Apprentice (The Black Mage, #2)(27)

I swallowed, remembering the way our last conversation had transpired. I had managed to put it out of my mind until now, but I couldn't help remembering how Ian had said I'd been right to do what I did in that canyon. I had yelled at the prince for helping me win, and I thought I had been justified. But the only reason Ian had been upset with me was because he thought it meant I liked the prince better, not because I had been a bad friend.

Which meant Darren had been right all along. And I had been a bad friend – only not to the person I'd thought.

Following the non-heir's advice I loosened the topsoil first and was surprised how much easier it was to dig. Right again. Sighing, I set down the shovel and approached the fig tree Darren was residing under.

I opened my mouth to speak but Darren spoke first. "I'm sorry."

I shook my head. "No, it's me who should be apologizing."

"Ryiah." Darren's garnet eyes met mine and he smiled. It was the first time I had seen him smile without the trace of sarcasm I was so accustomed. I lost my breath. "Just let me apologize."

I started to say he didn't need to, but the way he was looking at me made the words get lost in my throat.

"I was right to tell you to trick Ian. Any Combat mage would have pressed the same advantage-"

I should have known he wasn't going to apologize. The tightening in my chest deflated, just a little.

"-And while I know I was right, I still find myself thinking I was wrong. Because of you, Ryiah." His gaze fell away and he was staring at the back of his hands. "I hurt you by hurting him, and for that I'm sorry."

My jaw dropped.

"You want to know something ironic?" Darren's lips were twisted in a grimace. "Until you, I'd never really had a friend. Not really."

"But Priscilla and the others-"

"Priscilla? Our lives are forever bound because of her parent's wealth and the fact that my father covets it. I understand her, but I don't respect her. Most of the highborns are like that." He laughed, but it was bitter. "Eve is different. Her father is the commander of the Crown's Army and we grew up to similar expectations. We aren't close, but…" Darren exhaled slowly. "But I'm close to you. Or I want to be, but I keep making a mess of things every time I'm around you. I respect you, Ryiah. I told you last year you were the one good thing about the Academy and I meant it. You aren't like anyone else here, or any person I've ever met. You've overcome so much and yet at the end of it you are still kind. You still care." He ran a fist up his jaw and through his hair. "I'm not like you. I've never cared about keeping relationships or sparing people's feelings. All I've ever cared about is power: how to get it, and how to keep it. I told you as much when we met."

"Darren," I said softly, "you don't have to explain yourself."

"But I do." His jaw clenched. "See, Ryiah, I didn't care that Ian was your friend. I knew what I was suggesting. I knew it would make things difficult for you and I'd be lying if I said there wasn't more than one motivation in mind. Even after you did it I was happy. We'd won. I'd got what I wanted."

Darren's eyes locked on mine. "I was fine right up until you stopped talking to me. All of sudden I cared what someone thought of me. Because we are friends. And making you miserable and angry makes me miserable and angry. I don't want to be the person to make you mad or cry, Ryiah. I want to make you laugh. I want you to make me laugh, because gods know you are the only one who can. So, yes, I am sorry, I am sorry because even if I was right, I was also wrong. And I'd rather lose a silly battle than your friendship."

"It would take more than that to lose me." It was the only thing I could think to say. I'd never seen this side of Darren before. For all the time I'd known him he had kept his feelings bottled up under a layer of sarcasm and wit. I'd never heard him speak so openly. I knew I cared for him – probably more than I would ever admit - but to hear what I meant to him – even if it wasn't what I wished - still touched me.

His eyes flared in the shadows. "Do you really mean that?"

I nodded and then bent down to adjust a bootstrap, more to busy my hands than anything else. When I finally straightened I saw Darren watching me, a strange expression on his face.

It made my blood pound loudly in my ears. I bit down on my lip, hard. My eyes were glued to his and I was hit with an overwhelming desire to close the distance between us, to reach out and take his hand in mine…

"You still have feelings for the prince."

"It's Ian that I want."

Was it? Was it really?

"Ryiah." Darren suddenly dropped my gaze, looking anywhere but my face. "If things were… If they were different-"

"Help! Help!" The silence was broken by screams coming from the other side of camp. Darren and I immediately broke into a run.

We caught up to the rest of our faction to find several Mahj soldiers retreating from the northern trail, large burn marks up and down their arms. And blood. Lots of blood. It was pouring down their faces, chests, legs, everywhere.

I immediately felt sick.

"The raiders," one of the men wheezed, "they have magic!"

"O-only ten of them," a woman soldier coughed. "But too much power! And t-too many!"