The Black Mage: Complete Series

by Rachel E. Carter

  Prince Darren of Jerar, second son of King Lucius III

  I stared at the letter, rereading its contents for the tenth time that evening before folding it into a neat little square that I tucked back into my pocket. Then I took it out again. I couldn’t get over that last line: Gods, I wish it were sooner. I couldn’t keep the smile from my face.

  Darren missed me.

  “It’s a summons, isn’t it?”

  I nodded.

  “Thank the gods!” Paige left the bench to grab a flagon of ale. It was the first time I’d ever seen her drink.

  “You really have to go?” My brother sat down beside me, his face a puzzle of emotion. “I only just arrived.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Alex got to have all the fun with you in the apprenticeship,” he griped.

  “It’s a Crown order, not a request, silly. If I don’t”—I lowered my voice in conspiracy—“Paige will knock me over the head and drag me to the castle unconscious.”

  “You wouldn’t do that, would you, Paige?” Derrick turned to my guard, and she swiped the ale from her mouth with an evil laugh. He shuddered and looked away.

  I touched his wrist. “Don’t worry, we’ll have plenty of adventures in the six weeks before I depart.”

  “You are leaving?”

  I looked up to meet Ian’s gaze as he dropped to the stump beside us, his arms full of kindling.

  “Not for a while, but I haven’t forgotten what you asked me. I’ll talk to him.”

  The mage smiled, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes.

  “What are the two of you hinting at?”

  I gave my brother a nudge. “Nothing you need to worry about, Derrick. Just something I promised a friend.”

  “Are you going to tell Darren the promise was to him?” My brother grinned wickedly.

  I glared at Derrick as Ian retreated to the other side of camp. “Please don’t make this any more awkward than it already is.”

  “That’s Ian, isn’t it? The one Alex wanted you to pick over the prince.”

  “Yes.” My teeth clenched. “Can we not talk about this anymore?”

  “Only if you tell me what you promised him.”

  I groaned. “You’ve grown into a pest. I think Alex is my favorite now.”

  “That buffoon? Never.” My brother prodded me with his fork. “Now spill, Ry.”

  It wasn’t really a secret, I supposed. “Ian wants me to ask Darren to talk to his father about sending more coin north, to help the border villages—the ones that aren’t prosperous enough to garner support when the raids hit.”

  “That’s it?”

  “What did you expect?”

  “A secret affair—” My brother ducked my fist, laughing. “Well, he is pretty.” He ducked again, and this time was not so lucky.

  “Pursuing Ian was a mistake,” I said quietly. “I almost lost one of my best friends because I was a coward.”

  “Well then, if it’s not about him, why the secrecy? Why be ashamed to have the others hear you want to help the north?” My brother lowered his voice. “It might help, Ry. I’ve tried talking to some of the other soldiers, but a lot of them are set against you. They think you’re a privileged highborn now that you are engaged to a prince—it makes no difference that you grew up in Demsh’aa and your brother is one of them.”

  I shook my head. “The king is furious with Darren. I promised Ian I’d ask, but I don’t think it’s going to help any.” I pulled at a splinter that’d gotten lodged in my finger. “I really wish they didn’t hate me. I thought it would get better after I proved myself, but…”

  “But you’re engaged to a prince.” Derrick grew serious. “You haven’t heard the rhyme have you?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s the most common verse they have: ‘north the poor and south the snout.’”

  “The ‘snout?’”

  “Highborn Swine. Anyone who lives at court.”

  “Oh… how charming.” I bit my lip. A prejudice that was undoubtedly inspired by the tragedies the Caltothians created. The Crown was attempting to save for war, yet by doing so it’d shirked its duties to the people up north. Border villages of friends—maybe even families—had been attacked, and they’d been left to fend for themselves. No wonder they’d come up with such a terrible rhyme.

  Commander Nyx and her regiment were attempting to help their people through patrols, but they could only do so much.

  I needed to get that purse.

