CHAPTER 1 - NEW SCHOOL, DUEL THIS?

  The academy courtyard buzzed with excitement. Students murmured under their breath, ready to watch what would be the most interesting event of the week for them: a duel for Lady Rosalinde's favor. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm glow over stone walls. The heat had little effect on the brother standing off to the side. He stood apart from the crowd in a simple set of dark tunic and trousers, a different ensemble than his opponent, dressed in a proper prince's ensemble- one outfitted for combat, at least.

  "You won't go easy on him, right?" Rosalinde's voice was familiar. Faintly worried.

  "No," his voice was flat, a monotone carrying no emotion. Familiarity wasn't enough of a reason to feel something about it. "No reason to."

  Rosalinde gave him an apologetic look. Almost a wince.

  Casian stepped forward. He knelt down and in a motion that was more rote to him than getting out of bed in the morning, pulled with his magic, stone pouring up out of the ground slowly, like water rising during a flood. The liquified stone pulled up and poured over him into a simulacra of knights armor, a slatted helm pulled over his face. He let out a relieved sigh.

  "…You sure you're okay?" Her voice was quiet.

  He shot a glance from the corner of his eye, taking in the scene through slitted lenses. Watching as she smiled at the suitor with an unknowing, effortless charm. She wasn't trying to charm them- she smiled when she was nervous. She deferred praise. She had too much of a bleeding heart to figure out how to tell someone 'no' plainly. She never had to fight for anybody's attention. They always fought for hers.

  "I'm fine." Casian's voice was barely above a whisper.

  He flexed his magic for a moment. Feeling the space around him, the ability to tear it and move it, swap it around. Feeling the ever present second pulse of a regenerative spell, running at a low burn. Feeling the second stone-skin, the shape-shifting armaments on his arms, handaxe, short sword, katar, greatswords, warpicks, flowing like water to achieve a new shape. Then, finally, he felt the world sharpen into focus- himself grow just a little bit faster, a little bit stronger, a little bit more, physically. The final gift was an experience he was told wasn't unlike strong stimulants, like downing a dozen cups of coffee. His gift, his sister's gift, his father's gift, his mother's gift.

  Learning how to utilize someone else's magic was highly personal- with rare exceptions only ever taught between lovers. Casian knew his parents' magic. He knew his sisters, too. He imagined it was likely scandalous.

  He really, really just didn't care. He had his reasons. He'd been performing duels since he was twelve, and he had hoped the academy would be different. Concepts like showmanship or propriety were things that had left him long ago. It wouldn't be inaccurate to say he had been preparing for this nearly his entire life.

  Maybe, he mused, my mistake was hoping that Rosalinde could last at least a week before she found a new suitor.

  He felt like sighing, but it honestly felt like too much effort. The third prince stood across the way, saber on his hip and hand resting on the pommel. Looking with a bright smile, teeth gleaming. He could almost hear a few women in the crowd swoon. Some men, too.

  The third prince was tall, golden-haired, and carried the effortless confidence of someone who had likely never really lost anything in his life. His uniform was pristine, accentuating his figure– despite circumstances, he looked more fit to attend a grand ball than a duel in a great many ways. His grip on his saber was loose, casual. He was posturing. Casian knew how this would go already.

  "Sir Casian," The third-prince greeted, a voice as smooth as honey. "I look forward to our bout."

  Casian didn't respond. He wasn't interested in making conversation.

  Instead he adjusted his stance, rolling his shoulders, feeling the weight of the stone armor. It felt solid, natural, an extension of himself. He could feel the slight tremors in the ground as his feet planted. Spatial awareness whispered dozens of things to him at once, who was standing where, how they moved- like seeing through a third eye, devoid of color or detail, just silhouettes. Distantly, a part of him wondered if this is what bats saw- if this was what experiencing echolocation was like. He saw the tension in the prince's frame, the way his grip shifted minutely on the hilt.

