The Black Mage: Complete Series

by Rachel E. Carter

  Darren’s mouth hardened into a small, thin line. “What are you doing here, Ryiah?”

  My whole body went cold, and for a moment I couldn’t believe it was Darren standing in front of me. There hadn’t been a single hint of emotion in his address.

  “I need to talk to you.” I was trying my best to sound calm. “Alone.”

  The prince’s gaze slid to his older brother, and then back to me. His expression didn’t waver. “There is nothing to discuss.”

  “Darren.” My voice cracked. “Please.”

  Blayne, who up until now had been a smug spectator leaning against the frame of Darren’s door lazily, snorted rudely. “My dear,” he drawled, “my brother has given you his answer. Pick up your lowborn pride and leave before this gets worse. I only brought you here so you wouldn’t assault those poor guards trying to get over here in the first place. I am well aware of your temper.” He pronounced the last word distinctly.

  I ignored Blayne and kept my eyes locked on the one person who mattered. “What did they say to you, Darren?” My pulse raced. I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. I swallowed and forced myself to continue. “I’ll wait… If you tell me you need more time to talk your father around—”

  Blayne let out a high-pitched laugh.

  “Ryiah.” Garnet flames stopped me midspeech. “I don’t want you to wait.”

  It was as if someone had just plunged me into a bath of ice. “What do you mean?”

  Darren was silent.

  I felt hysteria rising. “Darren.” I took a step forward, ignoring his brother’s sharp intake of breath, and took the prince’s hand. “Don’t do this. I…” My voice caught. “I love you.”

  The prince frowned and looked pointedly to his brother. “Might we have a moment alone?”

  Blayne’s blue eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he stepped back with a curt glance at me. “Remember,” he snarled, “if you try anything, I will have the guards over here at a moment’s notice.”

  I glared back at him. “I believe your brother asked for some privacy.”

  Anger webbed across the heir’s features, but before he could retort, Darren jerked me into his chamber and shut the door.

  Then it was just the two of us facing one another, no noise except for the quiet beating of my chest and Blayne’s pacing outside the room.

  “Why won’t you talk to me?” I sounded pleading, even to my own ears. I hated it, but I had no control over my emotions, and he was breaking every part of me in his silence.

  “I am making the best of a bad situation. It will be best if you don’t make a scene.”

  “A scene?” My voice was shrill. “Darren, you told me you were leaving her! Why are you still betrothed to Priscilla?”

  “You know why.”

  “I thought you were tired of following rules!” I shouted, furious. “You told me—you promised that day on the ship—even if things became hard you wouldn’t give up on us!”

  The prince didn’t respond. I closed the distance between us and grabbed both of his shoulders, shaking him. “Darren, look at me!”

  He shoved me away angrily. “What do you want me to say, Ryiah? I made a mistake.”

  For a moment, there was only silence.

  Tears burned my eyes. “We aren’t a mistake.”

  “You had to know we never would’ve been able to marry.” His eyes were fathomless. “Even if I had somehow convinced Father to break off my engagement to Priscilla and court you, it never would have lasted long.”

  I couldn’t breathe. All I could hear was the angry pulsing of blood.

  “You coward!” I picked up the nearest object I could find—a large glass globe—and lobbed it at his head. “You aren’t even trying to fight for us!”

  Darren dodged the globe easily, and there was a loud shattering as millions of tiny shards misted the air between us.

  “You shouldn’t have done that, Ryiah,” he said.

  The chamber door swung open as Blayne and the two guards from earlier strode in, weapons raised.

  I dropped my hands and let the two men bind my wrists, two sets of rough hands dragging me away from the prince. “All this time, I respected you for trying to prove you were more than a prince, more than some privileged highborn!” I spat at him. “It’s a shame to find out you are no more than your father’s whipping boy!”

  Darren stopped looking indifferent. Now the expression he wore was livid. “You want to know the truth?” He shouldered his way past the guards so that he was inches from my face. Blayne watched the both of us with keen interest. “I never loved you.”

