The Black Mage: Complete Series

by Rachel E. Carter

  It was one of the few times I was happy to be part of the king’s retinue. Our box was one of the few with a canopied roof for shade. I’d also be able to make out the contestants’ details far better than a seat further back with the rest of my family and Ella. Refreshments were brought to the Crown’s box before continuing onto the rest of the rows, and if the scholars’ expectations were correct, each day of the weeklong event would last eight to ten hours trapped in our seats.

  I recognized countless faces in the sea above. The scholars were right—it looked like every person I’d ever met was in that crowd. Already the stands were brimming with color. I hadn’t realized there were that many people in the kingdom, even after my tour in the apprenticeship.

  One third of Jerar? Ha. Try at least half.

  A couple rows beyond, I noted a tall, red-bearded man dragging his daughter through the stands, picking his way toward the seats at the front. Really? A child? It was like a punch to the gut. The girl couldn’t have been more than six. And she looked scared, tugging at a yellow silk ribbon at the end of her black braid.

  Why would somebody bring a child here?

  Chancing a glance around, however, I saw she was far from alone. More children—some even younger than the girl—were scattered among the seats. What is wrong with these parents? I knew today wasn’t Combat, but Restoration would surely show more blood than a child should ever be forced to watch.

  Turning away, my gaze caught on the Caltothian ambassador, and I paused.

  The man brimmed with barely contained rage. Eyes locked on the little girl with the braid, I could see cold fury written all over his face. Is he upset at the father too?

  But then I heard a familiar laugh. Someone was talking with the little girl’s father, and his voice was unmistakable. Prince Blayne.

  My gaze shot back to Lord Tyrus. He wasn’t looking at the little girl; he was looking at the crown prince.

  And his hatred was unmistakable. I could see it in the whites of his balled fists and shaking shoulders.

  “Darren,” I whispered.

  The prince glanced up and I pointed. His brow furrowed as he studied the man watching his brother. “I’ll have Father put extra men to the ambassador’s service tonight.”

  I shivered. There was something unsettling about the Caltothian’s expression. When I snuck a glance again, Lord Tyrus had composed himself, and if I hadn’t seen the look myself, I wasn’t sure I’d have believed it was ever there to start.

  The ambassador was not indifferent to the Crown, and he wasn’t here for peace. That much was clear.

  FIRST UP WAS FIFTH-RANK RESTORATION. And it took me all of five minutes to realize I was wrong.

  I’d assumed the Candidacy would be similar to the first-year trials, only more intense. What I hadn’t predicted—what I hadn’t known—was that there was one minor difference, and that difference would matter the most.

  The mages weren’t casting on themselves, rather, the criminals of Jerar.

  Men and women from the local jails were brought in to accommodate the total number of each rank’s participants—which should’ve been fine, except I kept thinking back to how the first-years had willingly chosen to succumb to ailments during their own trials, and these prisoners had not.

  And the Candidacy ailments were far more serious than the light injuries of our trials.

  Fourteen mages spaced out in a horizontal line across the field, facing the crowd. Fourteen criminals were brought with their backs to the audience, facing their candidate with a soldier beside them.

  Then the herald announced the start.

  There was a horrible sound as the soldiers’ blades cracked against the criminals’ knees. Each prisoner dropped to the ground, writhing in pain.

  Screams crowded the air.

  The mages rushed forward to begin their first casting, each racing to treat their victim’s five stages the fastest. The winner would move onto the next day’s event, representing the best of their rank with an opportunity to advance.

  The stages got worse.

  Wren sucked in a gasp, and I had to clap my hand to my mouth to muffle a cry as one of the soldiers stabbed a thrashing woman three times in the chest.

  Darren turned in his seat. “Ryiah?”

  “This is wrong!” Violent crime was punished on the spot with a hanging. The men and women I was watching were guilty of little more than theft. The gaunt lines of their faces spoke the truth, revealing lowborns who’d chosen to steal rather than starve.

