Non-Heir (The Black Mage 0.5)(18)

The next second, Darren was staggering back. His brother had matched him fist for fist. Darren’s lip was split; he tasted copper and salt.

Darren might have been a better fighter—Blayne only practiced one hour a day in the training courts—but three years still gave Blayne an advantage in size.

The crown prince threw another punch; Darren used his forearm to block the fist and then lunged, throwing his weight into the attack.

Blayne ducked out of the way and then tackled his brother against the wall.

Darren’s face collided with stone and pain roared up inside of him, a hundred hot-tipped daggers in the back of his shoulders and head. Something seared the inside of his lungs, and then there was an airy feeling, like wings beating off against his chest.

“You’re still my little brother,” the older boy said. “It’s time you—”

Something rushed through Darren’s veins, and then there was a roar. The whole room seemed to shatter as his mind exploded in pain.

Darren heard his brother cry out, and then the pressure was gone as he stumbled blindly around.

The hallway was swathed in light. For a moment, the boy couldn’t see anything; it was too bright.

When his eyes adjusted, he found Blayne clutching a large shard of glass that was embedded in his arm. Crimson blood dripped onto the marble tile below.

Darren watched the rivulets of blood. They met with bits of glass scattered around his feet. All sorts of colors blended together, red and violet and green, even a royal blue. The stained glass window just across the hall was gone. In its space was an open view.

The afternoon sun was blinding. The rays beat down like rays of gold, hot on his skin.

For a moment, all he could hear was his pulse.

Darren wasn’t a fool. Blayne hadn’t stabbed himself. The glass window hadn’t suddenly shattered on its own.

Magic.

Like Eve, he hadn’t expected a thing. He wasn’t even sure what it meant. All he knew was the gods had given him a gift.

And he was going to use it.



The red robes came and went. The glass wasn’t embedded deep, but that didn’t wipe the glower from his brother’s face, even after he was healed.

Darren didn’t pay Blayne any heed. His focus was on his father across the table.

“Make me a mage,” he repeated. “I have magic. I can train for Combat like Eve.”

“You are meant to be the Commander of the Crown’s Army, not a black mage.”

“I could be the Black Mage. Like Marius.”

“Potential isn’t something you can control. For all we know, you are like most of the others, a bit of magic but nothing special.”

“Maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m the best.”

The king stroked his trimmed beard as he studied his youngest. Darren folded his arms, back erect.

“If you were the best,” the king surmised, “the Black Mage would be a better role than Commander Knight.”

It would. They both knew it. A mage of Combat was a knight with magic, the best of both. It was the reason the king sponsored the trial and apprenticeship years in the Academy. Lucius funded all of the war schools, recruiting the best of the best for his armies, but mages received better compensation. Darren didn’t care about the coin, but the chance to study with Eve, and carrying the most prodigious title of all was too tempting to turn away.

“But, Father,” Blayne interrupted, “the Council of Magic forbids the Crown to interfere with matters of magic. No one of royal blood can become a mage—”

“No heir, but they can be of royal blood.”

“But the Colored Robes signed a treaty—”

“I’ll talk them around. The wording is very precise. Darren isn’t my heir. And if I throw more coin toward their Academy, I am certain they will support his study.”

The boy could hardly believe it. His father had agreed. His heart was beating so loudly in his chest.

Darren turned to leave.

“Son.” King Lucius’s voice stopped Darren midstride. “I will get you training with the mage tutors in the palace. Should you prove that your magic is as… capable… as we hope, you will enter the Academy.”

Darren didn’t dare speak.

“If you are not selected as a Combat apprentice, you will take up the rest of your studies at the School of Knighthood the following year, and you will leave this mage business behind.”

“Yes, Father.”

“And Darren, you had better be the best.”

It was a hard thing to forget.





5





The two brutes introduced themselves as brothers.

“Jake,” grunted the first.

“William.”

Darren cocked a brow. He needed no introduction. The prince had seen both of them in the training courts. They were part of the mage lot he and Eve had mocked years before. They were more dedicated than some; he’d seen them training to fight, not just memorizing magic techniques in the library, but they were still clumsy. And they relied on their strength more than brains. That would only get them so far.

Still, their flattery was present, but they were better than most. Darren could only tolerate so much. And the boys had a competitive streak he admired. They were fine sparring partners; their bulk gave the boy a different sort of challenge than Eve. One he was determined to win.