I welcomed the daily combat lessons as an escape from both the churning emotions I couldn’t quite overcome and the intense mental stimulation of my new studies and secret experiments. But the rest of the class were less satisfied that our lessons continued to be limited to sword fighting in our training yard. I even heard Armand complaining almost loudly enough for Mitchell to hear him. The third and fourth years had been training in the arena since the second week of the year, and none of my year mates could understand why we weren’t doing the same.
“I’ll admit, I’m looking forward to getting back to arena battles,” Bryony said one morning as she gazed toward the bubble of power that encircled the open-air structure.
“Don’t tell me you of all people are getting sick of poking people with that sword of yours.” Tyron raised an eyebrow. “I might die of shock.”
She laughed. “I’m not sick of the bouts. I just enjoy the arena battles as well.”
“I can attest to the fact she’s not lost her enthusiasm for unnecessary amounts of swordplay,” I said. “She still makes me come out here to practice on rest day mornings.”
Tyron shivered. “Yes, she tried to convince me to join you once.”
Bryony turned her nose up at both of us. “I’m just being a good friend and trying to stop you wasting your days away in bed.”
“There are bells to prevent that kind of thing,” I muttered, but I didn’t protest too loudly. Darius had just passed us in the training yard, and my heart flipped over, stuttering for a moment and then beating far too hard. He walked with a deadly grace, his drawn sword in his hand and one of his most commanding expressions on his face. No doubt he had just demolished whatever unfortunate year mate had been partnered with him for the last bout.
For some reason seeing him in the training yard always reminded me of the time he had carried me to safety after I first discovered my ability. Even after all these months, I could far too easily conjure up the memory of his strong arms around me and my cheek warm against his chest. For all I complained about Bryony’s extra practice sessions, I wished myself in the middle of one now with no distractions but our training. I had discovered the year before that physical activity was the only thing that could clear my mind, and I needed those moments of tranquility that Bryony forced on me even more now than I had done then.
“Tomorrow morning,” Mitchell announced, cutting across our conversations, “we will be training in the arena. You may gather directly there at the bell.”
“There you go,” I told Bryony. “He heard you.”
“As if Mitchell would ever listen to a word I had to say,” she scoffed. “But never mind that. The arena at last.”
The sense of palpable excitement at breakfast the next morning suggested that most of our year shared her feelings on the matter. Even Frida had abandoned her grim predictions about the terrors we would face and was excitedly talking about the compositions she meant to test. Compositions meant for combat could only be safely worked within the arena shield, and all the trainees lived in fear of releasing one anywhere else. According to the rumor, a number of years ago a trainee had not abided by these restrictions, and the duke had expelled him from the Academy for accidentally demolishing several walls.
“And you know what happened to him then,” Frida said in a foreboding voice when she told me the story. “Sealed.”
Armand had been in earshot at the time and walked away with a disgusted expression on his face. Frida watched him go, unrepentant.
“He’s just sensitive because his father is sealed,” she told me. “Of course his father went whimpering straight to the general afterward, but it’s not something that can be reversed.”
I watched his retreating back with interest. So Armand’s father had been sealed and had then switched allegiances. Did that explain something of why Armand himself was so reserved and withdrawn compared to his cousin? Despite his connection with the Head of the Creators, I couldn’t imagine his family had much sway within their faction.
But whether or not it was true that a past trainee had been expelled for such crimes, the story was effective at discouraging the current group from risking experimenting outside the arena. So effective, in fact, that I suspected Duke Francis of having invented the tale himself. If so, I congratulated him on a masterful strategy.
Despite my own preoccupation, I found the excitement contagious as we filed into the arena after breakfast. I hoped Mitchell intended to let us all take part in the first day’s battle, whatever it might be.
Not that I intended to use my ability. Now that I better understood the dangers of taking over the composition of an inexperienced mage—let alone in a rushed, high pressure situation—I didn’t want to risk making a dangerous mistake. But I had managed to participate well enough in first year despite my lack of ability, so I had every expectation of being able to do so now as well.
None of Frida’s stories of us facing off against monsters composed into being by our instructor eventuated. Instead Mitchell called for those trainees studying to join the growers, the Royal Guard, and the Armed Forces to stand to his left. Frida, Ashlyn, Dellion, Jareth, and Royce stood and made their way down from the seats. When he called for Tyron to join them, I felt a small swelling of hope that Bryony and I would end up on the same team—an unusual occurrence.
He then called for the creator, wind worker, and law enforcement trainees to come down. Wardell, Armand, Isabelle, and Darius stood, followed by Bryony when he tacked her name on at the end. Only five of them were making their way down to stand at his right, compared to the six at his left, but he still hesitated as his eyes rested on me. From some of his groupings in first year, I guessed he was hesitant to assign equal teams when Darius’s skills so far outstripped the rest of us—an inevitable consequence of both his natural strength and his two years of private training.
I challenged Mitchell with my gaze, and he finally called my name, gesturing toward his right. I almost bounded down the stairs to join Bryony, carefully not allowing myself to brush too close to Darius.
“Yes!” Bryony cried. “We’re going to be unbeatable.”
But when Mitchell announced the rules of the battle, he had a surprise in store for us.
“You may use any compositions except those relating to your chosen discipline,” he said.
“What?” Howls of protest rose from both sides.
“But that’s not fair,” Royce said. “We haven’t been preparing other compositions.”
“Well you should have been,” Mitchell said coldly. “It is never a wise idea to become predictable. An enemy will take advantage of it, no matter your strength. I am sure you all have shields, at least, and they are not discipline specific, so I expect every trainee to contribute.” He paused, his eyes resting on Bryony and me. “Well, every trainee capable of doing so.”
Bryony sighed. “That’s me out then,” she said apologetically to our team. “I only have the one composition, and it’s very much within my ‘discipline’. If you can call being an energy mage a discipline.”
“You’ll still be valuable for your skills with a sword,” Darius said calmly, assuming leadership as he did for every team he fought with. “Wardell, Armand, and Isabelle, what do you have beside shields?”