Page 33 of Too Many Beds

“Congratulations, Ms. Shae,” Professor Allarie said warmly, although her eyes were on Asher as he picked himself up out of the mud. “Mr. Larsen, you’ve placed third, and Ms. Shae will now duel Mr. Whitlock to determ-”

“Actually, professor,” Xem cut in, not bothering to excuse his interruption with an apology. His intense gaze found Asher and pierced through him, giving nothing away. “I think you’ll find that Pippah’s last casting only contained one element, not two.”

Thatwas how she’d been able to attack so quickly?

Professor Allarie glanced at Principal Everett, who nodded. Asher doubted he’d been paying much attention to the duel—he’d spent the day sliding up to the younger professors and older students and murmuring things in their ears that made them either blush or blanch—but it was unsurprising that he’d take the side of a Whitlock mage, even if it meant pissing off the much less influential Shae family. And Xem, the self-righteous prick, was far too respectable to lie.

Allarie gave a distasteful sniff.

“Very well,” she conceded in a curt, clipped tone. “Ms. Shae is disqualified. I don’t want to hear it,” the professor added as Pippah began to hiss out complaints. “The rules clearly specified dual castings only. Mr. Larsen, Mr. Whitlock?”

Asher limped back over the line of candles, shaking out his wrists and coming to a stop before Xem. Who, of course, looked his usual infuriatingly neat self, as if he’d passed the afternoon partaking in a late lunch instead of having all four elements thrown at him in combinations just short of fatal.

“You’re going to be granted second rank regardless of what happens now, Asher,” Xem remarked, inspecting his fingernails. “So instead of being thoroughly beaten—again—you may concede the duel verbally. No one would think less of you.”

A round of excitableooooooohsechoed around the courtyard from the watching students.

Asher shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. As if he’d miss even one opportunity to face off against Xem. He’d relished every loss at the mage’s hands over the last several months, Professor Allarie being as good as her word to pair them up for the entire trimester, not only for the way his soulmate’s magic felt against his skin but also for how Asher had learned and improved from each encounter.

“Very well,” said Xem. “A painful defeat for you it is.”

No one would think less of you. A blatant lie, for the mage’s eyes had lit up in delighted pride when Asher had refused his offer of surrender.

Lightning flashed. Xem’s hands formed a pattern Asher didn’t even recognise—magic certainly beyond that of the average first-year—but he didn’t need to understand the exact casting to know what Xem intended. He’d fought him enough times now to have picked up his habits.

And sure enough, when the casting loosed from Xem’s fingers it went for Asher’s legs: powerful but narrowly focused, designed to knock down his opponent in a strong opening move that would then be followed by something broader and more restrictive.

Asher’s half-smile flourished into a rare grin when he blocked the rush of air that had been aimed at his knees. Xem returned the expression, his natural arrogance giving it the quality of a fond smirk, and renewed his assaults.

Defensive magic was quicker to cast than offensive, and Asher was thrilled to find himself parrying the second strike, and then the third—but a fourth, an unexpected disruption of the soil under his feet that knocked him on his arse, saw him swiftly incapacitated when Xem reformed the earth over and around his hands.

He’dburiedhim?! Gods, this man was something else. As a fully trained and certified mage, he’d be unstoppable.

Asher barely heard Allarie calling out their final ranks. Bonnie’s cheering drowned her out, and he glanced over to find Dawson giving him an excitable thumbs up.

Hard earth turned to soft mud around him and Asher yanked his hands free, surprised when Xem extended one arm down to help him to his feet.

And then the mage ruined the gesture by wrinkling his nose in horrified distaste and casting a gentle flood of water to sluice the dirt away from his own hands.

“You’re filthy,” Xem declared.

He leaned in until his lips were brushing Asher’s ear, murmuring his next words too quiet for anyone else to hear.

“Don’t even think of setting foot in our room until you’ve bathed.”

Our room.

Asher was bruised, sore, bleeding in three places and beyond exhausted, but he’d never moved quicker in his life.

Should he knock?

A freshly scrubbed-clean Asher hesitated, his knuckles poised up against the door of the bedroom occupied by the first and second ranked students.

Him and Xem. It was still dizzyingly new in Asher’s mind, not having properly sunk in, yet thrilling in all forms.

But.

Should he knock?

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