Non-Heir: The Black Mage Prequel Novella

by Rachel E. Carter

  The boy hated the both of them at that moment.

  When he was finished with his dinner, Darren didn’t wait for the others to finish. He knew it would upset his father, as did most things, but the boy didn’t care.

  Lucius’s voice rang out, hard and sharp when Darren reached the door. “I will be informing the lords you have a broken arm, Darren. Should you report to the stables without one, I will have the guards break it in three places instead of one.”

  The boy paused a moment as fear took hold of his lungs, and then he made himself continue on. To a bystander, he would look careless, unaffected, aloof. It was the only face he knew, the only one that was safe.

  He made it all the way to his chamber. Then he let the mask fall. Roiling anger hit him in a wave, followed by a sick sense of shame that the man could still make him feel fear after all this time. The tremors started in his limbs, and he sunk to the floor, clutching his knees to his stomach until the darkness passed.

  “Heroes don’t show fear.” He whispered the words over and over. But just then, it didn’t seem to make a difference.

  There was a knock on Darren’s door much later that night. It wasn’t locked, so by the time he rose, Blayne had entered the room. The older boy’s gaze fell to the red rims around the younger boy’s eyes.

  “Darren, I’m sorry.”

  “You were so eager to please Father, you didn’t think twice about me.” The boy fixed his older brother with a glower. If Blayne had not detailed his shots, the king would never have compared his performance to Darren’s. If Blayne had just replied “very well,” the king would never have asked for specifics.

  “What is a broken arm,” the boy added bitterly, “so long as it isn’t your own?”

  “I never wanted that!”

  “Well, you certainly didn’t prevent it.” Darren pointed toward the door, indicating for his brother to leave.

  “I...” The heir wore an expression of guilt; he wasn’t used to being the one to blame. “You don’t know what he’s like!”

  “You are a coward.” The words were cruel, but they were true, and both of the boys knew it.

  “Nothing I said was a lie.” Blayne’s expression had gone from guilt to defense in an instant. “If you really wanted to avoid his anger, then perhaps you should be better with a bow.”

  Flames licked at Darren’s skin as anger sizzled beneath his veins. Blayne knew how hard Darren had tried. “You are no better than him!”

  “I’m to be king,” the crown prince replied. His eyes were hard and empty. “That’s more than you’ll ever be.” Then he slammed the door shut behind him, leaving the second-born alone in the dark.

  Darren stared at the broadsword resting on top of his bed. He knew what he had to do, what he should have done hours before… and now he had even less time to do it. Now, before the rest of the palace awoke. Before Blayne heard his cry through the wall. If he cried.

  The boy wouldn’t give his brother the satisfaction.

  Resting the nook of his arm along the open drawer of his dresser, Darren slammed the drawer shut as hard as he could.

  He narrowly avoided screaming as his wrist banged against the wood and a terrible jolt of pain lanced across his arm like a wave.

  For a moment, the sensation numbed him, providing a temporary release of everything but a hot burn, and then it reared back and tore at his wrist twice as terrible as the first. But it still wasn’t broken.

  The boy had known it would take more than once.

  Two.

  Darren threw the drawer shut with all the weight he could give. This time bright flares of light momentarily crowded his eyes. The pain was back, but worse. His throat burned from trying to hold back his cry. When the boy finally blinked, there were tiny trickles of wetness pooling in the corner of his eyes.

  The tears only upset him more. Darren swiped at them with his sleeve and then slammed the drawer shut again, harder.

  Three.

  The boy dropped his hand with a sob as the sickening crunch of bone met his ears. His wrist was on fire, a stabbing throb running up and down his arm as the contents of his stomach roared up inside. The pain was terrible, but now that the act was done, he could finally breathe. Darren had broken bones before in his training. They ached like nothing else, but they weren’t something he feared. It was the act that had cost him so much.

  Darren cradled his arm as he stood. He might be the victim, but he would have the last laugh.

