Conditioning… Darren wanted to laugh. All of those highborns preparing for the Academy had failed to invest the time to train outside of a library. Most couldn’t run five miles without choking. And the lowborns, while better than expected when it came time for endurance, failed miserably at weapons. They didn’t even know how to hold a staff.
Meditation was a bit more enlightening. He still did well, exceedingly well in comparison to the hundred or so first-years practicing the same, but Darren was a bit jealous of Eve. The girl had a patience he would never master, and it was the one thing in which she would always have him beat. Perhaps swordplay as well, but the years had been good to him, and he towered over her most days.
Three-quarters of the prince’s year were halfwits. By the end of the day, he could see there were perhaps ten true contenders for the faction of Combat. The students wouldn’t be picking their factions for another two months, but even so, it wasn’t hard to hear the rumors as he passed.
“Next Black Mage.” Darren heard it almost as often as his name.
“Pick another faction. Don’t stand a chance now that he’s after Combat.”
“Wish I were him.”
“Wish I were her.” That was most often directed at Eve and Priscilla. Both had stood out—Priscilla in physical trials, and Eve in meditation and study. They were easily the best females of their year.
Jake and William suffered a bit during study, but overall they were miles above the rest.
The five of them were the best of their year. Even in their weakest lesson, they had never underperformed the top quarter of their class.
When they took dinner, Darren made it a point to sit with the best of the best. Or rather, he was the best, and he sent away anyone—highborn or lowborn—who was not worthy of his rank. It was a common rule in his life: surround yourself with those you admire, never those beneath you. And now that Darren was finally pursuing his dream, he wasn’t going to waste time with lazy courtiers’ children or peasants that couldn’t perform.
“Some brawny lowborn tried to flirt with me in training,” Priscilla drawled. She had spoken rather loudly; Darren expected she had done it to pique his interest. Too bad for her, he couldn’t care less about whatever fool thought he had a chance with the cold-hearted beauty. “But he could barely run. He won’t last the week.”
“Perhaps you could offer him lessons,” Darren remarked dryly.
She scrunched up her nose. “I heard he’s the redhead’s brother. You know, the girl with Ella.”
And that was the end of the conversation. Darren stood up, finding the meal suddenly lacking. “I’m going to wash up. Let’s meet up for study later in the library?”
The others agreed.
Darren exited the hall, not bothering to look back. Something told him, if he did, he would see her somewhere in the crowd. He wasn’t sure why it mattered.
But it did, and he just couldn’t figure out why.
The next night, Darren waited until the servants had performed their final check. He could hear the groans as the boys staggered back to their beds, disgruntled as they dimmed their mage light and the sconces lining the walls.
Study was hard, harder than even the prince had come to expect. Darren could feel their exhaustion clouding the air.
People were already starting to fall behind on the second day.
Not Darren, but others.
Everyone was fighting just to stay awake, complaining loudly that there was no way they could possibly keep up with the masters’ expectations.
Darren smirked. He didn’t have to worry about that.
But the prince did desire more time among the Academy’s books. The school’s library was a towering fortress—two levels of shelves as far as the eye could see. Scrolls dictated the magical history of Jerar, the practice of casting, and warfare. And if there was something Darren desired, it was more of the last.
The prince was used to long hours, and his lessons were nothing new, but those books...
The servants had made it very clear that first-years were not allowed to wander the halls at night. The masters had established routines for a reason. Students needed a clear mind, and one that was heavily fatigued would suffer, but Darren never backed away from a challenge.
So, like the night before, the prince waited until the boys were all settled away in their beds and the barracks was a shadowy den. Then he slipped out, his hood pulled low over his eyes.
Darren slunk along the dark passages filling the Academy walls. He traced familiar sandstone as he drew closer to the library itself, but he cursed when one of his boots scuffed the floor.
Somewhere behind him there was a scuffle of feet as one of the patrolling servants rushed in his direction.
Quick as a flash, the prince ducked into the room, softly shutting the heavy doors behind him. There was a moment’s indecision as he debated which shelf to hide behind. As the voices drew closer, he ducked behind a bookcase to his right.
A second later, the doors swung open and torchlight lit up the entry just yards from where he stood.
Two servants entered the room.
“But I thought I heard someone—”
“You think you hear a lot of things,” the second snapped. “But once again, you’ve managed to waste my time.”
“But shouldn’t we still search?”
“Really, Frederick, who would sneak off to library of all places?”
“I don’t—”
“Out!”
“Yes, sir.”
And with that, the voices vanished as the doors swung closed with a loud thwack. Their footsteps faded moments later; Darren suspected the servants were returning to check on the barracks.
Darren chuckled as he withdrew his hood, palming a bit of casted light in his hand. The thrill of almost being caught had been a rush he hadn’t felt in a while. These nightly sessions in the library might become routine just for that.
The prince settled comfortably into one of the many couches, a pile of books resting on the table nearby. This was better than the palace. He was miles away from his father and Blayne and finally enjoying the freedom he had fantasized about for so long.