If anything, our mentorship had only become more strained since the mock battle. The worst part of my day was during Byron's lessons in the apprentice study upstairs. Going over potential battle strategy with someone who barely talked to you was tedious. It was like prying teeth from a rabid animal: you were always afraid of the bite. I could tell Ian was still trying very hard to be polite – painfully so - but every once in awhile his efforts would break and there'd be a flash of anger in his eyes or a snappy retort that reminded me just what he really thought of me.
It had only been made worse by Byron's evaluations. The master had delighted in tearing apart every solution Ian and I came up with. No matter what strategy we suggested it was never, ever good enough. We were the two troublemakers the master despised, and so his lessons were just one more way to repay our years of insolence.
Which is what had led me to the practice yard this evening, in an effort to clear the frustration that had been building since the day we arrived two months back. It was also, coincidentally, how I had bumped into Sir Piers, who had been participating in an evening regimen of his own.
"Things will get better," the big man said, gripping me hard on the shoulder. "I know you and you are a fighter, apprentice. Do not let anyone or anything tell you differently."
Easier said than done. I smiled weakly. "I appreciate your confidence."
The former commander nodded and then pointed to a hill in the distance. "Time to get back to my run."
I watched as Sir Piers disappeared into the night. He was right. I shouldn't let Ian's resistance dampen my drive. There was too much at stake.
I had barely turned around when I caught sight of Darren exiting the Academy with a training sword in hand. As soon as he saw me his expression darkened. "Coming or going?"
His words were so distant, it was like we were strangers. And it hurt. "Why?" I snapped. "So you can make sure you are not stuck in the same place as me for more than a second?"
"I am trying to keep things civil between us, Ryiah. Forgive me for saying so but you have never been known for your easy temper."
"Well, my temper goes hand in hand with your benevolence. And it is abundantly clear now that you have none."
Darren's hand on his blade tightened. "You don't know anything about me."
"I know exactly who you are." I took a step forward, and another, until I was standing right in front of him. Then my words turned to ice. "You are the selfish, spineless son of a king who is too afraid to be his own man. You would rather hide behind your status than fight for something that could actually mean something." There, that felt good. "And it's a shame, really it is, because, according to you, I was the one true friend you had."
Something flared in the non-heir's eyes. But it was quickly replaced by a malicious smile. "That's where you are wrong. We were never friends, Ryiah. I was only telling you what I thought you needed to hear."
I shoved at Darren, but he was ready and caught me by the wrists, holding them high above my head. He leaned in so that I was forced to stumble back.
"Do you remember our first year at the Academy? I said something to you once, in the library." His breath was hot on my face and my cheeks flushed – from anger or unwilling attraction, I wasn't sure.
"I remember you saying a lot of mean things," I spat.
"I told you not to trust a wolf," he continued. His words dripped like honeyed venom. "Because it would only ever want to break you." Darren let out a small, harsh laugh. "Haven't you figured it out yet? I'm the wolf, Ryiah. I guess what I really should have told you was to never trust a prince, but that's not quite as memorable."
I broke free of his grip with an angry jerk of my hands. Then, before he realized what I was doing, I slapped the prince across his face. Hard.
He said nothing. Which only infuriated me more. Say something, you coward!
Tears were spilling down my face. "I hate you," I whispered.
Darren nodded once, and then turned and walked away. Leaving me there. Alone.
Again.
I hate you.
****
By the time we returned to Devon after the winter's solstice, I was more than ready to face a cold season at camp. The frost in the Crown's Army training grounds was a welcome distraction. With a hatred for the bitter cold I was able to forget my unpleasant mentorship and the breaking I felt around Darren. In a way the frozen earth was exactly what I needed.
Almost as soon as we arrived we were deployed to assist the Crown's Army with King's Road patrols up and down the central plains of Jerar. In truth we were probably only stationed in the capital two or three weeks total, the rest of our time in active duty. Since they were regular patrols, we didn't see much battle. Most of our days were spent hunting down bandits or helping out local regiments with their training.