  “Liar!” I wrestled with my restraints, but the guards were too strong.

  “I never loved you.” Darren’s laugh was cold and unfeeling. “Did I want you? Of course, I would’ve been a fool not to… But love? Well, that’s just something one claims to win certain privileges.”

  “You are lying!” I couldn’t believe him. I wouldn’t. He was only trying to hurt me to make this easier. It was like our first year at the Academy: he was protecting me, I knew it. He had to—

  “Ryiah, Ryiah.” Blayne’s tone was scornful. “Surely you know better than that. Think about it. When has a prince of Jerar ever married a commoner? Darren didn’t want to court you. He wanted to bed you.” He sneered. “Why do you think he was so quick to end things after you turned him away?”

  “No.” My whole body was shaking. “No!”

  “I’m sorry it had to come to this.”

  I couldn’t speak—not without bursting into angry sobs, and I would not let him see me cry.

  “You should leave now, Ryiah.” Darren’s voice was void of emotion.

  My hands trembled violently, and I couldn’t stop gasping for air. What was wrong with me? I felt like my chest was being ripped apart at its seams.

  “Guards, take her away.” Blayne had stopped looking entertained. “This has gone on long enough.”

  You do not control me. Before the guards could drag me away, I slammed a heel into each of their boots and then bit down on my tongue until it bled, letting the momentary pain send enough magic for my bonds to break.

  Then, before the men could stop me, I gathered my skirts and ran.

  I could hear Blayne’s shouting and Darren’s mumbled response. I kept waiting for the pounding of angry boots behind me, but it never came. Darren must have convinced the guards to let me go.

  “I never loved you.” I threw open the door to my chambers and slammed it shut behind me. “Love?” I threw myself onto the bed. “That’s just something one claims to win certain privileges.”

  Darren was the world’s greatest liar, or I was the worst kind of fool.

  Either way, there was no victory to be held. Everything had played out exactly the way Alex had warned me it would. I had chosen to fly—was it really any wonder the fall would be so steep? My breathing hitched and an unbidden sob tore its way across my chest.

  Then the tears came…

  I wasn’t sure they’d ever stop.

  They did, eventually.

  But that only made it worse. I was still crying, screaming, dying inside.

  I didn’t remember falling asleep.

  YEAR THREE OF THE APPRENTICESHIP

  (Ryiah is now a fourth-year student of the Academy of Magic)

  15

  “Listen up, apprentices. I don’t want you parading around like a bunch of girls at a convent because you have an audience during today’s drills. This morning’s exercise was downright shameful.”

  “Is the entire court going to be watching all year?” The words burst from my mouth before I could stop them. I couldn’t help it. The first half of our day, the palace nobles had been everywhere. Watching the morning run and warm-ups around the practice yard, commenting during the non-magicked weapons drills, placing bets on our prowess and rooting for favorites. It was like our first-year trials all over again.

  The highborns had returned to the palace grounds for lunch, but there was alw
ays the threat they could return.

  Master Byron scowled as the rest of the class turned to watch his reply. “Yes. This is one of the court’s favorite activities when the apprenticing mages and squires are stationed in Devon. The king encourages it. Do you have a problem with spectators, Apprentice?”

  I bit my lip. There was no point arguing with our training master, hadn’t I learned that by now? “No.”

  Byron’s stern gaze slide to the rest of his audience. “Anyone else?”

  Silence.

  “Good. Now that Apprentice Ryiah has withdrawn her complaint, let’s resume what matters, shall we?” The man paced the field. “This year’s castings will be particularly poignant. Mentors, you will be casting on command. Mentees, I leave it up to you to form the appropriate deflection.”

  “How do we know which casting to defend ourselves with?”

  I cringed as I watched the master of Combat turn on the second-year who’d spoken, an anxious-looking girl named Tully. His face was a mottled shade of red.