  Casian flexed his magic again. He felt the usual strain settle into his bones, mixed with the drain on his willpower. Holding armor steady, shaping weapons, keeping the body in peak form, living with that enhanced razor's edge of focus. Magic was exhausting on a fundamental level, but anybody sufficiently motivated could power through exhaustion. The layering demanded his attention, like spinning plates while on a tightrope. It wasn't anything he hadn't done before, however.

  The prince drew, raising the blade in a salute, waiting for a response. Casian lifted a stone-sculpted hand, and let it slowly shift into a longsword in acknowledgement.

  The proctor stepped forward, a thoroughly out-of-sorts teacher dragged out of his break period by someone so much higher in the social hierarchy than him he had no capacity to meaningfully refuse them, despite his position of authority. He wrung his hands out, clearly displeased but unwilling to meaningfully try to stop any of this.

  He let out a silent sigh and his shoulders dropped as he clearly gave up on trying to stop them. Maybe he should see about getting the professor delivered some pastries or some other luxury sometime? A gift basket, maybe? He always felt bad for the people dragged into this.

  The proctor finally began. "This will be a formal duel, done for the right to court Lady Rosalinde Everstead's hand. First to yield, or first to be incapacitated, loses. No lethal blows. Do you both understand?"

  The prince gave a confident nod, teeth gleaming in the sun. Casian gave an incline of the head.

  The proctor stepped back. "Then begin."

  Casian didn't move immediately- he let the prince take the first action.

  The prince darted forwards, swift and clean, closing the distance fast, a low-hum of static speeding up his movements. Casian felt a small frown. If he'd had the prince's electrical magic and faced an opponent who gave ground at the beginning of a duel, his first move would've been to conjure as strong of a lightning bolt as humanly possible to try and alpha-strike them.

  He must be showing off, he concluded.

  The prince's sword flashed out, textbook perfect, flashing in the sunlight in a controlled, testing cut towards his side. Casian barely had to think.

  Casian's spatial sense probed, he displaced air in dozens of thimbleful's at his intended exit destination. He could just yank himself across the space, but he needed more practice using this skill if he ever wanted to get it combat ready. The displaced air crackled like crickets and half-an-instant later he seamlessly appeared at his intended exitpoint, gone before the strike could land, appearing just a pace behind the prince, who stumbled as his blade met nothing but air.

  A murmur went through the watching crowd.

  Casian could feel the beginnings of a whisper of strain. A dull ache desiring to form behind the eyes at the experimental magic technique being used in conjunction with three other full disciplines at once. He ignored it.

  The prince recovered quickly, spinning on his heel, sporting an easy grin. "Interesting."

  Casian didn't reply. He shifted his footing, letting a slow exhale out. He briefly wondered if it was normal to feel like you needed anger management when you already spent most of your time hitting people with blunt objects. Or preparing to hit people with blunt objects. Surely, there couldn't be a more cathartic lifestyle?

  The prince lunged again, and Casian disappeared in a howling of crickets, once- he shifted his sword-arm into a large, blunted curved longsword. Twice- he pulled at his stone-shaping, preparing spikes to shoot down from his feet. A third time. His head pulsed.

  The prince was reeling, spinning, looking for his opponent. He did find Casian, to his credit. It also just happened to be when Casian's blunted sword slammed into the third prince's ribcage hard enough to send him clean off the ground. His feet left the floor with a muted gasp. He hit the ground hard, rolling once before catching himself on his knee. Casian had hit him hard enough that his own feet likely would've left the ground if he didn't use improvised stakes shot from his feet to hold himself in place.

  Casian advanced towards the downed prince, and saw the confidence waver on his face.

  Casian could see the gears turning in his head. Reassessing and considering. The third prince was used to being faster, wasn't he? Used to dictating the pace of a fight. Lightning magic lent itself to overwhelming aggression, and he'd just demonstrated that raw speed wasn't enough. Casian frowned. Smart opponents were the worst.

  He tightened his grip on the saber, electricity dancing along its edge now, sparking in the air. Casian's eye twitched at the rising hum of static. The prince was gathering charge, and if Casian let him keep at it, this fight was going to get messy.

