Page 32 of Too Many Beds

“Fara.”

Thatwasa good match. Good meaning ‘lucky’, for Fara was one of the poorer performing students in their year who still couldn’t cast an air shield properly, and Asher had an excellent chance of beating her. He felt a vague pang of guilt that his victory would mean her loss, but it hadn’t been him who had come up with the cut-throat method of graduation. If it wasn’t her, it would be him.

“Lucky,” said Dawson mournfully. “I’ve probably got Xem or something.”

Bonnie assured him that he didn’t, chatting away about Dawson’s opponent and who had the misfortune to face Xem—how had she memorised so many names on the list?—but cold trepidation slid down Asher’s spine. He was capable of beating Fara in the first round...but who would he face in the second? Or the third?

In order for the rankings to be determined, multiple rounds of duels would be held where the winners of the previous bouts were pitted against each other as they steadily fought towards first place. What if Asher was matched to Xem in an early round? His inevitable loss would mean he’dneverhave a chance to place second.

He faltered, the vines unravelling and then fading into nothingness.

“Hah!” crowed Dawson, and cold water cascaded over Asher’s head in an ominous sign of what was to come.

The tang of elemental magic lay heavy in the dusk air: the petrichor scent of rich soil just after a rainfall, and the stomach-turning stench of charred hair and flesh. Students were scattered around the Academy’s courtyard in varying degrees of exhaustion and disarray, with scorched or soaking uniforms, or twigs tangled in their hair.

Those who had been eliminated over the course of the afternoon were forced to sit on their hands, Fara among them. She looked more resigned than resentful, but the two opponents Asher had faced after her were glaring at him and throwing him rude gestures when the professors weren’t looking.

It was a vicious test, with student pitted against fellow student, friend against friend. There was no allying, no assisting. Just each mage attempting to withstand cast after cast until through either skill or luck, a victor emerged.

Asher had just won his third duel, which put him in the top eighth of his cohort. A feat to be proud of, especially considering how behind in his studies he’d once been, but if he was to be afforded the honour of sharing a room with Xem—and the other perks granted to the top performers in the year—he had one more mage to best. Well, two, but Asher held out no hope of beating Xem himself, and he only prayed his decimation at the talented mage’s hands wouldn’t be too brutal or quick.

Yet between him and Xem was Pippah Shae. The current incumbent of what should be Asher’s bed, if the soulmate bond had anything to say about it, and a crawling sycophant.

Perhaps being an obsessive stalker like Asher wasn’t any better, but at least he appreciated Xem for who he was. Clever. Skilful. Gorgeous. Also insufferably smug, but his heroism inrescuing another batch of rats from Professor Allarie’s clutches last month allowed Asher to look past his arrogance.

Pippah just wanted her place at Xem’s side for the prestige it granted her, loudly declaring to anyone who would listen howpower attracted powerand that the Shae and Whitlock families had a long and mutually beneficial history. Asher had had the pleasure of watching Xem’s face when Pippah announced to the dining hall that perhaps it was not onlyhistorythe two of them might have in common, but a potentialfuture; a combination of dark eyebrows raised in incredulousness and his lips pinched together to stop himself from gagging. It had taken all of Asher’s restraint not to march over and steal a kiss from that tempting mouth, no matter how much punishment it might have earned him next time he faced the mage in class.

“You’re done for, Larsen,” Pippah sneered disdainfully to Asher now, orange sparks crackling around her fingers as she faced off against him. The courtyard had been set up for twelve simultaneous duels but now, with only three of them left standing, all of the defeated students were spectators to their solo fight. Keeping their hands tucked beneath them to prevent interference or accusations of such, tired eyes stared unblinkingly their way. Some out of mere curiosity, others knowing their own rankings would be impacted by the outcome of this penultimate duel.

Asher had noticed that boasts and taunts were commonly thrown at opponents, but he didn’t see the need to waste breath on it. Some called him quiet, others, the crueller of his peers, slow, but talking wasn’t what would win him his prize.

So he waited in patient silence while the rules were once again read out by one of the professors—dual elemental spells only, nothing lethal or permanently damaging, no collateral damage to the spectators—and Pippah tossed more threats his way. Then a flash of lightning cast overhead announcedthe commencement of the duel and Pippah immediately leapt forward, bared teeth and a rope of fiery thorns aimed at Asher’s face.

He ducked the magic. Perhaps Xem could have blocked itandsent a counterattack her way, but they couldn’t all be infuriating little progenies like him. It left Asher’s hands free to knot themselves into a complex cast of water and air, swirling up an unnatural maelstrom that wrapped around Pippah and knocked her off balance.

But while the mage had lost her footing, she hadn’t lost her hold on her magic, and she heaved it back towards her with a grunt. Asher gasped as forceful heat tore across his back. He twisted, bringing up an air shield reinforced with earthen strength, but it was too late: the thorns had already inflicted their damage in burning and scoring his skin. He gritted his teeth and did his best to ignore the pain.

The two mages glared at each other and let their respective magics fade out of existence, bringing their hands together to begin anew. Now back to an even playing field but for Asher’s injury, it was obvious from their aggressive stances that victory would be secured by whichever of them could get their next casting off first.

Asher had prepared for this. Hours of research and obsessive practice had told him which somatic movement he was capable of performing the fastest, and it was instinct that guided his wrists and fingers through the casting for the simple vines he’d learned with Xem’s assistance all those months ago. Then he clenched his right hand to add fire, and-

A blast of water hit him square in the chest, stealing his breath and leaving stunned surprise in its stead. Asher was thrown clear out of the dedicated duelling zone marked by low, flickering candles, and then it was all over.

He’d lost.

Pippah had knocked him out of the fight—literally—and Asher hadlost.

He growled into the cold mud beneath his face, caring less about the inevitable bruises to his body than the ones to his soul.

He hadn’t been quick enough, good enough. He’d given it his all, and it hadn’t beenenough.

Fuck, the last several weeks had been torture. Feeling the soulmate bond agonisingly stretched and pummelled whenever he and Xem were more than a room or two apart, Asher had only been able to withstand it with the knowledge that it was just for a little while longer, and then he’d be only a bed away from the other half of himself.

One room away for the next four months would have to be enough. He’d survive.

He’d have to.

Hecouldn’t.

---