  It was the bandits from the north all over again.

  Darren spoke my name urgently. “Ryiah—”

  “Petty crime isn’t enough to subject them to this!”

  King Lucius’s voice boomed out across our box. “Shall I replace the prisoners with innocents instead, Lady Ryiah?”

  Darren’s hand shot to my arm to keep me from replying.

  “Your parents are merchants, no?” The question was a deadly promise. “Perhaps I can call on them first.”

  My stomach caved in as cold panic flooded my veins. My nails dug into Darren’s wrist, and it took every ounce of willpower I had to keep my magic at bay.

  “That’s not necessary, Father.” Darren’s grip tightened on my own. “She didn’t mean anything.”

  “You might be too valuable.” The king ignored his son to watch me like a hawk. “But your family is not. Do you understand, Lady Ryiah?”

  “Y-yes.” The word was barely more than a gasp. Wren caught my other hand in hers and squeezed.

  “I’ve been patient with your stay thus far, but rest assured I won’t hesitate to hold your family accountable for your actions.”

  A servant scurried past with the first round of refreshments for our box.

  “Might I be excused, your majesty?” The words felt so heavy, my pulse beating against my throat.

  “You have five minutes,” the king growled. “Then I expect you back in your seat and cheering our nation’s legacy.”

  I fled the box as fast as my legs could carry me.

  “Ryiah, wait!” Darren caught up to me outside of the stands. I gripped the stadium’s back wall for support and tried not to think about what was going on the other side of it. Paige paced at my right.

  “I can’t do this, Darren. I can’t watch.” There was no way I could go back and sit silently as men and women bled out for the mere notion of a contest. I couldn’t pretend.

  “You can’t voice your disapproval over the Candidacy. He’ll—”

  “I didn’t know it was going to be like this!”

  What if the healers didn’t treat their victims in time? The judges wouldn’t interfere until each rank’s hour was up. It was the first thing the herald had declared at the start of the day’s event.

  Darren waited until the stadium’s clamor fell to a hush. “He changed it, Ryiah.”

  “W-what?”

  The prince took a step closer, taking a look around and pausing when his gaze landed on our guards. Paige rolled her eyes and retreated to the wall’s exit, with Darren’s knight in tow—the both of them still close enough to jump in at the first sight of danger.

  Darren spoke softly. “The old Candidacies still used prisoners for Restoration and Alchemy, but the worst malady was a broken limb, not… this. My father was the one who changed the rules.”

  I shrank back in disgust.

  “It was one of the first things he did after my mother passed. Treating his own criminals to this as the emissaries watch… he wanted to send a message to any country foolish enough to break with Jerar. I thought you knew—you read all those books when we were first-years in the library.”

  “But…” I must have missed them. “I read about Combat.”

  “Combat stayed the same.” Darren’s contempt was quiet. “Our faction’s tourney is already violent enough. But Restoration? Alchemy? The old Candidacies were far too tame for his liking. My father wanted blood.”

  FORFEIT.

  When they rai
sed the white flag ten minutes into my brother’s round, I prayed my eyes were playing tricks on my mind. But I’d seen all of the signs.

  The white face, the trembling hands, the heavy perspiration shining along his skin, and the way Alex had swallowed as he watched the twelve soldiers lead their twelve criminals out across the field were all indications of the outcome.

  Alex had a look of naked horror when a soldier had knocked an old man to the ground. My twin had dove to the man’s side and whispered something into his ear, hands anxiously feeling out the injury for the break.

  Alex had treated the man’s leg, and I’d seen the way his shoulders hunched and his hands kept drifting toward his ears to shut out the cries at his left.

  He had treated the man and the soldier had summoned a Restoration mage to inspect his healing. After a minute, the woman had nodded and the soldier had raised his blade to begin the next round.

  My brother had jumped forward and grabbed the soldier’s blade hand with a shout of command. I hadn’t heard a word he’d said. The clamor of the crowd and the screams from the other prisoners had been too great.

