“Begin,” he said.
I didn’t know what to do. I had never gone up against the prince. Priscilla, yes—shamefully—and once Jake, but never Darren. He was the best there was, and he only ever sparred with the top of our class, which I was certainly not.
“Ryiah, I am trying to help you,” he said tiredly.
I clutched the sword and widened my stance. You can do this, I decided. You’ve got nothing to lose at this point.
Darren began to circle, and I imitated his pattern. The mirrors were distracting, and I forced myself to concentrate solely on the dark-haired boy in front of me. He was almost cat-like in his movements, lunging in and out with a surprising grace that spoke of years of practice in contrast to my own awkward attempts.
Still, it was painfully obvious the non-heir was holding back.
“Just get on with it,” I told him, blocking an easy strike and countering with one of my own. “I know you are much better than this.”
Darren frowned amidst blows, though he still carried on smoothly as his sword wove in and out of the air before us.
“This is not about me beating you,” he replied. “I want you to cast out your magic again, like you were doing before you noticed me. You shouldn’t have to think before you use it now. When you fail to defend yourself with the real sword, I want your casting to engage me instead.”
I tried calling on the blade again, and it came along easier than the last. I willed it to hold its own defense, as Darren had suggested, and continued to strike and parry with the sword I held in my hands.
Darren began to move faster—so fast, in fact, that I had trouble keeping up.
As his blade struck out unexpectedly, I didn’t have time to think. But just as his blade should have cut into my unprotected shoulder, my casting and Darren’s handheld blade collided, leaving me untouched.
This continued to happen. Each time Darren’s sword struck out, my magic blade deflected what my real one was unable to reach. The prince’s cuts, unlike Ella’s much slower ones, did not allow me enough time to visualize how my casting should guard. With Ella, I’d always had enough time to realize my mistakes and project the intended defense in time. With Darren, he was too fast for thinking. My magic had to rely on instinct, something it’d never been capable of doing before.
After ten more minutes of sparring, without a single hit on either side, Darren lowered his blade, and I followed. He was breathing a little uneasily, though nothing like the heavy gasping of my own.
“That was incredible,” I said, when I finally was able to speak.
Darren produced a bench and took a seat, setting his sword to the side. “You’ve come a long way.”
I continued to stand, awkwardly. There was an odd expression in the non-heir’s eyes, as if I was being appraised, and I was immediately conscious of what I must look like.
“Why did you come here?” I asked before I could stop myself, trying to break free from the strange feeling that had formed in the pit of my stomach.
“I followed you.”
“What do you mean, you followed me?”
“I mean,” Darren said, stretching lazily, “that I was on my way to the barracks when I saw you leave the Academy and stomp off angrily into the snow. I wanted to see why someone would choose to ruin her dress—”
I flushed.
“—and enter the armory, of all places, during the middle of a ball.”
Well, when he said it that way… Still: “It’s not any business of yours, what I choose to do at any point of any day.”
Darren regarded me amusedly. “It’s not,” he admitted, “but given our erratic rapport, forgive me if I was curious to see what my favorite classmate was up to.”
I glared at him. “You are not exactly my first pick either.”
He laughed, loudly, and it caught me off-guard. I’d been expecting him to find offense.
“You know, Ryiah, it might just be the festivities tonight, but I don’t find you nearly as grating as usual.”
I guffawed. “Well, my impression of you hasn’t changed at all.”
“I would be aghast if it did.” Darren stood up, bench and blade disappearing. He started toward the doorway and then turned back suddenly. He looked annoyed for some reason, and he seemed to be having an internal debate with himself.
I stared, watching the non-heir with interest. I had never seen him at a loss for words, and I had to wonder what had caused the out of character reaction in a person of such close-guarded composure.
“For what it’s worth,” he said finally, “a shield is not meant to be hit head on—”
Huh?
“—it’s meant to be held at an angle so that you can deflect or, at the very least, lessen your opponent’s blow. If you do it right, it gives you the chance to lead a counterattack, something that most opponents are unprepared for in the heat of the moment.” Darren paused to look directly at me, two fevered flames taking hold of my breath. “You should try it next time.”