feet and shifted the book back and forth between his hands. He took deep breaths, hoping for a whiff of fresh air. What he got instead made his stomach rumble.

  Food. His stomach reminded him he hadn’t yet eaten. He’d been too nervous. He stared at the banquet tables, where a feast the likes of which he’d never seen sat ready. Alarian oxen roasted over an open pit, and trays of Geiger Mountain pheasants dripped with juice. Fruit, fresh and ripe from every corner of Albrath, spilled over the edges of platters, while vegetables of every texture and color filled large serving bowls. Breads and grains overflowed dozens of baskets, and desserts he didn’t even recognize tempted his palete. His mouth watered and his stomach growled.

  He tried his best to concentrate on something else, anything else, and caught sight of a friendly face—Briar Dragonheart, his best friend’s wife. She was beautiful tonight, and beside her proudly stood Uthiel. To Sarco’s eye, the pair looked like a god with his goddess on his arm. They were the definition of regal, and he was grateful for their presence.

  Sarco smiled once more as he noticed even Leeky had dressed for the evening. He wore his treasured golden gloves. The ones he only took out for the most special of occasions. And Laycee matched him perfectly in a gold tunic. He almost choked at the sight of their dolls. Tug and Miss Bunny both were sporting gold thongs.

  Sherman, though. He surprised Sarco the most. The halfling had his hair slicked back and was dressed in a tux. He was even wearing shoes this evening. On his arms, he escorted Lark’s twin sisters.

  Sarco had never paid much attention to the middle sisters. He looked at them now. They really were quite lovely. Their chestnut hair hung to their tiny waists and wisps of it curled coquettishly around their heart-shaped faces. Their eyes shone with identical sea-blue clarity.

  The women clung to the halfling’s arms, and even though they towered over him, somehow, Sherman himself stood taller when he was with them. Both smiled adoringly whenever the halfling spoke and appeared totally enthralled with the Shermanator.

  The music suddenly stopped and silence descended over the room. Lights dimmed as a spotlight illuminated Sarco’s face. The time had come.

  He closed his eyes for the span of a single grain of sand dropping through the hourglass, said a quick prayer to Draka, and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes once more and faced to his right. “Council of the
Elders, I greet thee. King Alfred and Queen Allanna Hammerstrike, I am honored to be in your presence. Princess Aryanna, I am your humble servant.”

  Sarco then faced to his left. “Mother, Father, it is an honor to have you here this special night. Headmistress Seychelle, thank you for arranging this ceremony and for your gracious hospitality.”

  Sarco then addressed the room. “My friends, welcome.”

  He opened the leather volume, cleared his throat and, even though he knew his heart could never be in the words he was about to speak, he made sure his voice rang loud and true. “King Alfred, quandra dophtra, Aryanna, halla wondra mi hota ana I requsta recotmore fota toda dema tota don marna.”

  A deathly quiet hung over the room, and a sense of wrongness filled Sarco with dread. He had never known the meaning of true silence before this moment. Without straining his ears, he could have easily heard a breath being taken in the very back if anyone had dared to breathe. No one did.

  Without warning, the lights came up and Princess Aryanna screamed. Before another heartbeat passed, the cold steel of Adan Hammerstrike’s sword pressed the tender skin of his throat. Queen Allanna’s face was as purple as Sarco’s robe, and she bellowed for her son to separate Sarco’s head from his body.

  The quick sting surprised him as the blade began to slice. Sarco flinched as the warm, stickiness of his own blood made a slow trail across his throat.

  From somewhere above, Uthiel and Leeky jumped in the middle of the fray, both prying the hulking barbarian off of him.

  Lord Tylindius shouted for order while King Alfred yelled for war.

  Sarco watched helplessly, not understanding, as his mother wept. He tried to go to her, wanting to offer comfort, but he didn’t get the chance. A female dwarf council member fainted and fell off her cloud. She landed on top of Tug who looked, in a bizarrely disturbing way, to be fucking her.

  Sarco shook his head. If the situation hadn’t been so dire, it would have been humorous. What happened? What had gone so wrong? What had he done?