Like me, the prince had expelled all his regular magic.
Somehow, I’d always known it would come to this.
I’d just the barest moment to register his decision before the prince’s fingers dug into the wound at his side.
Three daggers came at me at once.
“Surrender, Ryiah!”
They were almost here.
“No!” A nervous sweat broke as I clawed at my palm, sandy nails scraping against skin. The sensation of hot blood along the pads of my fingers was almost enough to make me retch.
I wasn’t fast enough.
Rain fell like sleets. Thunder roiled across an angry belly of shadow while stark flashes of yellow illuminated the arena.
I went down with a dagger square to the chest.
My giant burst of magic—it only swayed the last two daggers.
“Ryiah!” Darren staggered forward and then stumbled as the sand roared up and caved beneath his boots. The last of my magic.
Two mages. Only one will win.
I choked on air. I couldn’t see. Everything was a shade.
Hot iron coated my lips, metallic and bitter. I clutched the blade, disbelief and fear taking hold of my thoughts. There was a strange ache building in the back of my throat, my stomach, my lungs—like someone was fanning flames against my chest. I screamed and I clawed, blood spraying from my mouth as I struggled to free myself from the pain.
Salty tears trailed down my frozen cheeks as strange hands fought to hold the fire in place. Raging, wild tremors took control of my limbs. Something was shredding me from the inside. An anguish took over and every breath was like a thousand hot irons stabbing into me at once.
Hot air pressed against my ear, and a familiar voice begged for me to stay still. I whimpered and cried nonsensical pleas as the pressure remained and the terrible darkness took over my world.
“You w-will be…” Someone else was breaking too, sobbing as the words became splintered and hoarse.
“The healers a-are almost here,” he pleaded.
Pain ripped away at my flesh, and my scream was the last thing I heard.
14
When I woke up, his red-rimmed eyes were the first ones I saw. There were heavy creases under their lids, and his skin was so pale he could’ve been a ghost. His hands gripped the rail of my cot, heavy emotion radiating off the white of his fists.
Dried blood coated his chest and arms, and there were several bruises mottling his ribs. He looked like death.
I sucked in a sharp breath. We were in the infirmary.
A lump in Darren’s throat rose and fell when he noticed I was awake. “Ryiah!” he choked out my name, and I swore I heard him break.
I opened my mouth and closed it as hundreds of raging needles stabbed at my ribs. A healer’s palm shot out to cover my mouth anyway.
“You shouldn’t talk,” the woman apologized. “It’s only been a couple of hours since your match. Now that the prince knows you’re awake—the both of you need to rest, especially you, my lady. Your injuries were… grave.” She glanced away quickly. “The Victors’ Ceremony takes place tomorrow and—”
I lost.
“I-I’m so sorry.” The prince’s voice was hoarse as he interrupted the healer. “I never—I lost control. I—”
The dagger. My chest. The flames eating me alive. They were his.
Darren won the Candidacy.
“—You’re expected to partake, regardless your condition,” the woman continued.
“Please forgive me,” Darren begged.
“The Crown has ordered no visitors to expedite the healings, but it will take all of our staff and a heavy night’s rest just to have you walking around for the event.” The mage leaned down to apply a salve to my skin, motioning for one of the others to come forward.
Say something, anything. But I couldn’t.
The healers set to mending my maladies. I cried out as the bones began to shift and scrap under skin.
Darren’s fingers reached out to brush my cheek, and I shut my eyes. He shook so violently the bed rattled.
The pain was terrible… but I wasn’t angry at him.
I was angry at myself.
A HOT WASH of envy threw up waves in the pit of my stomach, and I took a deep, rattling breath.
I was good. But I wasn’t great.
Twelve hours of sleep didn’t make a difference. Sure, I felt less pain than the last time I awoke, but physical agony had little to do with the turbulence of emotions inside.
