First Year (The Black Mage #1)

Before I could reply, the non-heir disappeared, leaving me alone with a series of unanswered questions.

It was much later that night, after I had already fallen asleep, that I woke up with a start.

You should try it next time.

At first, after the prince had left, I had been irate. His remark was just another insulting critique, one that insinuated I didn’t know what I was doing, all in the guise of advice.

But then my nightmare had come and gone. And in it, just as each night before, I relived that horrible day on the battlefield. The day Priscilla had made a fool of me in front of our entire faction.

The day haunted me each time I closed my eyes.

Only this time I noticed something that I had never cared to discern before.

My shield.

Each time Priscilla had led the assault, I’d held my casting directly in front of my body. I had assumed that the best defense was one that left no part of me exposed to her attack…but, by doing so, I had let the full force of her magic hit my shield head on. Not only had her casting destroyed my defense, it had sent me sprawling to the ground.

What would have happened if I’d held the shield at an angle instead? According to Darren, it would have deflected and lessened Priscilla’s blow. Maybe even have left her open to an attack of my own.

I was so used to fighting with weapons directly, I had never stopped to consider how I used my defense.

And that’s when it hit me.

The non-heir had been trying to help me.

Against Priscilla.





CHAPTER ELEVEN


The next morning I was up long before the morning bell. Rather than lying in bed wide-awake, I headed down to the armory with a renewed sense of vigor. Others might choose to sleep in during their week off, but I fully intended to spend each and every day practicing until my lungs collapsed.

I was afraid of losing the magical and physical stamina I had worked so hard to build during my time at the school thus far. But, as it turned out, I needn’t have worried. The new routine I was following left me just as exhausted as my sessions with Piers, and like my days in Narhari’s class, I kept on until the pain in my head overwhelmed me. It was much harder to push myself on my own, but I managed as best I could.

The room with the mirrors provided a much-needed reprieve from the monotony of my training with Ella, and while she and I still practiced each day, I spent a good portion of my mornings in the armory. There was something intrinsic about being able to watch my reflection as I performed each routine.

Using the casted blade as an opponent, I was able to see how my physical movements gave way to my intended assault. I had become fair enough at discerning my adversary’s moves through the usual telltale signs, but I’d never been able to watch for my own until now. It became quickly apparent that I was an open book. It was no wonder Ella and Clayton had always been able to counter my blows. I was horrible at hiding my offense.

My “feigning” had not been fooling anyone, but as I continued to edit my form, it began to become more convincing. My stance no longer gave away lunges until a split-second before I engaged, and while still relaxed, the muscles of my arm remained fluid until the decisive moment I struck. I began to practice the patterned drills we had learned in class with a variation of my own. Eventually, my body’s movements and the steps I took no longer revealed an assault. I still slipped up from time to time, but for the most part I was an unreadable opponent. Even my casting had trouble anticipating where to defend.

I struggled at the newness, but I was beginning to feel more confident at the prospect of a free-form exchange. Since my match with Priscilla, I had been worried about the end-of-year trials. I was sure at least one part of them would be a duel or battle of some sort, and what better way to test a student for the faction of Combat than actual combat? In class and with my friends, I had only ever performed a pre-set routine, or drills. Real opponents would not be so obvious. Priscilla hadn’t been.

I needed to be prepared. The mirror room was the necessary solution. It gave me the perfect opportunity to hone my skills and practice technique away from the rest of my year. If I wanted to do well in my trials, I needed to be unpredictable. I could not control how much potential I had, but I could do everything in my power to ensure my technique was further along than the others in my class.

My discovery the night of the ball had given me a new appreciation for magic. I’d already known my stamina was improving, but what I hadn’t realized was that my castings could develop an instinct as well. My magic was learning from me, from experience, from practice.