  Not that it wasn't already.

  Casian flexed his magic again. His spatial awareness flared, his stone armor shifted, slats tightening around joints, weapons melting into new shapes at his fingertips. His head pulsed- then regenerative magic soothed it, like ice pressed on it. He'd been keeping the weapon transformation slow and deliberate, measured, but this time he snapped it into place in an instant.

  The prince took that as a cue to strike. Surging forward, arcs of lightning trailing behind his form, splitting air in an afterimage with a deafening crack. The saber slashed, faster, wilder, lightning-quick. His body protested before his mind did.

  It wasn't just speed- the prince was forcing charge into the air. Ionizing it. The crackling sound wasn't just his own teleportation- it was an imminent thunderclap ready to explode.

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  Casian pulled space.

  What was normally a slower, drawn out process of cracking crickets turned into a disastrous cacophony of firecrackers as the process happened as fast as he could push it while still keeping practice in his technique. He wouldn't compromise improvement. That was how he got lackluster. One moment he was there, the next he wasn't. He appeared ten spaces back, skidding to a stop as the prince's attack met empty space and detonated. Thunder blasted through the courtyard, a wave of air pressure shooting out, popping his ears and scattering gravel and dust. Casian felt the rattle through his chest, in his teeth. His armor had taken a lot of that before he'd gotten out of the way, but his ears still rang.

  A second too late, Casian realized the prince had anticipated the dodge.

  The prince pivoted on his heel and hurled his off-hand forward– lightning leapt from his finger in a crackling whip of energy arcing straight for Casian's chest.

  No time to think.

  Casian slammed his foot into the ground, stone rising in an instant. The slab of earth shot up just in time to take the hit. The action sent a pick of pain through the front of his temple, between his eyes. Lightning struck and scorched the surface, cracks bursted down its length. Heat baked the air, a shimmer forming where it struck. Casian inhaled sharply and launched himself around the corner.

  Casian shifted his grip, armor flowing like water over his arms and changing from what had been a spike into a dull, weighty maul. His next teleport lacked finesse- he didn't coax space to allow his passage, he demanded it, pulling himself into the prince's blindspot.

  The prince barely had time to react.

  Casian swung, the maul crashed into the saber with enough force to send sparks flying, but the third prince had already adjusted, already moving, already bringing the blade back. A counterstrike.

  Casian was faster.

  The tip of maul turned, shifted, a hook forming and reaching out in an instant and snagging the edge of the prince's blade and yanking it aside, opening his guard.

  The next hit slammed into the prince's gut, crashing him into the floor.

  Casian exhaled. His magic tugged at the edges of his consciousness, a dull, creeping headache slowly making itself known. He ignored it.

  The prince wheezed, looking up at him in a daze. His saber laid a few feet away on the ground, weakly crackling with electricity.

  Casian stepped forward, putting the slightest of weight on the prince's chest. Casian shifted his weapon back into a simple longsword, levelling it to the prince's chest.

  "Yield." His voice was flat. Not a demand. Just a bland statement of fact. Like a taxman reading off collected tithes. A script.

  The prince hesitated for a moment, eyes flicking between Casian and the weapon pointed at him, and the direction his saber had been thrown to the floor. The courtyard was silent, waiting.

  The prince slowly let out a breath and raised his hands. "I yield."

  Casian let the stone pool down, walking back to where he had taken it from so it could return to avoid causing any sinkholes later. His armor dissipated, the weapons disappeared. He let his reflexes slow, the intense rush pulling away. He stopped probing space, and felt the third eye close. He let the regeneration run a bit longer. He would keep it running until he could speak to the servants and see about getting some sort of pain reliever before he slept, otherwise he would find himself growing sick from a disastrous headache.

  His face didn't leave its impassive mask.

  Casian let out a small sigh.

  All that, he thought, and I have absolutely zero clue what your name is. I should have paid more attention to etiquette lessons.