  There was one more thing the boy intended to do before he greeted the rest of the court for the Crown’s annual hunt.

  When Darren arrived with the mutt in stride, it was enough to see the look of utter shock—and then wrath—storm his father’s face. Not much surprised Lucius; the king was used to getting his way, and the fact that Darren had deliberately humiliated him…

  The boy heard the soft gasps and quiet whispers from the crowd. Those closest betrayed not so much as a tightening of the lips.

  “Where is the hound we picked out?” Lucius’s voice came out like a growl, gravelly and rough. It was a tone he usually reserved for his boys in private: the fact that he had used it in front of his court hinted the rage behind his words.

  “I thought this one would suit me better, Father.” Darren refused to cower under the king’s expression, even as it was plunging ice into his blood with every second he held it. “With a broken arm, I can’t hunt very well, can I?”

  Darren knew he would be punished, but inside was a churning pit of ravenous hate, and at the moment, all that mattered was shaming the monster in any form that he could. He wanted the fight that would follow in private, even knowing he would lose.

  The price of humiliating his father would be worth a dozen broken limbs and more.

  The king’s eyes flashed twin streaks of lightning as clouds rolled across the expanse above, but he regained his composure in seconds. He had an audience after all. “Perhaps, but a true knight would take up the hunt regardless.” Lucius’s tone was as smooth as Borean silk. “Sir Chadwick, please stand next to Commander Salvador and Sir Torrance.”

  A gangly knight known for his skill with the bow withdrew from his steed and followed the king’s order, his face paling as he took his place beside the head knight and his second-in-command.

  Darren’s mouth went dry as his father’s gaze fell to him.

  “My son has shown me the errors of my ways.”

  A cruel smile graced the king’s lips as he continued. “No man shall be excused from duty because of injury. It isn’t befitting the world’s best army, and how else do I set my kingdom apart from the gluttonous Caltothians of our north?” His eyes flit to the head of his personal regiment. “Sir Torrance, please hold Sir Chadwick in place.”

  “N-no, your majesty, p-please!” the thin man cried out as the second knight grabbed hold of his arms.

  “Commander Salvador, please render Sir Chadwick’s shooting arm useless.”

  The commanding knight pulled out his blade, and the other knight grabbed hold of his right wrist.

  The pit of Darren’s stomach dropped as the scene played out before his eyes.

  What have I done?

  The boy’s shoulders heaved, his chest rising and falling as the Commander swung the dull edge of his blade down, a blow so swift and hard that it cracked the bone and broke the archer’s skin in an instant. There was a terrible keening wail that followed as the man clutched his useless arm to his ribs.

  “Mage Killian, please bind Sir Chadwick’s arm, but use no magic. Should he fail to perform on today’s hunt, we will be ridding him of both arms. I have no use for weakness in service to the Crown.”

  The man’s words ripped at the boy like a knife.

  “And Darren…”

  The youngest prince raised his bloodshot eyes to his father, biting his tongue to keep from spewing the words choking him inside.

  “Should you fail to perform on today’s hunt, you will be held responsible for this man’s death,
and that curr you insisted on bringing along.”

  His father had won.

  If the knight failed to perform, he would lose both his arms.

  If Darren failed to perform—with his bad arm in a sport he had yet to best—he would be responsible for the death of two: an innocent man whose only crime was his skill with a bow, and a pup that loved freely and asked for nothing in return.

  The young prince had no one to blame but himself. Darren should have known better than to invoke the monster’s wrath. How had he not learned? His father was always one step ahead, and this time the king had known. He had seen through Darren’s intentions the moment he arrived.

  Darren had hoped his father would target his brother like the last time he disobeyed orders. He had wanted to hurt Blayne for his betrayal. The plan was supposed to be foolproof, but he would never beat the monster at his own game.