I’d beat out every single mage in my rank. By all accounts, I should’ve been happy. I’d achieved what most people only dreamed, and if I hadn’t achieved the dream, at least victory went to the boy I loved, an adversary I could respect.
But I was a terrible person, and jealousy was a bitter seed. None of it mattered. All of those years telling myself one day I would be better… they were for nothing. Darren was the best, and he always would be. His pain casting had over-powered my own. His potential was the greatest.
Stop moping like a pitiful child.
I raised a hand and swiped at the corner of my eye.
“Ryiah?” Darren was still broken. All night long he’d refused to leave that chair; I’d woken several times to see a mess of black locks against the side of my cot. Now he was afraid to touch me—I could see it in the way he reached out and then pulled away, like I was made of glass.
He couldn’t forgive himself.
The both of us were our own worst enemies.
“I’m fine.” I swallowed. “Darren, what happened… it wasn’t your fault.”
“I lost control.” His voice was bitter and hoarse. “I’ve never lost control, Ryiah. I could’ve killed you.”
“And I could’ve killed Hadrian during the melee.” It killed me now just to utter the reassurance. I wanted to hole up in a wall and scream until my lungs were raw. “We chose Combat. We knew the risks. You offered me a chance to surrender, and I refused.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does.”
His eyes shot to mine, and the garnet cut at my lungs.
“I’m sorry I hurt you.”
I made myself breathe. “Please don’t apologize.” It only made me feel worse about myself.
“Would you like me to leave?”
I stayed quiet.
The prince slowly gathered his belongings and motioned for his guard Henry to follow. As he exited the infirmary, he turned back to look at me. The self-flagellation was etched into the lines of his face.
“I’m sorry, Ryiah.”
He had nothing to be sorry for. Every Combat mage had known what they were getting into the moment they entered that arena. But Darren’s love for me had robbed him of reason.
I waited until he was gone and then let out the breath I’d been holding in. It burned the whole way up.
Jealousy had robbed me of mine.
A COUPLE HOURS LATER, a retinue of servants arrived with my two ladies-in-waiting and Madame Pollina. Contrary to our previous interactions, the woman was nothing but genteel as she helped me dress for the Candidacy’s formal ceremony. I suspected it had something to do with the way I looked. I hadn’t had the courage to stand in front of a mirror since we arrived, but even a fool could see the bandage strapped to my chest and the tender purple patches spotting my ribs and arms.
I caught her looking at my back with a pang of sympathy when the others plaited my hair.
I wished the Candidacy had delayed the Victors’ Ceremony by a week, so I could appear strong. I hated looking weak.
“Ryiah!”
“Ella?”
My best friend burst through the room, looking every bit the daughter of nobility in her black mage’s robe and curls. She had an air I never would.
“How did you get past the guards?”
“Paige.” She stopped grinning and her face turned serious. “I think she felt bad you couldn’t have visitors. She turned us away last night, but she probably figu
red, now that Darren is already at the ceremony, the Crown’s orders could bend.”
“Us?”
My parents stepped out from the corridor. “Oh, Ryiah,” my father said softly. He stared at the bandage that was still visible through the neckline of my mage’s robe.
“I’m fine, Dad.” The pity pressed at my lungs. I suffocated under his pity.
“We have some herbs that might help. We’ll send someone to drop a sachet to your healers tonight.” At least my mother was trying to maintain an air of normalcy. I prayed she’d keep my father’s sympathy at bay.
“Where’s Derrick? Alex?”
“We thought it best if we came alone.” My mother’s eyes flashed a warning. It took me a moment to understand.
The king. They were too afraid the guards would recognize Alex—and Derrick, well, he’d been so upset. And he was so stubborn. He’d probably refused to come.
A part of me deflated. My new life with Darren was supposed to be a dream, but so far it’d only brought a whole string of complications. My own brothers couldn’t—or wouldn’t—see me. And right now, I needed them more than anyone else.
We’d all grown up to the same expectation. We’d made the same choices. Alex was my other half, and Derrick was the younger, headstrong version of me.