  The proctor, still just a professor looking thoroughly displeased with having been roped into this, cleared his throat. "The match is concluded. The winner is Casian Everstead."

  Casian didn't know how to tell him that he would likely be doing this a few times a week for the next four years. His heart filled with pity.

  Mumbling voices echoed through the crowd once again. Students exchanging glances, half in awe, half in sympathy for the prince. Others– likely those hoping to be suitors to also challenge Casian– were sizing him up, committing what they'd seen to memory.

  Casian ignored them all.

  Instead, he extended a hand to the prince. A courtesy. A formality. The bare minimum. A minimum he was ready to rescind at the slightest sign of offense.

  To the fool's credit, he took the offered hand after only a moment of hesitation. Casian hauled him to his feet with little effort. All of these pretty-boys weigh so little. He watched the noble dust himself off with either dignity or stubbornness in the face of failure.

  "You're strong," the prince said after a beat, nodding his head after collecting his saber. "I see why no one's managed to get past you yet."

  Casian shrugged. "It's nothing personal."

  The prince huffed out laughter. "Maybe not to you." His eyes flicked to Rosalinde, watching, arms crossed and expression unreadable. A slow smirk curled at his lips. "But I'll admit, you make an excellent wall to climb."

  Casian gave him a blank stare. "Don't break your neck trying."

  "Wouldn't dream of it."

  With one last nod, either respect or amusement- Casian couldn't tell- he turned and pranced off. No doubt going to go lick his wounds or write sappy poetry, or whatever the romantic fops always did.

  Casian exhaled through his nose and turned away. Talking to those of higher standing was the worst. He couldn't just turn and walk away mid conversation. Too rude, or something. He needed to find some tea and painkillers. Maybe he would train more.

  Maybe, he considered, he would ask someone what the prince's name was.

  Rosalinde approached as the crowd began to disperse, her expression hovering between amusement and guilt.

  "You alright?" she asked, voice light, but her fingers fidgeted at the edge of her sleeve.

  Casian shot her a dry look. "I'll live."

  She winced, but the flicker of remorse that crossed her face didn't last more than an instant- hardly long enough to mean anything. "I knew you'd win," She added. "He was good, though, wasn't he?"

  Casian exhaled through his nose sharply. "Not good enough."

  Rosalinde hummed, tilting her head. "He might try again."

  "They always do."

  She sighed, and rubbed her temple. "You know, sometimes I think I should just be blunt with them. But then they look so… hopeful."

  Casian blinked at her. Slow, and unimpressed. He fought her relationship problems for her already. He loved her, but he wasn't going to listen to them, too. "Then stop being so charming when you reject them."

  She gasped, scandalized. "That's not my fault!"

  "It's absolutely your fault."

  Rosalinde pouted for a moment before relenting, falling into step behind him as they walked off the dueling grounds. "I- I'll try to keep a lid on it. But if another one shows up tomorrow, I'll need you again."

  Casian took a deep breath, feeling the ache settle in. "Of course you will."

  Silence passed between them for a beat, stretched and familiar. Casian had never been good with words.

  Her lips curled ever-so-slightly. "You should at least try to remember their names."

  Casian gave her a look. "Why?"

  She rolled her eyes at him, clearly amused. "Because they're going to keep coming, and it would be nice if you at least pretended to acknowledge them as people."

  Casian rubbed his forehead, scowling. "They're obstacles, not people."

  Would she ask for the sun to rise in the east, next?

  "People can be obstacles," she pointed out.

  Casian let out a long-suffering sigh. "I'll name them after the challenge they pose. That one was sparky."

  Rosalinde huffed out a laugh, shaking her head. "You're impossible."

  Casian let the corner of his mouth twitch up. "It's a good thing I am, no?"

  Rosalinde nudged his shoulder with her. "It certainly makes my life easier."

  Casian gave her a flat stare. "Your life."

  She ignored him, clasping her hands behind her back, rocking on her heels in place. A picture of innocence. "Anyways, 'Sparky' might actually be trouble if he gets serious. He was too relaxed this time."

