The Shadow Student (Wraithwood Academy #1) - Teresa Hann Page 0,22

in. I used to be short for my age, and being able to reach stuff on top of cabinets had seemed like a miracle. For weeks I’d tried to do everything with magical reach, from tying my shoelaces to brushing my teeth, until it stopped feeling like trying to grab things with stilts and started feeling like an extension of my body.

I twisted and swung in a mid-air dance, strands of hair whipping past my face, trusting my magic like my own hands. For a moment, in the exhilaration of movement, I forgot even my troubles.

Up next was a tightrope. I let go of the ropes above and hit the tightrope running, charging down it with magic-enhanced speed, letting my momentum keep me upright. I reached the end and leapt, grabbing onto the final rope, sliding down a dizzying distance until my feet touched the mat once more.

I was grinning as I caught my breath. Good to know I still had it, despite my imprisonment.

I looked back on the obstacle course, seeking out Darshan. He was still on the ropes-behind-barrier portion, arms shaking with strain as he reached out for the next rope. He grabbed it, began to swing—and then he was falling—

I acted without thinking. I extended my arm and used my magic to grab hold of him, all the way across the thirty feet of distance that separated us.

Darshan turned toward me, startled. I gave him a thumbs up with my other hand, holding him up there until he turned back to the ropes, ready to continue onward with his own magic.

I wouldn’t have the strength left to do much further magic today, but it was worth it to see Darshan climbing down at the end of the obstacle course, wobbly but triumphant.

He turned to me, an odd look in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said. “I wouldn’t have expected that from you.”

And he would’ve been right, if I were actually Cly. “Least I can do, given previous crap pulled,” I sighed. “I didn’t see how you fell, though. It surprised me, given your aim seemed quite good.”

Darshan grimaced. “I briefly ran out of magic. We mages from no-name bloodlines aren’t like you, capable of throwing around magic like candy.” He jerked his head toward the obstacle course, and the considerable number of students who’d fallen into the safety netting below it. Most hadn’t gotten as far as Darshan had.

“Oh,” I said, lamely. Growing up surrounded by Redbriars and the best mages from vassal families, I supposed I’d gotten a skewed impression of what the average mage could do. I hadn’t realized that, even this badly drained, I was still stronger than many mages would ever be.

“The difference is less stark in higher magic, where skill counts for more than raw power,” said Darshan. “But contests of lower magic? We come off very, very badly. It’s basically impossible to win a duel with an opponent with more raw magical strength, for one.”

“I can see that,” I said, remembering my practice duel with Acubens. “In a close-range fight, everything happens too fast. You need the speed and survivability that lower magic provides just to have the breathing room to do higher magic.”

Darshan stared heavenward. “Artifacts are useful, but the best artifacts are passed down as heirlooms in the families that are already powerful. You can make simple vocal and gestural magic work, but those also rely heavily on raw power—a shield is only as strong as the amount of magic you pump into it. And of course, as much as I love magic circles, there’s no way you can draw one in the middle of a fight.” A hint of bitterness crept into his voice. “Thus, I’m resigned to getting punched every other day for the rest of the semester. With more punching to come in the future outside of school, if I cross anyone from a more powerful family.”

He abruptly snapped his mouth shut, as if realizing he’d said more than he should to a Redbriar, but I only sighed. “Mage society is ruled by bullies. People so powerful they think they can punch and not get punched back.”

Darshan turned to look at me. The odd look was back in his eyes. “I honestly don’t know what to make of you, Cly Redbriar. I want to know what game you’re playing, but I don’t think you’d tell me.”

“Sorry,” I said, because I couldn’t say Part of me wishes I could give Cly’s necklace to you. Aegis was walking