  But I saw the soldier raise his flag.

  He hadn’t known. Alex had been expecting the same routine as the first-year trials. It’d always been the same. Until King Lucius.

  A hushed silence fell over the stands. My brother started across the arena to the stadium’s tunnel, oblivious to the change.

  A silent scream tore at my throat.

  Just two hours before, I would’ve been proud. I would’ve sobbed tears of joy to see my brother stand up against the injustice, to know he wouldn’t hurt an old man whose only crime couldn’t have amounted to more than theft. But that was before the king of Jerar had threatened my family.

  I prayed he wouldn’t notice.

  “Braxton!” The king’s voice boomed out across our box.

  “Your majesty?”

  “I want that mage boy substituted for one of the prisoners in the final two ranks.”

  I jumped up just as Darren yanked me down, hard. “Don’t say a word,” he hissed. “He doesn’t know!”

  I fought the prince’s grip, and Wren clung to my arm. She didn’t know what Darren and I were arguing over, but even she knew I was about to make a mistake.

  “If the boy tries to heal himself, have him executed.”

  I clawed at Darren’s arms, every bit of magic threatening to burst—

  “Ryiah,” Darren’s voice was a rasp, “please.”

  “Yes, your majesty. Right away, your—”

  “Don’t just stand there talking. Get that boy!”

  Hot tears pricked at the corner of my eyes, and my heart was attacking my lungs, and I could barely hear over the blaring roar of my pulse.

  Alex. Alex. Alex. I tried deep, shaking breaths, but as two knights sprinted across the field, dragging my confused brother by the pits of his arms, I broke free.

  Darren caught me as I reached the rail—he spun me around and his lips slammed against mine just in time to muffle the cry.

  A part of me shattered, and all that kept the audience from knowing the truth was Darren’s hot mouth on my own, strangling the shriek inside.

  Preventing his father from knowing.

  And that’s when I heard Ella’s rampant screams. And then my parents’. And then Derrick’s.

  TWO KNIGHTS HAULED my brother out into the center of the arena.

  For thirty-nine minutes, I sat still, fighting the verge of panic as Darren whispered into my ear and Wren clung to my arm, pretending everything was fine. The king had been too busy watching the rest of the third-rank trials to notice, and during the brief break between rounds, Blayne had engaged his father in a long, drawn-out conversation.

  But now my brother was back.

  I saw the look of horror on some of the candidates as they recognized their own among the prisoners. The soldiers were addressing their group, and it was clear from their stance they were explaining the king’s orders, pointing to the extra judge who would make sure my brother didn’t attempt to heal himself during the second-rank trial.

  And then it began.

  I watched as my brother crumbled to the floor.

  I watched as the candidate knelt to the sand and began to treat the first of his injuries.

  I watched as the soldiers continued with beatings, and then, later, three stabbings across his chest.

  The crowd’s clamor was so loud during the final minutes of the round that my cry didn’t stand out amongst the rest. I clung to the rail, eyes locked to the stadium floor, screaming at the top of my lungs until I went hoarse.

  I watched as the soldiers hauled my brother away. Healed by his candidate, but still wet blood dripping from his robe, the whites of his eyes like moons, the trembling of his limbs…

  And then they brought him out all over again.

  I didn’t have to worry about screaming. By the time it was over, I had nothing left to give.

  WHEN THE FIRST day of the Candidacy concluded, the king had Alex brought to our box. I had to pretend that my heart wasn’t breaking, shattering into hundreds of tiny shards as the king’s men threw Alex before Lucius’s feet.

  My twin’s gaze briefly met my own, and the betrayal was enough to make me bleed out and die. There was so much pain and confusion and anger, but I saw him swallow as the anger vanished and he looked up to the king.

  “What is your name?” the king barked.

  “Rex.” At least my twin knew better than to tell the truth. He croaked the last words like he’d swallowed a mouthful of rocks. “Your majesty.”

