Spraaaaat.
My third casting hit the barrier and a horrible screech followed, mimicking nails against glass, rough and unnatural. The entire thing began to quiver.
Streaks of white splintered across the barrier like a web.
It wasn’t enough.
I was tired of holding back.
I called on my magic again and again.
For a moment, I was a goddess, bursting with power, shattering the world around me with the flick of a hand. It felt good, I realized, to be free of those mortal troubles.
My palm itched and I ran the dagger along the length of it, watching as crimson drops pooled beneath my boots.
I didn’t need anything. I didn’t want for anything. I was overflowing with raw magic. It was spilling from me like a fountain; a hungry inferno was building inside my chest.
My seventh casting broke the glass. Shards of silver sung across the air.
My globe’s casting kept me safe, but I still heard the small tinkle as thousands of tiny daggers hit the surface only to fall harmlessly away.
I waited until the last of the slivers had fallen, and then I released my shield, watching as violet dissipated to black.
I was tired of being a pawn.
Behind me, the room suddenly burned orange. Someone had lit a sconce.
“Care if I join you?”
Darren’s boots crushed the glass as he left the stands to take a place on my right. His eyes were bloodshot like my own, his entire face drawn with lines of fatigue and his fists so strained they were white.
The Black Mage was dressed in formal attire hardly suitable for combat; I was wearing a dress.
The two of us took our places across from one another, the masters’ drills echoing like a relentless tide in the dark. Today wasn’t the time for a duel; today was time for something more.
I gave a small flick of my wrist and shadows grew, the flames behind us dimming to a small, crystalline blue. Then it was just our outline in the dark.
I drew my breath; Darren exhaled softly across the way.
And the drill began. A sharp whistle sounded as metal found its way to our hands, bringing a biting sting as blood dripped down below.
A casting hovered just beyond each of us, an invisible opponent that knew our instinct like no one else ever could.
A curved sickle sword for me; two hand axes for the prince.
That first winter solstice at the Academy, that day Darren had trained me as my own opponent, it was back with a vengeance. We were battling rage and fighting enemies we couldn’t name. Pain casting against one’s self, it was the ultimate test.
Our cuts rang out like a storm.
Even in the haze, I identified the different attacks by the ring of each blade. Hard and fast, pull and swipe, hook and hack. Recover. Offense. The exchange was as deadly as they came.
I twisted and turned, a complicated pattern of steps.
Then I cut.
Again. And again.
We continued this way for a long time. Two mages battling demons in silence, just the loud clang of metal on metal and the sharp intake of breath whenever we missed.
When I shifted, our eyes met across the way.
Darren’s chest heaved with the effort to fight. The tension in his shoulders rippled across each arm as he swiped and parried two enemy axes hovering just beyond. He jumped and spun, but no matter how he danced, his casting continued to lead an impenetrable assault. I could see it in the tension of his muscles, the way he spun and ducked, the sweat lingering on his chest.
The prince finally spoke. “The ambassador refused our newest offer.” It wasn’t hard to understand his reason for the drill.
Suddenly I was back to hours before, watching as the duke laughed in my face. “It’s not good enough,” Cassius had said. Why, after everything, was nothing I did ever enough?
I can’t save the kingdom from ruin. My blade parried the second phantom sword; the impact rattled my bones.
I couldn’t save my own brother. The vibration was so hard I could taste hot, coppery blood.
And finally, as I ducked to the side, a winning slash of my own. All I have to offer are lies to the one I love.
My casting ceased and the weapons dissipated into thin air. I stood there, dizzy and furious, my head spinning from the loss of blood.
A moment later, the Black Mage joined me. Darren was breathing so hard that I could see the hematite stone rising and falling with his chest.
“You’ve gotten better.”
But not good enough. I stood there, lips pressed firmly closed, refusing to speak. Too afraid of myself. Too afraid of this rage and what it could lead me to say.
“Here.” Darren tore off the sleeve of his jacket, using the coarse brocade to wrap the steady trickle of blood along my wrist and palm. He was so careful and meticulous. I watched his pulse beating out the hollow of his throat.
And then, when he was done, standing there with his eyes locked on my own, I stopped caring about everyone but myself. I reached out and snatched the prince’s wrist, the words tumbling from my mouth. “We should run away.”