  “Common sense. And practice. Lots of it. Do not interrupt me again, Apprentice.” The training master cleared his throat with a retching cough. “As I keep attempting to say, these drills will build up your reserve to a multitude of attacks… I am sure most of the fourth- and fifth-years will be ready to advance to free exchanges, but the first month I would like the entire faction to train together. Now, everyone take your positions.”

  The class quickly dispersed, and I found myself trailing after Ella and her new mentor Bryce to the end of two parallel lines. Both apprentices avoided looking directly at one another as they waited for the drills to begin. I cringed inwardly. Ella’s pairing was almost as painful as mine. Bryce was one of Priscilla’s friends and shared many of her condescending views. This morning he’d made the mistake of telling his mentee she was a fool for consorting with lowborns. Before my brother and I had even risen, Ella had already thrown the entire contents of her porridge into the highborn’s face.

  Now she had latrine duty for a week.

  Needless to say, the two were at an uncomfortable impasse.

  Still, I had to think animosity was better than guilt. Ella could at least channel her frustration into her castings. With my fifth-year mentor, I had already made a fool of myself holding back in a misguided attempt to spare him. Two times during the morning’s non-magic sparring I had received a stiff reprimand from Byron and an unpleasant bruise where my new partner’s blows landed.

  I vowed not to let pity affect my actions for the rest of the afternoon. The last thing I needed was for the master of Combat to assume I’d gone soft.

  Taking a deep breath, I took my place beside Ella, shifting my feet into a comfortable stance as I faced off against the curly-haired fifth-year five yards across from me.

  Ian met my eyes without expression. He hadn’t said a word to me since our unfortunate pairing, not that I could blame him. He’d heard the rumors about the last ascension, that I hadn’t really chosen myself.

  It was a second betrayal he didn’t deserve. And this time he was angry. He’d had enough time to mourn in Langli. Now he was angry.

  Not unlike what I felt for another.

  I shoved the thought away as soon as it came. I wouldn’t, couldn’t think about the prince now—not unless I wanted to spend the rest of the day fighting back tears. And I was done crying. I’d had three weeks of that during our trek from the palace to the Academy and then back again. If anything, that experience taught me exactly how heartless I’d been to Ian.

  I deserved the fifth-year’s silence.

  But it made things extremely awkward. Mentors and mentees were supposed to trade advice and feedback. Suggestions. It wasn’t exactly possible if you weren’t speaking to one another.

  “And begin. Mentors, ice!”

  I barely had time to throw up my defense as Ian cast out an onslaught of icicles. Sharp, spinning torrents of water tore into the metal shield I’d cast as defense. An unfortunate choice. Within seconds, his ice had frozen my metal and sent a sharp burn down the wrist bracing my casting.

  Ian released his casting just as I dropped the shield to the floor. My whole arm stung as our castings dissipated into thin air. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I knew better than to cast iron against ice. My guilt was going to ruin my training if I kept forgetting to think. Ian could handle himself—any feelings of ill will were buried behind a stone wall of silence.

  I was the one who needed to focus.

  Massaging my arm, I forced myself to straighten back up and take in the rest of the class around me. I was relieved to see I wasn’t the only one who had cast metal… but then it came to my attention that the only mentees foolish enough were second-years. The rest of the fourth-years had used fire.

  I nodded to Ian for him to start again and then cast out a barrier of flames. At that exact moment, Byron called out, “Wind!”

  I barely had time to fall back before a huge gust of fire came sweeping toward me. Ian ceased his attack immediately, but it was too late for my pride. I could hear Priscilla’s tittering laughter a couple spots down.

  I turned my head to glare at the girl and immediately regretted it when I noticed the prince watching me.

  My pulse stopped.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  I couldn’t think.

  I couldn’t move.

  “Keep drilling, apprentices. I didn’t tell you to gawk!”