  “Rex. If you dare to humiliate your country like that again, I will have you beheaded. Today was a blessing, you should count yourself lucky I didn’t disrobe you on the spot.”

  The knights released my brother, and he pulled himself up, limping as he stood. There was a purple bruise still marring Alex’s right eye and sandy brown bangs caked in blood.

  He refused to meet my eyes.

  DARREN HALF DRAGGED me out of the stands. I wanted to go to Alex, my family, Ella—but he warned me to wait. He promised Paige would help me sneak out that evening after the rest of the manor was asleep.

  If the king found out “Rex” was my brother, the consequences would only be worse.

  When I finally did go to my family, it was in the dead of the night. My best friend was sobbing, and my parents couldn’t even bear to look at me. Alex just stared at the wall, hands locked on the steaming mug in his hand.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. I fell to my knees, taking his hand in my own and pleading for him to look down at me.

  “You could’ve stopped them.” Derrick’s raging whisper cut across the inn’s room like a knife. “You could have done something!”

  Paige spoke up. “She would’ve made it worse. The king—”

  “I’m not talking to you, bloody traitor! You might be a former lowborn, but you are just as bad as her. The both of you make me sick.”

  “Derrick—” My voice cracked. “I—”

  “I hate you!” he spat the words in my face.

  “Derrick.” My father cleared his throat and looked to me with a pained expression. “If Ryiah said she couldn’t do anything, your mother and I believe her. She is not a member of the Crown. She may not have as much sway—”

  “She doesn’t care about us!” His cry was hoarse. “Look at Alex. Look at what she let the king do to him”

  “I didn’t want to!” I sobbed. My twin continued to ignore me as my little brother tore out my heart. “I love him!”

  “Not more than that prince. You’ve forgotten all of us! First you act too high and mighty in the keep—”

  “Derrick, I—”

  “—Then you let your own brother be beat within an inch of his life for the Crown’s entertainment! You aren’t my sister. I don’t even know who you are anymore!” Derrick tore off his chain and threw my old ring on the floor. “You are nothing to me.”

  Then
he stomped across the room and slammed the door shut behind him.

  “Ry.” My mother’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “You promise?”

  “I promise I never wanted...” My knees shook, and I looked down at her and my twin in anguish. “When I first saw the prisoners, I said something. The king made it clear if I did again, he would punish my family.”

  My mother choked and my father stumbled back against the wall.

  “He didn’t even know Alex was my family.” I fell down beside my brother with a sob. “If he had, it would’ve been worse.” My hand reached out to touch his wrist. Alex didn’t tell me to move it, but he didn’t acknowledge me either.

  After a while, my parents returned to their room across the way, and Ella finally walked me to the door. She hadn’t spoken once. I prepared for another angry good-bye, but all she did was wrap her arms around me, shaking.

  “I forgive you,” she whispered. Her voice broke, and I could feel her tears through my shirt. “He will, too.”

  12

  I watched the second day of Restoration without feeling. Each rank’s winner challenged the winner from the next, and whoever won went on to challenge the next. It was the only opportunity to advance a mage’s ranking, and a chance—albeit very slim—to wear the Red Robe should they win each subsequent challenge. In the past three Candidacies, the most a mage had ever advanced were two ranks—and none of the factions had ever had the winner of second-rank best first.

  Four matches in all, nine hours in total, and the final winner was a young man I didn’t recognize named Torrance. He became Jerar’s newest Red Mage, though the title was not to be formally bestowed until the Victors’ Ceremony on the seventh day of the weeklong Candidacy.

  Alchemy’s trials were similar to Restoration. The first day was the display of their castings’ brews. Great fire flasks lobbed into the sky only to come crashing down and burst into an explosion of flame. Heavy gases that clouded the arena in smoke. Prisoners forced to undergo hallucinogens or paralysis in the blink of an eye. A swift display of potion-fortified weapons against the standard steel of the Crown’s Army.