The pair’s footsteps echoed off the white granite walls of the Training Yard as Quinten and Cedric entered the section being used for today’s duels. Neither spoke as they made their way to the lowest level of seating and chose spots a space or two away from their classmates.

Quinten could feel eyes of both students and instructors, could hear the whispering, like the howling winds beating on a seaborne ship. Questioning if this would be the storm that sunk him.

He ignored them all, bar one. Oliver’s storm grey eyes locked with his in a mixture of expectation and excitement.

“Perfect timing, Mage Ashford.” Called Instructor Highbridge. “Let’s see if you can do any better than your fellow year-jumper.”

Slowly, and without a word, Quinten made his way to the dueling field and his starting circle. He twisted the toe of his boot back and forth, grinding it into the dirt and sending loose bits tinking off of the basic metal ring. Surveying the field, the academy staff must have refreshed the arena over lunch, as it was in much better shape than the last time he’d seen it.

Taking a moment to observe his opponent, he had to fight back a smile as he recognized Lady Delka Holden. One of Oliver’s friends and a rumored lover.

At least that confirms these parings aren’t random.

When the call to begin came. Quinten took a single unhurried step forward, followed by another, and then a third.

Delka watched him closely, waiting for an attack that never came. Frowning in confusion, she eventually shrugged and conjured a fireball, launching it in his direction.

With a dismissive flick of his finger, Quinten swatted the flaming ball of energy away. Sending it rebounding toward the raised dais and earning a squawk from its occupant.

Another leisurely step and Delka was becoming visibly unnerved. Raising both arms, she lobbed another fireball and sent forth a stone spear. The closer he became, the less time he had to react. Wrapping the stone spear in his mind, he sent it hurling through the fireball, disrupting and dispersing its conjured heat.

Shuffling sideways, Delka tried to maintain some distance as she launched volley after volley of elemental attacks. Each one effortlessly stopped by a minor use of Quinten's Gift.

Holding himself in place telekinetically, he weathered an impressive gust of wind meant to blow him off his feet. To those watching, it appeared as if the blast of air only managed to fluff Quinten's hair and robes. The amount of dust billowing out behind him showing the strength of her attack.

The onlookers, previously verbose in their excitement, now stared in stunned fixation as they watched one student systematically dismantle another. This was not a match between second-years. This was a display of power and skill. A lesson being taught without words.

“What is wrong with you? Are you going to just let me hit you?” Delka yelled, sweat running in rivulets down her face, dripping from her chin as she stood defiant.

Rather than answer, Quinten continued stalking forward, now within fifteen feet of where his opponent came to a stop. Her chest heaving while she tried to catch her breath.

Not bad, Quinten thought. Feeling the water seeping into the ground beneath him. Too bad Oliver used this trick on Cedric.

Reaching out with his Gift, he wrenched control of the water away from Delka, making her visibly flinch. Meeting his eyes for the first time. Quinten saw anger, frustration, and a hint of fear clearly within their depths. His opponent began to shake, making one last attempt to stop him.

Quinten crushed the earthen fist with a stomp of his boot.

Her energy well nearly dry. It was only a matter of time until he either caught her, or she passed out from over-drawing her Gift. Coming to a halt ten feet away, Quinten finally spoke, his augmented voice echoing off the walls.

“Yield.”

Confusion filled large brown eyes as she stared at him with brows drawn tight.

“Why should I?” She wheezed, her face turning red in indignation. “You haven’t even attacked me!”

“Do I need to?” Quinten asked, his tone flat. He could see the fire inside burning away the fear she’d been trying to ignore.

It was a small thing, really, the smirk that turned up the corner of Quinten's mouth. It shouldn’t have been enough to push her over the edge—but it did.

With a scream, Delka charged him. Her muscles swelling with the remnants of her Gift. She closed the ten feet in seconds. Quinten watched as she reared back, putting everything she had left into this one punch. To her great despair, her fist only managed to graze his left cheek, narrowly avoiding the dimple his curled lips formed.

With a burst of his own Gift, Quinten dodged the blow. His return strike catching her cleanly in the temple. Dropping her into the dirt like a falling tree.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

*****

Knock

Knock. Knock.

Quinten looked up from his desk. Shifting his frown from the thick volume on tactics and war engineering to the noise. Rising to his feet, he shook his head.

I’m never going to make it through this thing.

“Izzy?” Quinten asked, seeing her flushed face on the other side.

Pushing past him, she strode into the room, refusing to meet his eyes. Not knowing what to do, he stood awkwardly, slowly closing the door behind her.

He turned, his mouth opening to ask what was going on, when she stopped him with a raised hand.

“I’m sorry for just showing up like this, but if I don’t get this out now, I may never. And after what I saw today, I know that would be a mistake.”

Quinten's heart rate accelerated. Is she talking about what I think she is…?

Seeing his expression, she must have guessed the direction of his thoughts. Looking away quickly, her already dusky complexion darkened as she blushed.

“I need you to train me!” The words tumbling out in a rush. An odd mix of relief and disappointment washing over Quinten.

Raising a brow, he echoed, “Train you?”