  What was wrong with me? I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth and made myself block out everything but the green-eyed fifth-year directly across from me. My mentor’s blank expression gave no hint to his feelings. If he was secretly pleased I was making a fool of myself in today’s lessons, he gave no sign of it.

  “Fire!”

  At least this time I was ready. Before the flames had even traveled half the distance between us, I had a spiraling tunnel of sand chasing across the field to squelch them. There was the sizzling hiss as sand collided with fire and then a loud clap as the flames died.

  The remains of sand sprayed across Ian and the mentors closest.

  Several of them—including Bryce—shouted insults. They stopped their own castings to brush sand off their clothes and skin, glowering. Master Byron issued the command to stop and then came barreling down the field to stand directly in front of me.

  “Have you lost all common sense, Apprentice? I told you to defend yourself, not show off in front of the entire faction! You are supposed to conserve your castings! Conserve!” He took a deep, exaggerated huff. “Your little display just cost you an unnecessary amount of magic. Flashy casting doesn’t win a war. The mages fool enough to use it will be long dead while the rest of the enemy mages are left standing.”

  Why me? If I’d been anyone else, Byron would have seen fit to offer a short rebuke and move on. But never with me.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If you can’t control your castings, then you don’t belong in Combat.”

  I stayed silent.

  With a satisfied grunt, the master retired to his post near the second-years and called out his next command. Byron remained there for the rest of the exercise. Not once did his hawk eyes leave my face.

  BY THE TIME our drills had ended, I was ready to collapse. As soon as we were dismissed, Ian brushed past me in a hurry to spend as little time together as possible. Ella joined in my slow march to the commons. My friend knew better than to say anything. Instead, she linked elbows and sighed loudly.

  Students hurried past us, eager to beat the others to the evening meal. Ella and I took our time. This year was different, and neither of us had been prepared for how much.

  When Byron had first announced our new city was Devon, I’d thought it was a joke. A very cruel, very sadistic joke.

  And then, after we returned from picking up the second-years, I’d found out he was serious.

  We really were stuck in Devon.

  The capital was different. Ishir Outpost and Port Langli were important, but ne
ither of them could compare to a regiment ten times their size. The Crown’s Army trained, if it was at all possible, harder than anyone else.

  The army was so large the capital had built four training arenas—a small one inside the palace walls for the King’s Regiment, and three much bigger grounds outside the city where the army’s soldiers, knights, and mages spent their days endlessly drilling until they were called upon for service. It was ten-miles east of the palace. The site housed an enormous armory, never-ending stables, two bathhouses, two outhouses, three cook’s camps, and an impressive expanse of tented housing just south of its arenas.

  It was the city regiment we had the highest chance of being placed in after our ascension. That was the first thing Byron had told us when we arrived the night before. It was for that reason alone I had dried my eyes, taken a deep breath, and told myself to forget the past three weeks.

  I needed to toughen up quick, or risk becoming the laughingstock of not just my faction but the Crown’s Army.

  That, and I was done with my body’s traitorous reaction any time the prince looked at me. I couldn’t survive two more years of this apprenticeship if I let myself feel. I was done with misery. I would not let my learning be squandered by a broken heart.

  “Ry! Ella! What took you two so long?”

  I made a face at my twin. “It’s been a long day.” Alex was already seated on one of the outdoor tables with a mountain of noodles piled high on his plate. Beside him sat a couple of his factionmates and Lynn and Ray—none of which bore half the servings my brother did.

  Ella’s mouth hung open in shock. “You know the cook has to feed the whole camp, right?”

  Alex grinned. “Only the ones that arrive on time. After that? It’s fair game.”

  I snatched a roll off his plate before he could stop me. “After that, we’ll just take from you.”

  The one good thing to come of the ascension’s disaster was that my brother and I were back to old terms. He’d forgiven me for being pigheaded, and I’d forgiven him for disapproving of a relationship that was clearly never meant to be.

  Alex rolled his eyes and then changed the subject. “How was casting? Lynn was just telling me Byron yelled at you in front of the entire faction.”