“I understand,” I said slowly. “I told you I knew something was going on. But what I can’t understand is why you didn’t just tell me all this as soon as I arrived. And not just because we’re friends—or at least I thought we were. I’m also a representative of the Ardannian crown, remember. And Ardann has promised to help you.”
“Friends?” He sounded almost startled. “Is that what we were?”
I flushed, not sure how to respond.
“You’re right, though,” he said heavily after a moment. “I should have sought your assistance immediately as your aunt’s representative. I was…” He trailed off, and although I waited hopefully, he didn’t finish the sentence.
My eyes narrowed. Clearly I had not gotten to the bottom of Darius’s complicated tangle of motivations and emotions. And equally clearly he didn’t mean to share them.
“As Ardann’s representative,” I said after a moment of heavy silence, “I will help you in any way I can without compromising my crown.”
“Of course,” he said quickly. “I won’t ask for your official support. Not until my plan has succeeded.”
I nodded, and the moment hung between us. I had offered myself as Ardann’s representative, not as Verene, and I could read in his eyes that he understood the difference.
Darius might not mean his public actions toward me, but neither had he chosen to be open with me—not when I first arrived back, and not completely even now. Which meant I needed to guard my heart.
I still believed he was the best future for Kallorway, and I would stand his friend in the political games he played. But I certainly couldn’t risk telling him the truth of my abilities. A brief flash of guilt filled me at that thought. I had claimed I trusted him and asked for his trust in return, but I was no more being completely open with him than he was with me. But I could not give in to that feeling. I could not afford to let my emotions rule me.
Only when I was safely back in my own room did I acknowledge, even to myself, that I had already been trying to guard my heart since the end of last year. But neither absence nor daily exposure had proven enough to drive the prince from the corners of my heart. I only had to see his tall form for my heart to leap out of control.
Well, I concluded grimly, I would just have to try harder.
I attempted the effort in the only way I knew how. Distraction.
I threw myself into my secret training with even more focus. I had learned to use my abilities instinctively, like a muscle, but now I needed to learn complete mastery over them. It was the only way I would ever be able to safely train in an environment like the arena. But until I achieved that goal, I needed to find a way to remove myself from danger.
Every time my thoughts tried to turn to Darius in the days following our conversation, I forced them instead onto the issue of how to avoid arena training. It meant I spent a lot of time contemplating the issue.
In the end, I decided my answer lay in the strange and unexplained delay in the start of arena battles for the second years. When we had finally come to battle, Mitchell had paused when he looked at me. I had thought in the moment that he was trying to decide where to assign me, but what if it was more than that? I had been attacked multiple times last year, but few people knew of it. The open attack against me in the village had been different, though. What if the furor it had caused had made Duke Francis hesitant to allow the other trainees to attack me in battle—even in training? I could imagine the incensed messages he might have received from my aunt and parents after they heard Captain Layna’s report.
My strategy decided, I waited for the next time Mitchell announced the second years would spend the following morning in the arena. And as soon as class finished, I approached him. I assumed my most regal air, hoping he would believe I spoke with more than the authority of a single second year trainee.
“I’m afraid I can no longer participate in arena battles,” I said. “Please let me know how you would like me to complete replacement work so that I don’t fall behind in your class. Perhaps I could complete written assignments analyzing the strategy I observe in my year mates’ battles?”
I had been working hard to hide my tension, but apparently I needn’t have been concerned. Mitchell actually looked relieved. The out of control fireballs in our first battle must have confirmed all the instructors’ fears about the risks of having me in the arena. If I had been the one hurt instead of Isabelle, my family might have tried to claim it wasn’t an accident at all.
“I can see no need for written assignments,” he said. “You may observe the battles from the shielded arena seating and take part verbally in the strategy discussions after the fighting is concluded. I have no concerns about your physical sword skills, and you can continue to bout in the training yard.”
I thanked him and hurried back to the Academy, not wanting to miss lunch. Bryony had waited for me, just out of range of our conversation, and I responded to her raised eyebrow with a broad smile.
She shook her head. “It must be nice to be a princess,” she muttered.
“Sometimes.” My smile dropped away as my mind filled with thoughts of Darius and the complicated politics that both bound us and tore us apart. Now that I had succeeded in freeing myself of arena battles, I would need something else to focus on whenever his dark eyes intruded on my peace.
Chapter 12
The answer came in expanding my training. I was familiar at this point with the compositions of each of my year mates and could connect with them with ease. I wanted a greater challenge.
The next time Alvin began composition class with a composition of his own, I was ready. As soon as he tore the parchment, I whispered, “Take control.”
Only Bryony sat close enough to hear me, and she gave me a startled look. I ignored her, focused on those crucial few seconds while the working ran its course.
After so much practice controlling the compositions of my fellow trainees, connecting with one done by an expert was heady. The power he had gathered was tight and controlled, and layers of understanding blossomed in my mind. I could see not only the words he’d used to shape the power but the depth of intention behind them.
We were back working on plants again, and he hadn’t just told this seedling vine to grow thicker and stronger, he had directed the level of its growth with a fine-tuned understanding. The power leached all available nutrients from the soil, pushing them into the plant to allow an explosion of unnatural growth that would remain strong enough for the vine not to wither and die within hours.
I knew immediately that most of my year mates would not be capable of a composition like this. Not for years, at least, and for some, maybe never.
It should have made my task easy, but I realized in a split second that it actually made it far more difficult. There was no chaos of battle to hide my actions here, and Alvin clearly knew exactly how he had directed the power to behave.
Panicked, I instructed the power to do exactly what it was already attempting to do. When the vine grew—not with quite the dramatic display of the purple flowers, but still with impressive speed—Alvin smiled. He continued with his instructions as if nothing unexpected had occurred, and I breathed a small sigh of relief.