  Darren sat uncomfortably against the saddle, the mare’s progress jostling his broken arm with every step. His teeth ground into his gums and he felt every movement right down to his bones. But it was nothing next to the guilt if he failed the knight and his mutt. And so for that, he bore the pain with as much patience as he could.

  They were following some forest path north just outside of the capital.

  Most of the king’s hunting party had spread out across the trail ahead. Darren would have liked to follow along. His best chance was to avoid the stragglers and go after game on his own. But he had orders to remain at his brother’s side, even if it was the last thing he desired.

  Blayne refused to acknowledge him. Their father was up ahead, but the two princes and half the court remained behind. Their mindless chatter was deafening.

  His brother wasn’t a fool. Blayne knew what Darren had attempted, and any peace between brothers was gone.

  Sure enough…

  “Father’s not here,” the older prince snarled. “Why don’t you get out of my sight?”

  Darren fisted the reins but didn’t bother to reply. If he did anything to disobey the king now, there were others to take the blame. His selfish act had a price; he’d be a fool to tempt the gods twice.

  So he dealt with his brother in silence instead.

  They rode across countless ravines and spent the first half of the day hacking a makeshift path into the deeper parts of the Iron Mountain forest. Anything to give them a chance at the game that had been chased off by hunters before. Still, the only sightings they had were few and far between. And each time they missed.

  Blayne grew irritable the longer the day progressed. His remarks to their guards were biting and increasingly cold. Darren might have had a lot on the line, but he wasn’t the heir. Blayne’s consequence would come behind closed doors.

  Darren, for his part, had a splitting ache in the back of his skull. His eyes were strained from staring so hard into alternating shades of darkness and light. But he had no other choice.

  The hours beat away like a drum at his chest, louder and louder as each minute passed.

  The rest of their party was gone by the time the sun had started to dim. Half the procession had already returned to the palace in Devon, but Darren and Blayne pushed on.

  It was then that they finally came across a family of deer. There was a buck close to the marsh; its antlers gleamed against the sun’s rays next to a thick cluster of trees.

  Blayne’s hound let out a keening wail and took after the pack on command. Darren didn’t even have a chance to raise his bow or call on the mutt at his side. But before either boy could claim victory, the buck collapsed, an arrow right through the bottom of its chest.

  The rest of the deer scattered before the hound could reach its prey.

  Both boys looked for the source of the arrow; a quarter mile away on the raised hill was the knight from before, Sir Chadwick. He had two hares strung to his saddlebags and he had just bagged himself a buck. With a broken arm.

  For a moment, Darren forgot to resent the man—his admiration was too strong—but his brother didn’t.

  Blayne was seething in the saddle as he whistled for his hound. “Should have been mine,” he snapped.

  Before Darren could say a word, the crown prince had loaded his bow, aiming the arrow straight at the man ahead.

  For a second, the boy just stared with disbelieving eyes. What was Blayne doing?

  The shaft whistled across the air and alerted the man seconds before it would have matched the buck’s arrow to his chest.

  Sir Chadwick swung violently around to spy the two princes across the ravine. His gaze locked on Darren—the prince with the reputation for pain—and then he took off, his prey forgotten.

  Darren stared after the knight with a scowl, not bothering to look at his brother as he said, “And I suppose you’ll tell father the buck was yours.”

  The sound of a second arrow releasing and Blayne’s command for his hound alerted the boy something was wrong. Darren jerked his head to the side and found Blayne smirking, his eyes locked on the fleeing shadow beyond.

  “Who needs a buck,” the older boy drawled, “when there are other animals to hunt. Father might be expecting a hare, but when I bring him one of his own…” There was a low laugh as Blayne notched the next arrow into place.

  And Darren finally realized his brother’s intent. There was a pinch in the back of his throat as he remembered the mound behind the stables from months before.

  Darren snatched his brother’s wrist just as he released; the arrow went soaring harmlessly to the right.

  “Let him be!” Darren ordered. “Take the buck and call it your own.”

