I might not have been perfect at hiding my emotions, but I had centuries of practice at lying. After all, there weren’t many situations in which I could be truthful about being the reincarnation of a legendary sorcerer. People tended to get twitchy about even one part of that equation.
Downplaying worked better than flat-out denial. “It’s nothing major,” I said with a shrug. “Lab report due for a prof who seems like a tough one.”
Priya nodded, accepting my explanation unquestioningly. No amount of practice stopped the little jab of guilt I felt at seeing that.
“I’m sure you’ve got it in the bag. You work too hard.”
“New school, new expectations,” I said. “I’ll worry less once I’m into the swing of things.”
I tugged on my gloves as soon as I stepped out onto the street. Thank the light the October weather was just nippy enough that wearing them didn’t look totally bizarre. My gaze flitted over the streets the whole way to campus, my skin prickling at every shift in the breeze. I couldn’t be sure of anything about him except he’d be the same age as me. He might not even be a he in this incarnation. Unlike me, with my regular flipping back and forth, he usually arrived male, but I could never be sure.
When my eyes hit him, I’d know him, no matter what.
At the edge of campus, a broad lawn stretched toward the sprawl of three-and four-story buildings, the older old-fashioned brick ones skirted by modern concrete additions. The view sent a jolt through my chest, even though I’d seen it dozens of times now.
It was the same image that had swam into my head and prompted me to transfer here for junior year—after skimming through page after page of internet search results before figuring out where my capricious psychic ability was pointing me.
My nerves jumped every time someone new walked by me, but I went through classes, lunch, and more classes without any revelations. I ducked into the change room to prepare for fencing practice with more than a little relief. Feinting and parrying would burn off some of my tension.
“Advanced learners, split off into pairs to spar,” Coach ordered after the warm-up exercises. I nodded to the guy standing next to me. We stepped to the side and began a conversation between our training blades. With each tap and dodge, a grin crept farther across my face behind the dark mesh of my protective mask.
Once upon a time, I could have been called clumsy, especially when asked to handle a weapon. That was exactly why I’d decided to take up fencing when I had the chance. After many lives worth of drills, the moves were starting to come naturally to me. I was stronger and more coordinated than I’d ever been.
Which didn’t mean I was infallible. My partner lunged, I swung to block his strike, and a low, rolling laugh carried from the doorway several feet behind me. The sound smacked into me, knocking the breath from my lungs. My arm wavered, and my opponent’s saber caught my hand. My fingers twitched apart as I yanked them out of the way. My own saber flipped through the air and nearly speared the guy standing in the doorway.
He stepped back without a flinch. My weapon clattered to the floor. The guy raised his eyes. They were a blue so striking I could identify it even at a distance, so deep it was almost indigo. He gave me a cocky smile and ran his hand over his sun-streaked blond hair. The muscles in his arm flexed against the sleeve of his fitted raglan shirt.
Every muscle in my body had frozen. Recognition sang through my every cell on a level beneath thought, beneath memory.
A level the guy in front of me clearly wasn’t aware of yet. No hint of shock crossed his face. I looked no different to him than any of the other fencers in our training gear. While I was born knowing who we were, my spell kept my king’s memories locked inside his mind… for now.
“I hope you’re normally more coordinated than that.” He nudged the saber back toward me with his foot. “I don’t want to have to worry about being impaled every time I come into the room.”
An echo of his voice from our first lives rang through my head. Gods, you’re more likely to impale me than the enemy. Those words had been spoken in affectionate jest, not this guy’s distant cool. The quiver of excitement that had been racing through me dimmed.
This incarnation of my king was a jackass.
The difference was so jarring I couldn’t help bristling. “My coordination is infinitely improved when people aren’t making sudden loud sounds in the training area,” I said. “And you could simply not come in.”
He hesitated, blinking at me. Before I’d spoken I bet he hadn’t even realized he was talking to a girl. I took advantage of his silence to stride over and retrieve my saber.
Two other figures were peering into the room beside the new guy—the friends he’d been laughing with. A lanky black guy, who had a couple inches on my critic’s already-formidable height, elbowed him with a rakish grin. A willowy girl with pale auburn tresses stood at Mr. Blond’s other side, hugging her cardigan over her gauzy maxi dress. She squeezed his forearm in apparent reassurance, and something wrenched in my chest.
She was his girlfriend, no doubt. Well, why wouldn’t he have a girlfriend with those looks? That was a good thing. His off-putting attitude was a good thing. Every reminder I could get to keep my distance, emotionally and physically, was a gift.
I existed to be his mage, to get him out of the snarl I’d created with my magic. Anything more risked us both, as I’d had ample opportunity to discover before.
That pinching in my chest was not jealousy. Not even a little bit.
“Have fun, Darton,” the rakish friend said with a playful salute. “Return to us with all your parts intact.” The girlfriend shook her head at him, and they headed off. The new guy—my king who didn’t yet know he was my king—strode in to talk to Coach. I studied his shadow to confirm no glooms were tailing him and rejoined my sparring partner after Coach ambled over.
Darton. Funny how in every life something of our essence wove even into the names each set of parents granted us. A sound or a syllable carried from our origins.
At least by all appearances, he hadn’t started to wake up on his own. As long as I could keep it that way, I had time to finally set things right.
My blade rapped against my opponent’s, and Coach’s voice traveled to my ears. “You’re here to become a better quarterback?” His tone was skeptical and amused.
“I want to up my game,” Darton said. “Coach Michner says my weakest area is dexterity. Fencing sounded like an enjoyable way to work on that. Is that a problem?”
“No,” Coach said. “We don’t have any requirement that you’re devoted to the art. I will expect you to respect it—and to show up for practices on time.”
A smile curled my lips behind my mask. Darton sounded a tad chastened in his reply.
“Right. Of course.”