“Yes. Train me.” She rushed forward. “The mage you fought would have wiped the floor with me if I’d of been the one to duel her, and you made her seem like a newborn kitten getting disciplined by its mother. I remember your duel with Cedric. I know you were holding back and yet you still destroyed her. I’m not sure who you were sending a message to, but that’s what I want. I need the strength and skill to make myself heard.” Her eyes finding his once more during her impassioned speech, and Quinten could tell she meant every word.

Folding his arms over his chest, he considered her request.

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? I just told you.” She said, a little heat coming into her voice.

“And I want to know why,” Quinten said, staring her down. “This is the second time you’ve come barging into my room. First, I was too strong. “A monster in mage robes”, I believe you phrased it. Now, you’re standing here telling me you want my help.”

Breathing through his nose. Quinten re-centered himself and continued in a calmer tone.

“I feel justified in asking why you changed your mind, or…. whatever this is.” He finished with a gesture, encapsulating the current stand-off.

A moment of silence stretched between them, broken by Izzy’s heavy sigh.

“I need to prove myself as a mage, as being more valuable to the crown in its service or even…” Breaking eye contact, she started fidgeting with the book on his desk. Turning one page before flipping it back. “Or—I need to prove myself strong enough that one of the greater noble houses sees me as an asset worth marrying into their family.”

All true, but there is more. Quinten thought. He wasn’t sure what tipped him off, but something told him to push deeper.

“All great reasons, Izzy. But they aren’t why you are asking. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine.” He said, reaching over and pulling the door open halfway. The cooler air sweeping into the room, showcasing just how heated the space had become in their brief exchange.

Her face scrunched in frustration, but she raised a hand, sending a stream of wind to push the door shut. Sitting down on Quinten's bed, she pulled one leg up and cradled it to her chest.

“I am already promised… with my brothers to inherit, my father has betrothed me to a nearby Count in order to strengthen the family. I’ve never met the man, but all that I’ve been able to learn paints a wretched picture. If that were not enough, he is nearly three times my age and… I would be his fifth wife.” She said with a shudder.

“If—and I know it’s a big if, I can prove myself here at the academy, or were that to fail, during my service in the Mage Core. It could be enough to convince my father that I am more valuable than the broodmare he has sold me off as.”

“Ahh.” Quinten said, the pieces falling into place. “The ramifications of breaking such an agreement would not be a small thing. You would have to do something truly remarkable to make it worth the risk.”

“Like being trained by the future Archmage?” She asked with a smirk, her tone rueful.

Quinten gave her a small grin in return. “No, thank you. I’m serving my time and staying as far away from Gremelda as I can.” Tapping his fingers in a rhythm along his bicep, he thought over what she’d said.

“Is Helena going to train too?” Came Cedric's voice through the thin wall beside them.

“No,” Izzy said, her face twisting at either the question or the fact their conversation had been overheard. “She’s going to be a Healer, she doesn’t want to fight.”

A loud snort could be heard before a door banging off the wall rang out. A moment later, Quinten's own swung open, revealing Cedric. The casts had been removed. His bruising now only showed as faint discoloration along his arms and face.

“Fat lot of good that did for Ronan this morning.” He said, causing Izzy to pale. She’d likely forgotten the fact their friend planned on being a Healer as well.

The memory of the older boy unconscious and at the mercy of the merciless made the decision for him. “I’ll do it. But he’s right. Helena needs to learn, too. Convince her to join and we’ll teach you to fight.”

Her gratitude was overshadowed by Cedric’s groan. “What do you mean, we’ll train them?” He said, dramatically falling on to the bed as Izzy hopped to her feet and out of the way.

With a grin, Quinten said, “You butt into a conversation. It means you’re involved. That’ll teach you to eavesdrop.”

His voice was muffled, but Quinten was able to make out his complaint. “But I didn’t even use my Gift. These walls are just thin!”

A light laugh escaped, and Izzy shook her head at their antics. Turning to Quinten, she said, “I’ll get Helena to agree. Thank you, Q.” Side-eyeing the child on the bed, she added. “And you as well, Cedric. Can we start tomorrow?”

Quinten nodded in answer, watching her exit. A noticeable bounce carrying her out of the room.

“You do realize that you likely can’t save her, right?” Cedric asked, his voice much clearer for having turned his head.

Quinten sighed, closing the door with his mind. Pressing his mouth into a thin line, he considered how best to explain. “I understand that, but it’s what my mother would do. I remember how she would lament hearing of recent engagements that were made for no other reason than political or financial gain.”

Taking a seat at his desk. He pushed the chair back on to its rear legs and stared at the whitewashed ceiling. “I know that’s just how it’s done, the idea of choosing your marriage based on love being nothing but a fantasy, but to have no say at all…?” Trailing off, he just shrugged.

“Why, Q. Who’d have thought you were such a romantic?” Cedric said with a grin.

Dropping the chair back on all four legs, he turned to his friend with a raised brow.

“And who was it asking Ronan for help with a stanza just last week? How is that poem for Celeste coming along?”

Quinten ducked his airborne pillow as he scrambled from his chair. Laughing, he burst through the door and ran down the hall with Cedric in pursuit. Belting out in a sing-song voice, the only line he could remember.

“Her lips, the curve where roses dare to bloom, Hold summer’s warmth and winter’s sweet perfume.”