  Blayne swore and jerked back, nearly throwing Darren from his saddle.

  “The man is a cripple,” the older boy snipped. “Let me have this, brother. You know father will be impressed.” His eyes were as merciless as Lucius himself.

  Darren did the only thing he could manage; he snatched his brother’s bow and brought it against the horn of his saddle as hard as he could.

  There was a satisfying crunch as the stave splintered in two.

  “How dare you!”

  Darren kneed his mare in the sides, dancing just out of Blayne’s range before he could land a hit. Let Blayne try to hunt a man without his bow.

  The boy savored a moment of victory as he took off in a gallop across the trail. He would find game away from his brother while the older boy sulked. The mutt yipped as he followed along.

  And that’s when Darren heard Blayne’s call, a sharp whistle, and the baying of his hound. There was a blur of black as the animal took off down the ravine, tearing up roots and grass as it lunged.

  Darren had forgotten the animal. Blayne could still hunt the knight.

  The boy turned just in time to see his brother take off after his hound in the same direction that Sir Chadwick had fled.

  The sun was starting to set, the bright orange and crimson a fire against a sea of black, as Darren pulled on his reins, taking a sharp turn after his brother.

  And then they were off, headed down the ravine, through a sea of branches tearing up his arms and legs, and up the other side of the ledge.

  It was close to an hour when Darren finally caught up to his brother.

  Sir Chadwick was trapped on a ledge. There was a narrow valley below, but the fall was treacherous. Blayne’s hound was snapping and nipping at his heels.

  The man was pleading for his life as the older boy pressed in, fingering a knife Darren hadn’t known he had.

  The sky was a looming cloud of violet as Darren urged his own steed forward. The rocky face was precarious, and the last thing he wanted was to break another arm. He already felt weak and dizzy from too many hours on the road. It wasn’t an unbearable pain, but it wasn’t pleasant, and his temper ran shorter than most.

  “Blayne!” the boy yelled. “That’s enough.”

  “I didn’t ask your opinion, brother.”

  Blayne was still furious at Darren’s betrayal. This wasn’t the crown prince; it was a boy who
had spent too much time in the dark.

  Somewhere behind them, a bay of wolves called out to the night.

  Darren stifled the chill that ran down his spine as his horse fidgeted, skittish after the answering howl.

  For a moment, Darren caught a flicker of indecision in his brother’s stance. The boy latched onto it with a sharp command. “Let’s get back to the palace, Blayne. It’s too dark and Father will be looking for us.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Please, your highness…”

  Darren’s gaze shot to the knight.

  The man’s chest was rising and falling, his hands white against the sword in his grip. The offense for striking a prince was death, even in self-defense. But from the twitch of his fingers, Darren suspected the man was going to fight if it came down to his life or the prince’s.

  Something squeezed at Darren’s lungs; he didn’t want to choose between an innocent man and his brother.

  There was another howl, this time much closer than before.

  Darren swung in his saddle just in time to spot the first beast making its way through the brush. Another black snout joined the first. In seconds there was a pack of eight. Bristling bodies with yellow eyes locked on the trio above.

  The hunters were now the hunted.

  “Blayne.” Darren’s warning was low. The leader was on its haunches, teeth bared in a growl.

  But the crown prince was too busy taunting the knight. “Should have known better. And now you’ll—”

  There was a snarl from the hound, then a panicked shout and the whinny of a horse. Darren spun—forgetting the danger ahead as he turned, his bow ready and armed—to find only his brother on the ledge.

  There was a loud crash below.

  More commotion followed, tumbling rocks and a man’s scream as he plummeted down the cliff’s side.

  “Blayne!”

  Blayne’s eyes were wide and his lips were white. “Darren, I didn’t mean…” His words trailed off as he spotted the predators behind him.

  Too late.

  The beasts had just spotted much easier prey than two princes. Their eyes locked on their steeds and hounds.