I counted one, two, three seconds before I met Derrick’s eyes across the room.
We were still cackling, tears streaming down our faces, five minutes later.
“Water!” Derrick finally wheezed. “I need water!”
“Yes!” I grinned like a fool. “I will die a thousand deaths if I don’t get some water.” It had to be the worst—and most hilarious—crack at prose my twin had ever attempted.
“They will never let me live that one down,” Alex complained to Ella.
She smirked. “They are just jealous.”
“Hey, Alex,” I said, “how many deaths was it again?”
“Hey, Ry,” my twin shot back, “I. Forgive. You.”
Darren, who had been silent thus far, choked on his drink, spewing ale everywhere. He was trying to keep a straight face, but his ribs shook with the effort not to laugh.
The adults remained clueless as I shot Alex a half-hearted glare, handing Darren a cloth.
The non-heir ignored it to grin at my twin. “That was a good one.”
My brother gave Darren his first genuine smile. Ever. “I try.”
As I stepped out onto the cobbled streets outside I was so focused on Alex and Ella’s announcement I almost missed the man who had stepped directly into my path at the last possible second. I had just the barest sense to jump back before his black silk robe slapped me in the face.
I scowled and looked up to see the face of a charming stranger, and the recognition made me groan. Worn but sharp angles that gave way to a haughty gaze and thin, pursed lips. Lips that had scowled in my direction for the entire course of the apprenticeship. Master Byron.
He all but ignored me as he addressed the prince at my left. “Your Highness! What a pleasure to see you again!”
Darren hid a smile as his eyes flitted to my own.
“Master Byron, where do we—”
“Silence!” The man growled at a crowd of exhausted young faces behind him. Some I recognized as apprentices during my final year. “Go back to the barracks! Do not interrupt me while I am greeting the prince. He has more potential than the lot of you and the decency not to interrupt his elders when speaking!”
It was like I had never left. I arched a brow in Darren’s direction and the non-heir coughed. “Master Byron, have you already forgotten Mage Ryiah?”
The man’s eyes narrowed to slits as he was forced to acknowledge my presence. “How could I ever forget? It’s only been a year.” His tone was spoken with the warmth of an icicle.
Four years. Four years I had struggled while Byron all but ignored my training. The few times he had given me notice were to take down my gender and act as if I were the worst kind of mistake. I would never forgive the man for putting me through such a terrible apprenticeship. Which was why I said what I said next.
“Well, I couldn’t, either!” I tried to sound as pert as I could, an extra emphasis on my vowels like an overeager convent girl. “And the two of us sharing the same rank. Imagine that, such an honor!”
“An honor.” Byron repeated with a glare that implied it was anything but. Darren was watching me with a grin.
“Such a shame you lost your own Candidacy.” I folded my arms and dropped the high-pitched tenor from before. Everyone knew the man had lost his final day’s duel to a third-rank named Kara. My next line was five years in the making. “Perhaps I can make up for what you lacked, as a woman.”
The expression the master wore as I walked away… it was priceless.
****
“No other tourney will be able to give you the same thrill for your purse. You will be able to place your bets at any of the booths along the stands before that morning’s event. Combat is our most popular faction, but given the prince’s high favor your coin might be better spent on Restoration or Alchemy where the odds are a bit more divided.”
I sat next to Darren and our guards, two seats down from the king and another from Blayne and Wren on the left. We were listening to one of the Crown scholars explain the Candidacy rules to the seated emissaries and high-ranking nobility behind. Wagers were an important contributor to the Crown treasury, and in this at least I could understand. Mages chose to participate; the first-year trials were little more than a poor imitation, and one we’d had no choice but to partake if we’d wanted to continue our training.