  Casian frowned slightly at the thought. He didn't particularly feel like fighting the prince again- although, he never particularly wanted to fight again- but if he had been holding back, it meant the next duel would be harder. More magic. More headaches. More wasted time in duelling fields.

  "If he comes back," Casian said, voice even, "he won't make the same mistakes twice."

  Casian always hated the clever ones. Or the ones who thought they were clever. Could they really be called clever, he thought, when they never succeed?

  Rosalinde hummed, tilting her head, a dainty smile on her face as she looked at him. "Maybe not, but you won't either."

  Casian shot her a sidelong glance. "I don't make mistakes."

  She snorted, utterly unladylike for a moment. "Sure you don't."

  Casian scowled and chose to be the better person and not rise to the bait. Instead, he was productive. "I need tea and something for my head before you start ranking your suitors on how charming their sisters are."

  Rosalinde gasped in mock offense, clutching her chest. "I rank their mothers, too!"

  Casian gave her a blank stare.

  She huffed and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Fine. But you're my brother, so it's your duty to suffer through my woes."

  "It's my duty to make sure you don't end up trapped in a marriage before you can make a run for it," Casian corrected, rubbing his temple. "Everything else is extra."

  "And you do excellently."

  Casian sighed, glancing towards the nearest path that would lead him toward the dormitories. "Go find a book or something to entertain yourself with," Or a noblewoman to ogle discreetly, went unsaid. "I'm done for the day."

  Rosalinde didn't argue for once. "Alright, alright. But don't sulk too hard. And try to remember Sparky's real name before he comes back, would you, please?"

  Casian waved her off without answering.

  To remember it, he'd have needed to learn it in the first place.

  Casian made his way toward the dormitories, tuning out glances sent his way. He was used to them. Some speculative, some impressed, some scandalized, others scheming. It was a predictable enough result. New faces, same outcomes.

  More importantly, he needed tea. And peace. Preferably both at once, but he had learned to settle in life.

  He cut through the garden path, enjoying the relative quiet. The Academy's grounds were at least well-kept– these gardens certainly beat the ones back home– and it filled with the sound of leaves faintly rustling and the distant chatter of students with nothing better to do with their time except idly chatting. Casian envied them, in a way.

  He rolled his shoulder, wincing at the dull ache settling in. That prince was quicker than most challengers- not quick enough, though. When he came back he would be more prepared. They always tried their hardest.

  Casian exhaled through his nose. That's fine. He'd be prepared, too. He always was.

  He could hear Rosalinde's voice in the back of his mind. Try to remember Sparky's real name.

  He scoffed. If he'd known it, maybe he'd try. But he didn't need names to win a duel, and he didn't need them to know how this would end. None of them would succeed.

  And Rosalinde, well– she'd keep asking. That's just how it was.

  Casian reached the dormitory doors, the creak of the wood that he'd certainly grow comfortable with over the next four years welcoming him in. He didn't pause to glance around- he had already taken measure of the space on the first day. By the end of the month, he would aim to be able to navigate it blind. Most students had scattered to their rooms in solitude or gone off to other areas of the campus. They didn't have classes on the last three days of the week. The building was empty enough to provide the solitude he craved, and it was a soothing balm.

  He set off towards his quarters, the silence of the hallways a comfort, if only a fleeting one. He wished it could last forever.

  His room was small, and comfortable. The sparse furnishings of the academy offered no distractions, and he found that rather pleasant. The small space ensured that you were encouraged to be mindful with the resources allotted to you.

  He made for the small kettle and began a process that was, by now, purely automatic. Soothing, even. Water heated up, and he let his mind wander, feeling the warmth of the kettle fill the space, just ever-so-slightly.

  Tomorrow, or maybe the day after, the prince would come back. Maybe with more resolve, or new tricks up his sleeve. Perhaps if he was particularly honorless he would wait until Casian had to fend off another challenger and immediately challenge him in the aftermath. Their standings were such that he couldn't particularly dictate the time and place of the duel, and while it would be frowned upon if the privilege was abused, nobody could really do much about it.