  Derrick put a big arm around my neck, misunderstanding my silence. “Come now, not everyone is going to like my big sister.”

  “Don’t you even think about joining them.”

  Derrick grinned and pulled a simple silver chain out of his shirt to show me the copper ring I’d given him years ago dangling at its end.

  It made me smile to see he was still wearing it even in his soldier’s garb.

  “Never. Besides, unlike our dear, sweet brother, I actually like the fact that you’re marrying a prince. I met Darren last year in the infirmary, remember? He’s a good sort, Ry. You will always have my support.”

  I felt the tension leave my limbs. “Thank you.”

  He ruined the moment by picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder.

  “Derrick!” I swatted at the back of his head. “Put me down.”

  “Hmm.” The boy pretended not to hear my squeals. “That was too easy. You’ve got to work on your guard, Ry.”

  I lowered my hands and punched the side of his ribs. He set me down with a laugh.

  “I don’t need a guard around you. You aren’t my enemy, Derrick.”

  My brother grinned. “That’s the thing about enemies. You never know who they could end up being.”

  A WEEK before I was to depart, half the regiment was seeing to chores around camp, and the rest of us sat trading jokes or serving watch around the perimeter. I knew I should be helping out, but I was unwilling to leave until Lief finished his latest tale from the past Candidacy. Most of the regiment mages stuck around as well; Lief was a great storyteller, and most of us were not old enough to remember the last Candidacy—I hadn’t even been born.

  All of us listened in rapture as Lief recounted the final duel between Marius and his last opponent, Mara. The Restoration and Alchemy sessions had been brutal, but nothing could compare to the head mage’s recount of Combat. I was certain most of us forgot to breathe during his telling. How in the name of the gods had Mara survived?

  Lief raised a brow as if hearing our unspoken question. “It took ten healers to save her life.”

  For a moment, there was quiet and then Ian finally spoke. “And yet we are all mad enough to attempt the same ourselves.” His raspy joke was met with more silence.

  Several of the Restoration mages’ faces were as white as a sheet; my nails were bitten to the quick. True, nothing Lief said was new. We’d all heard similar stories during our youth, but hearing it now when our turn was less than a year away? It was an entirely different experience.

  “A mage died in the last Candidacy.” Ruth addressed Combat’s head mage. “Didn’t he?”

  Lief prodded the fire with a stick. “The boy was seventeen, young for his faction and too young to be participating in the first place. One of those highborn mages who joined the academy at the tender age of twelve.” His face filled with contempt. “The rules state very clearly that a mage must cease casting the moment his opponent surrenders. The boy never surrendered and died from his opponent’s attack. He was over confident and a fool. It was during the melee. He never should’ve made the mistake in the first place.”

  “I must be mad to think I have a chance at winning,” I muttered to Ray and Ian as we started our evening drills. They chuckled.

  The three of us took turns casting great bolts of lightning into the sky. We were a day’s ride from the keep so there was no need for conservative casting, not with so many nearby patrols.

  “That might be t
rue.” Lief stopped observing to interrupt. “But what you mustn’t forget, Ryiah, is how little of us there are to begin with. Only five Combat mages ascend each year, and by the time a man reaches his late fifties, he has no magic left.” He paused. “The youngest mage would be seventeen at the time of their ascension if they started at twelve. That leaves a little over forty years and five of us each year… Two hundred, but that number is infinitely smaller when you consider potential. Any mage past thirty is not going to consider entry—his stamina will have already begun to decline.”

  He paused. “For me, it’s already too late.” His gaze was wistful, but resigned. “Too young for the last Candidacy and too old for the present… But you, Ian, even Ray here… I doubt there will be more than sixty entries for Combat. You three have much better odds than you think.”

  I didn’t say a word for the rest of the night. I wanted to best Darren and win, yes, but I’d never stopped to consider exactly how many mages I would be going up against. Sixty was certainly better than I’d anticipated. I was second rank. That put me at the top half of our faction’s candidates… Of course there were those whose potential had grown post-ascension… but for most, their limits would’ve been reached by the time they received their ranking.

