Apprentice (The Black Mage, #2)(2)

Lynn sent a quick kick to my shin and I faltered, feeling the gravity shift from under my feet as I fell to the side. I did not have time to adjust my form before my right elbow slammed into hard-packed earth. Sand billowed up all around me as a sharp pop sounded and instantaneous pain flared up and down my arm.

I cried out as my magic's barrier broke. A swift casting came rushing from my hands before I could halt it, slamming into my opponent and sending her back-first into a nearby palm. Lynn hit the ground with a hard thud and the magic fell away, its damage done.

"Blast it, Ryiah!" Master Byron swore. His aristocratic face, normally so calm and collected, was beet red. Sweat glistened off his well-kept skin. "If you can't control your magic, you are never going to be allowed anywhere near a battlefield!"

I quickly scrambled to my feet, my face aflame. Lynn had already pulled herself up as well, and the expression in her eyes was one of pity. I thought it kind of her – I had to be the most frustrating second-year to mentor, yet she was always patient and understanding, even when my magic was knocking her into trees. Master Byron, on the other hand, was anything but.

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean-"

"The Council made a mistake," the man huffed, ignoring my outburst. "You shouldn't be here. I don't know what the Black Mage was thinking, granting you an apprenticeship. You may have gotten away with that trickery in your trials but it will not fly here."

"Yes. Sir." The words were bitter on my tongue. My elbow was smarting terribly. Hot and cold pains were shooting up and down my right arm and I had less patience than usual for Master Byron's criticism. It wasn't as if I had intentionally cast. It had just happened. Other second-years lost control too – but in the two months since the apprenticeship had started the training master had taken to targeting me personally.

"What good is a girl in Combat if she is always embracing her gender's weak-minded ways? Learn to deal with your pain, Ryiah, or go back to a convent."

I opened my mouth to retort.

Ella's hand closed over my left wrist, an unspoken reminder. Do not let him get to you. I attempted to swallow my fury.

"Surely, Master Byron, you can't believe there is only one sex to feel pain," an amused voice spoke up. "I, myself, embrace such 'weak-minded ways' almost daily."

"Your sarcasm, Apprentice Ian, is not appreciated," the master said dryly. "I am simply making a point to Ryiah that she would be better suited elsewhere-"

"For accidentally using her magic? Sir, we have all done that – in my second year alone I-"

"Perhaps she is not the only one who should not be here," Master Byron snapped. Giving me a dismissive glance he added: "Ryiah, see to that arm – you will have to make up the rest of the exercise later."

All twenty apprentices stepped to the side to allow me to pass, although none of them met my eye as I did. I groaned inwardly. Most of them hated Master Byron as much as me. The difference was they, unlike Ian and I, had learned to keep their tempers in check.

Holding my head high I began the short trek to the infirmary. At least there would be one bright spot to this day. Alex would be with the rest of the Restoration mages – which meant I would get to see him when I checked into their base.

I had barely seen my brother the past few weeks. Our factions had kept us busy training in opposite ends of Ishir Outpost. Any excuse to see him – even at the cost of a possibly broken arm – was preferable to the absence of my other half.

"Hey Ryiah, wait up!"

Spinning around I discovered Ian jogging to catch up with me. His hair was windblown and I couldn't help but notice how, even out of breath, the third-year was incredibly handsome. Not like the prince. But then again no one ever was.

Ian was just Ian. When the apprentices had arrived at the Academy to pick up their newest recruits, most of the older students had been wary of me. I was the sixteen-year-old girl who had destroyed the school's armory during the first-year trials. I was the sixth name to be called – an occurrence that was unusually rare in the Academy's habit of picking five students to apprentice per faction.

Ian hadn't cared. The moment the third-year had spotted me he had let out a loud whoop and set about to collecting his winnings from the rest of his friends. Apparently there had been a wager going for which of us first-years would make it; since I had been considered a long shot during the mid-winter duels Ian had been the only one to bet on me for an apprenticeship. I was surprised the boy had even remembered me from our short time during the solstice ball, but the self-proclaimed "underdog" had assured me he remembered "everyone that counted."

Since my apprenticeship started Ian had quickly become one of my closest friends, after Ella. The third-year's sarcasm matched my own, and he knew firsthand how horrible Byron could be. After all, until I arrived Ian had been the master's least favorite student.

"What are you doing?" I scolded my friend lightly. "You should be mentoring Darren."

Ian chuckled. "That self-important prodigy? He'll be fine without me…" He gave me a disarming smile. "You, my dear, are the one who needs help." He hooked my good arm with his own. "That prince has the training master worshipping the very ground he walks on. Darren could be us and Byron would still insist he was the next Black Mage."