  Casian paused and considered. No. The prince likely wouldn't be doing that. Not yet, at least. He hadn't yet grown desperate.

  Casian didn't doubt the prince would be a challenge. Challenges never really mattered much, though. It was the same pattern: show up, duel, lose. The repeated losses didn't stop them. That, if nothing else, he supposed, was admirable in a strange way- though he couldn't bring himself to respect it.

  The whistling of the kettle broke him out of his stupor, and he began the process of pouring and steeping the tea, allowing it to sit longer and grow extra strong. He preferred foods and drinks he could actually taste. As the fragrance filled the air, his thoughts drifted back to Rosalinde's words.

  "Try to remember Sparky's real name."

  Right. He would. But it didn't matter. The names of the suitors were just noise. Disposable- none of them could offer her anything meaningful.

  A small flicker of guilt rose in his chest. All of this was inevitable, wasn't it? Princes and nobles all vying for her hand. Rosalinde, who spoke with an honest charm and couldn't help but be entirely herself. Rosalinde, who was politically significant enough to be an acceptable marriage candidate for any family. Rosalinde, who had just enough of a hint of commoner snark to be endlessly entertaining to the strictly raised nobility. They came to her, drawn to something they couldn't quite name and the realization that it wouldn't even require them to compromise their social status to get it. An intoxicating, perfect combination, he would imagine. He would stop them from realizing their dreams. Not that they realized they were impossible to begin with.

  Still, no matter what she said- he wouldn't let her get tied down. Not like that, to someone she wouldn't ever want.

  He sipped his tea, savoring the warmth that it spread through him. A few more days if he was lucky. Maybe a week. Then it would be back to the duelling field. He could handle it. He always could.

  He'd need to spend more time training.

  The door knocked briefly before creaking open behind him. Casian pulsed spatial magic and relaxed as the silhouette was one of the few he had ever bothered to memorize.

  "Brother," Rosalinde's voice echoed softly in the quiet room, her footsteps light as she approached, a small smile on her lips. Casian made a note to remind himself to get soft things to fill the room with to dampen the sound. He didn't want to deal with an echo, however slight.

  "You're always so diligent with your tea- I swear I could set the sun by your tea-times and nobody would notice a difference."

  Casian didn't look up, keeping focus on the cup. "I like having something that never changes."

  Rosalinde laughed, a soft, knowing sound. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were enjoying yourself."

  Casian snorted, turning his head slightly. "Not even close."

  She leaned against the doorframe, her posture casual, but her eyes spoke to her being somewhere distant- far off and away. "You're always so… serious about it. This duel business. Don't you ever wonder if it's worth it?"

  Casian reflexively pulsed his magic. His temples ached. The world snapped into clarity as his thoughts sped up. He paused for a brief moment and let the grip on the magic slip away. The response was reflexive, almost rehearsed.

  "It's worth it if it keeps you from marrying some idiot."

  Rosalinde raised an eyebrow. "So, it's all just for that? Keeping me out of an arrangement you find beneath me?"

  Casian's grip tightened on his cup, but he didn't let his irritation show. "You don't want it. Neither do I. It's my job to make sure nobody forces it on you."

  She smiled softly, and her gaze softened. "I think you care more than you let on."

  Casian met her gaze with a steady look before dropping it. "Just don't make me do this forever."

  Rosalinde didn't respond, and the quiet between them stopped being as comfortable. She could have pressed him further, but she didn't. Instead, she nodded, coming to a decision.

  "Thanks, Casian." Her voice was soft, not the teasing tone it typically took. "I know you do it because you care."

  He didn't answer right away, sipping his tea instead. There wasn't really anything to say. Not really.

  Rosalinde lingered for a moment longer, before turning to leave, her footsteps fading into the hallway.

  Casian stared at his cup a moment longer, letting the silence return. The next challenge was coming, and the routine would repeat itself. But for now, at least, he had a moment of peace. That would be enough.

  …She forgot to close the door.