  And that’s when I realized it: I really could have a chance.

  I SPOKE TOO SOON. That was the first thought that crossed my mind as I curled with my knees to my chest, shivering and shaking under the heavy blankets of my cot.

  Paige set a bucket on the floor. I cringed at the heavy thud of metal against stone. “Not so loud,” I begged.

  “You need to drink some of that tea the healers gave you, my lady.”

  My stomach gurgled and heaved, and I clutched it with a groan. “Stuff was vile,” was all I could manage.

  “Well, you’ll never get better if you don’t, and tomorrow we set off for the palace, even if I have to tie you to the saddle.”

  “Wouldn’t… dare.”

  She snorted. “I will, and you know it well.”

  I didn’t say anything else. I just clutched the mug and shuddered. Then I downed the contents, refusing to let the bitter, chalky liquid rest on my tongue any longer than it had to. When I was done, I fell back against the bed in a heap. My belongings were already packed. I just needed this sickness to end. I’d spent the past three days tossing and turning in a sleepless fit, hot and cold, unable to do anything but writhe in my misery.

  The Restorations mages in the infirmary said I had a “mage’s cold.” As one could surmise, it was the result of casting too much magic in a short span of time. I’d never experienced it before because Master Byron had been so focused on us learning to exercise what we had with caution. The few times I’d been reckless with my magic, I’d ended up unconscious in the infirmary, so the cold would have just been a small part of my recovery.

  “Why?” I moaned. “Why didn’t I listen…?”

  Paige blotted a cloth against my wet, sticky skin. “Because you are stubborn, my lady. Now drink and rest.”

  Please, I prayed, do not put me through this for another fourteen days.

  The gods never heard me.

  6

  “Oh dear, sweet...” I dismounted, running a hand through my frost-strewn hair as I fell to my knees, not caring what I looked like to the guards standing outside the palace gate.

  Never, ever would I put myself through that again. I’d spent the first week of travel drinking the healers’ vile tea and recovering from my cold only to spend the final leg of our journey caught in an icy snowstorm that rivaled any Jerar had ever seen. I swore the moment I stepped foot in the capital city, I’d never push myself that hard again.

  “My lady.” Paige was working hard to hide her smile. “They are waiting for us.”

  I forced myself to stand, brushing off a layer of powder and scrambling to make myself presentable—not that anyone would be able to recognize me under the layers of fur. I looked like a shaggy snow beast, the kind that terrorized children in cautionary tales told by their parents. Ella would be proud. She hated winter more than anyone else I knew.

  Paige walked over to the two soldiers standing at attention. “I am escorting Lady Mage Ryiah of Demsh’aa, Prince Darren’s intended—”

  She didn’t even get to finish. The palace gates swung open and one of the men grinned. “About time. You two were supposed to arrive this morning. His highness has been pacing the grounds like a caged animal. He’ll probably find you before you even reach the doors.”

  The cold, my exhaustion, and everything else were instantly forgotten. Paige had to sprint to keep up with me as I threw my reins to the waiting hostler and ran. I wasn’t sure if I should be excited or nervous, but at the moment, the only thing I knew was that my pulse was louder than whatever Paige was trying to say.

  A hand touched my arm and I turned to face my knight.

  She pointed to the left.

  I looked.

  Saw the gardens and the marble statue in the fountain’s center. Saw the wandering nobility in their warm winter cloaks. And then I saw a scruffy gray mutt matted with snow and the person standing beside it, one hand absently rubbing its head—the other getting ready to throw a stick.

  My heart stopped. Breathe, Ryiah. Darren looked… I didn’t have words. Has it really only been five months? He was standing there in a dark brocade cloak and black leather boots. I was immediately reminded of the day we met. There was that gold chain hanging from his neck, and the fading sun’s rays caught the stone at its base, a hematite oval—the signature gem of the Crown. Ink-black, jaw-length locks framed his face, bangs falling just past his eyes.