And now… now I didn’t know what to do.
“Will they be coming tonight?”
My father shook his head, his eyes flitting to my mother.
“Darling,” my mother said, “the ceremony is only for nobility. We could state our relation, but we’d rather not…” Draw the king’s attention to our family.
A wave of fatigue washed over me, and I sat down quickly to escape their notice. My father’s brows furrowed, and my mother sucked in a sharp breath. I wasn’t fooling anyone.
“I’m going.” Ella’s fingers interlocked with mine as she sat down beside me. “Someone should be there to support my best friend.”
Paige appeared in the room. Her expression was half concerned, half aloof. “The king expects your presence soon. The ceremony is about to start.”
“Thank you, Paige.” My father’s eyes softened. “We won’t keep our daughter much longer.”
My parents each came forward to give me a long embrace, careful not to hug too tight. I found myself wishing I could prolong the moment. I saw them so little, and I doubted I’d get another chance before we left in the morning.
As soon as they were gone, along with my ladies-in-waiting, Paige returned.
“Ready?”
I nodded as Ella helped me stand. I was still wobbly on my feet, and it had cost too much of my energy just in dressing.
The three of us left the infirmary and started the short walk to Baron Tybalt’s mansion where the evening’s festivities were to be held.
Paige walked at the front, one hand on the hilt at her hip. Ella pressed closer to me, drawing my elbow in as she spoke.
“I didn’t want to say this around the others, but I want you to know that tonight means nothing.”
I faltered, and she met my eyes—a persistent light reflecting across twin pools of amber.
“Darren might be the Black Mage, but I watched you from the stands, and I’ve never been so proud to call you my best friend.”
My eyes started to blur, and I dug my nails into my palms to keep the tears from showing.
“Our titles don’t mean a thing, Ry.” Her grip tightened on my arm. “I know what you’re feeling, because I feel it too. Of course we want to be the best. It’s what we trained for. But we don’t need a title to validate our hard work, Ry.” She raised her voice. “When we walk into that room tonight, it’s going to be with our heads held high.”
I halted midstride.
“Ry?” Ella stopped walking. “Is something—”
I cut her off, wrapping my arms around her and squeezing. Paige paused ahead of us. She didn’t say a word—even though we were going to be late—she just stood to the side and surveyed the street.
I kept my arms locked around my best friend. My whole body shook and silent sobs rocked my chest.
I kept my eyes clenched shut and clung to Ella until the tremors were gone. I hadn’t let myself cry over the duel in the hours since it happened—I’d been too afraid Darren would blame himself, too guilty my parents would sympathize, and too angry at myself.
But here, now, with my best friend, I let myself be.
“I love you, Ella.”
She brushed the back of my head. “I love you too, Ry. Don’t ever think you’re not good enough.”
THE SPRAWLING RESIDENCE was almost as tall as the tops of the Candidacy’s stadium. Whoever had decided to call it a mansion had grossly underestimated its size. It might not be as big as the king’s palace in Devon, but it was at least equal to the Academy’s castle in Sjeka.
A giant circular dome made up the highest point of the building, several sections of the roof were supported by heavy columns, and a steep indoor balcony overlooked the grand ballroom at the center. The whole place was a wash of white stone and golden tile. All over, raised statues depicted the four previous victors of each faction. I recognized the current one closest to the door. Marius’s crooked smile was captured perfectly by the sculptor’s hand.
I supposed Darren’s would be next.
Heavy brocade curtains of cobalt and crimson adorned most of the many-paned windows, and a thick light streamed down from the center of the globe’s roof. At the angle it was placed, it would highlight the victors’ balcony at precisely the right moment. I suspected that had been its intention.
The moment Paige, Ella, and I entered, we were offered a fine selection of wines. Their heady aroma made my stomach roll, and sensing my discomfort, Ella passed. Paige, off-duty for the night but rarely ever sociable, passed as well.