  I exhaled slowly.

  Whatever people said about Blayne, he couldn’t hold a candle to his brother, who’d just looked up from his dog to catch me staring. Only this time, I didn’t have to feel guilty or ashamed, because he was mine and I was allowed to stare.

  And he was staring right back.

  For a second, our gazes were locked and neither of us moved.

  Then he was running and I was running, and we didn’t stop until my arms were wrapped around his neck and his were locked around my waist, his face pressed in my hair.

  “Five months is too long,” he rasped.

  My eyes watered, and I told myself I’d never let go. “You smell like home.”

  I felt him crack a smile. “Would you believe me if I told you the same?”

  I nodded and then held still, surrounded by pine and cloves, and for just a moment, everything was right. The two of us in the middle of the courtyard, snow falling softly around us, lost to the rest of the world. I was content to stay that way for the rest of my life.

  “Ah, and I see the prodigious lowborn has returned.”

  I started to pull away, but Darren held tight and growled at his brother, who’d managed to make an appearance unnoticed.

  “Not now, Blayne.”

  “You don’t have to use such a surly tone, Darren. I was merely making an observation.” The crown prince’s gaze fell to me, and he wrinkled his nose. “Might I suggest a nice bath before greeting anyone from court.”

  My cheeks burned as the heir to the kingdom sauntered away, a swing in his step.

  “Don’t listen to him.” Darren’s tone was resigned. “Blayne is just worried about the Pythians’ arrival. Father has been… difficult.”

  I shook my head and stepped out of his embrace. “You don’t need to explain.” Blayne and I shared a mutual dislike. The king’s temperament had no part in that.

  I sighed. “Besides, Paige and I have been riding all day. I should probably get cleaned up before anyone else sees us.”

  “Then let me take you to your chambers.” The prince caught my wrist and pulled me forward.

  “What about Paige?” I glanced at my knight. She was trying to pick gray dog hair off her breeches with a sour expression. Wolf, seemingly oblivious to her reaction, continued to bark at her, demanding a playmate.

  I s
tifled a smile.

  “While you’re on palace grounds, there’s no need for a personal guard.” Darren led me to the castle doors. “She will be on rotation with the rest of the King’s Regiment.”

  “Oh.” I followed him inside, and then froze as soon as I set foot on the marble. That’s how long it took to recall his words. “My… chambers?”

  He gave me a crooked grin. “You have the room next to mine. The servants spent the last week preparing it. Once we are wed, it will be a sitting room, but until then, it’s where you’ll stay during your time here. Your ladies-in-waiting have been…”

  Darren rattled on, detailing the other changes that’d taken place, but my thoughts were still reeling from the first.

  My own room. With ladies-in-waiting—my ladies-in-waiting. I swallowed, suddenly nervous. I’d managed to avoid most of the changes from my new status in Ferren. The capital was a different story. I knew the king wouldn’t let me run around in training breeches and a vest unless I was in the practice courts.

  What if they expected me to act like my new station? Highborn, well mannered, and fluent in whatever flowery tongue the nobility expected? I hadn’t the slightest idea how to act like a true lady of court. Ella did, but she wasn’t here to help guide me.

  Not for the first time, I missed my best friend—not just because she could tell me what to do, but so that she could hold my hand. We’d gone through everything together.

  For five years, she’d helped guide me through training and Darren and the etiquette of court; this time, I was on my own.

  I COULDN’T KEEP from gawking even after Darren finished showing me to my new chambers. This was it. My own room. In the king’s palace. As the prince’s future wife.

  Nothing would ever be the same.

  Two ladies-in-waiting had already called upon some servants to draw a bath in the paneled wood tub of a small adjoining room. I almost died of delight when I stepped in and the water was still steeping hot. I stayed until the water ran cold, rubbing my skin raw, and then soaking in the lavender-scented bubbles a bit longer.