As we took our places in the grand atrium, we waited for the spectacle to begin. The room was packed full of nobility—ambassadors and highborns clamoring for the best place to stand. Darren and the other two victors, as well as the previous Council, were nowhere to be seen. I did spot the king and Blayne with Princess Wrendolyn a bit closer to the front, but I couldn’t stomach the thought of standing so near to the man who’d put my brother through such a horrible ordeal just days before. The room was so crowded and there were so many important dignitaries around, I doubted he’d even notice my absence.
I felt Ella tense up as she followed my stare. She’d never trusted the Crown, and I knew it was taking everything in her not to react. She put on a brave face, but she loved fiercely and was just as outspoken—if not more so— than me. It was killing her just to be in the same room as the man who’d come so close to murdering her husband just to make a point.
I was sick to my stomach just thinking of the long years ahead, trapped in the palace with Lucius as my father-in-law.
Forcing my gaze elsewhere, I spotted Merrick glaring pointedly in my direction. When he registered my attention, he spoke loudly to his companion, bragging of all his winnings for betting on the prince.
Oh, and that the only reason I’d beat him was because he’d thought it only fair to give “the girl” a chance. “Thought I would do her a favor, let the girls pretend they could win… for once.”
Arrogant little—
“My cousin is an idiot.”
My head swerved to the side, and I heard Ella’s shocked intake of breath as Priscilla emerged from the audience. She wore her mage’s robe like a queen, and she didn’t appear the least perturbed over her loss.
“S-sorry?” I stammered.
“You heard me perfectly well the first time, Ryiah. I’m not going to repeat myself.”
“Priscilla.” Ella wore a predator’s smile. “What a delight.”
“Ah, and I see you haven’t lost your charm, Eleanor.” The girl gave my friend a curling smile before turning back to me. “I bet on you for the final match.”
So she was here to chastise me for losing her coin? I bit back a groan. Priscilla
had always known Darren was better. Everyone else had. “I’m sorry for your loss.” I said it through clenched teeth.
The girl rolled her eyes. “I’m not sorry. Well, I am that I have to listen to that idiot rattle on, but I’m not sorry I bet on you.”
Ella’s jaw dropped to the floor, and I was sure mine followed.
“Stop gawking, you two. I just came to tell Ryiah here that I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d won. Darren was good, but he was always good.” Priscilla crooked a nail at my face. “You, you are a cockroach. No matter how many times we tried to get rid of you, you kept finding a way to scuttle your way back. And as much as I don’t like you, well, you are persistent. And even I can admire you for that.”
I opened my mouth and she cut me off with a hand to the face.
“Don’t even bother, Ryiah. We aren’t friends, and I haven’t a doubt you’ll make a horrible princess. I just thought I’d show you a bit of kindness before you run this kingdom to the ground.” Then she sauntered off like the lady of court she was.
Leaving Ella and me to stare.
“Did that really just happen?”
“It did.”
A cockroach.
It was quite possibly the best and worst compliment I’d ever received.
WHEN THE HERALD called his name, Darren emerged at the open balcony, Marius at his left.
A collective murmur went through the audience as the Black Mage unclasped the robe from himself, placing the shimmering silk upon the prince’s shoulders. Darren’s chest went still as the gold-lined sleeves slipped down his arms.
Marius raised the hood on Darren’s head. Sparkling gemstones danced across the stream of sunlight, and the prince lit up like magic itself, his whole profile a heavy, ethereal glow.
He was a contradiction of darkness and light.
“Prince Darren, the new Black Mage of Jerar. A Colored Robe of the Council of Three. Lead Mage of Combat to the Crown. Representative for Combat upon the Council of Magic. We welcome you to your new role.”
The roar was deafening. I pushed the twinge of envy aside as I screamed loudest of all. I could see Darren searching the crowd with his eyes, and when he finally spotted me beside Ella, he gave a small smile. Fear was still written plain across his face, but he gained a bit of color after that.
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