by D. E. Morris
“I noticed when the subject of the recent killings was brought up, the conversation changed immediately. Giver help us if the lesser kingdoms realize there's more of them than there are of us in the higher kingdoms. It doesn't help that the high rulers of Cieria didn't show up.”
“Brydion has always been an elusive high ruler. He tends to follow the lead of the strongest among the seven nations when it comes to making political decisions.”
Cavalon scowled. “I don't care what his tactics are. It makes us look like we don't have a united front and we need that now, especially in this whole dragon and Gael issue.”
“I know.” Nuala looked up at her husband and squeezed his hand. “At least the strongest of us were here. There is power in that unity as well.” Turning her eyes forward once more, she realized Lucien was no longer in front of them. She casually searched among the legs of the people who walked before them. When she didn't see her son, her heart beat faster. “Lucien.”
Cavalon stopped walking and looked around. Wordless, he nodded to their two guards who moved deeper into the crowds. “Don't panic,” he said quietly. “He's got to be around here somewhere.”
She was tempted to call for him, but that would only open up the door for more trouble. If someone knew the high prince of Braemar was missing, even if he'd just wandered off without telling his parents, he could easily be picked up by someone and carried off for ransom. Though the summit meetings appeared to have concluded on a congenial note, there was still tension between countries when it came to their views on the displacement of the elves, the attack that destroyed their home island, and who should shoulder the responsibility for it. Nuala had not been shy in voicing her support of the dragons and the Gaels. If someone had not been happy to hear that, it could have driven them to do something as foolish as to take her son.
One of the guards reappeared and nodded toward a crowd gathered at the fence of a smaller tournament field. Sure enough, Lucien stood at the back, half eaten turkey leg in hand, trying to weave his way deeper into the onlookers to get a better view for himself.
“Lucien!” At the sharp call from his mother, he turned and hurried back to her. She was half tempted to pull him aside and take a switch to his bottom but instead, she let her words do the punishing. “Je n'ai pas juste dit, 'Ne vous éloignez pas'? - Je le PENSE!”
His face fell and he looked down. “Désolé, Mère.”
In their native language, less people turned to look at them. “The rules I give to you, I give for a reason.”
“I know. I'm sorry.” Turning his head, he looked back toward the field. “I saw Princess Kenayde. I thought it was safe.”
Cavalon peered over to where Lucien had been trying to wiggle deeper into the throng and spotted a halo of golden curls. It could have been any blonde woman attending the festival, but given her height, Cavalon was more inclined to believe it was a good chance that it was Kenayde after all. He gave Nuala a slight nod before turning disapproving eyes to Lucien. “It doesn't matter who you think you see. You never run off without telling us. Ever. Understood?”
“Understood,” the child mumbled, head down. Nuala took his hand and the three of them walked toward the arena.
At the far end of the open field were men and women at stations set with quivers full of arrows. They were taking turns shooting targets that started close to where the archers stood and were placed steadily father back through the length of the field. One competitor was just finishing up, and Nuala watched the blonde her son had assumed was Kenayde. Sure enough, when the younger woman turned her head to follow the arrow that had been loosed, Nuala saw the familiar bright blue eyes and the slight upturn of the small nose that made Kenayde's face so recognizable. As the arrow found its mark, she cheered and clapped along with the rest of the people watching. When the noise died down so all attention could be on the next contestant, Kenayde turned and searched the crowds as if sensing eyes on her. When she saw Nuala and Cavalon, she waved and made her way over to them.
“How come you're not in there?” Cavalon asked, watching the way the new archer nocked his arrow on the wrong side of the bow. “You could teach them a thing or two.”
“That is precisely why I am not in there,” Kenayde chuckled. “This is the amateur round...as in, I think this moment is the first time any of them have even picked up a bow. They have all been terrible, except for the last shooter. He started out poorly but he learned with each shot and was actually quite good by the end.” She was thoughtful as she looked to the field again. “I thought to enter the mid-level contest, though.”
“You should,” Nuala encouraged.
The younger woman's smile was wistful. “To think of how terrible I was when I started out all those years ago, right before the battle with Laidley.”
“We all have to start somewhere,” replied Nuala.
“Indeed.” Kenayde took a breath. “Perhaps I shall.” Her eyes fell to Lucien, gnawing away at his lunch. “Goodness, Lucien! That thing is almost as long as your forearm!”
Her exclamation made him give her a greasy grin. “I know!”
She chuckled and returned her attention to the adults. “Have either of you signed up for anything?”
“I am involved in the full-time event of child wrangling.” Nuala remarked, eyeing her son.
Kenayde's brow wrinkled. “Did you not bring his nannies?”
“I did, but in crowds as large as these, I trust him to no one but me, especially at this age. He is continuously slipping the guard here and running off on his own.”
“Lochlainn gives my sister just as much trouble,” Kenayde assured. “Are you doing anything, Cavalon?”
He shrugged. “A few of the strongman competitions.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I feel that is somehow a tad unfair. I mean...look at you.”
Nuala hid a smile by ducking her head, but Cavalon crossed his arms. “How is it unfair? I'm no different than any of the other men who will be doing it. Some of them are even bigger than I am.”
Lucien looked up at him, eyes widened. “There are people bigger than you?”
The innocent question brought a grin to Cavalon's lips. “A few,” he admitted, scooping the boy up to set him on his shoulders. “Not many, but a few.”
“Where is Elas?” Nuala asked. The three of them turned in the direction Nuala and Cavalon had been headed before, walking slowly together.
Kenayde paused at a registration stand to add her name to the list of competitors in the later archery slot, then continued on with her friends. “He is in one of the gaming halls, deep in the middle of a Fox and Geese tournament. I love my husband and support him in whatever he chooses to do, but I got bored, so I left.” Cavalon chuckled but said nothing. “I love board games as much as the next person,” she continued, “but for three hours...”
“Three hours!” Nuala shook her head. “You are a more dutiful wife than I. My limit would have been an hour at most.”
“O'yez! The joust will begin in fifteen minutes!”
Up ahead, the crowds had parted to let a crier stand on a box in the middle of the street, his hands cupped around his mouth to help his voice carry. “If you want to see grown men cry after getting hit with a big stick, come to the south grounds for the joust!” He paused and looked around, his gaze lingering on no one in particular for too long. “I'd say, 'Giver save the Queen!' but there are so many of them here...Giver save the horses!”
“Giver save the horses!” many repeated, their shouts mixed with laughter.
“I see Lochlainn!” Lucien exclaimed, hardly a second passing before the crier had disappeared. “Lochlainn!” He waved emphatically, trying to get the attention of the younger boy who was much too far away to hear him. The motion made him accidentally thump Cavalon on the head with what was left of his drumstick.
“Hey!”
Giggling madly, Lucien rubbed his sleeve over Cavalon's head. “Sorry.”
Lochlainn was at the fences that wrappe
d around jousters paddock. One of the horses, a massive black destrier was bending its head low to nibble at the carrot Lochlainn held. His rider, a knight in polished silver armor, talked animatedly to Wessely and Cailin. The two stood close together, closer than a man normally would with a female friend, much closer than a king with a captain of guards.
“When are they going to admit it?” Cavalon asked, his tone suggesting boredom. “Everyone knows.”
Kenayde's lips curved in a small smile. “Let them alone, Cavalon. If they choose to be discreet, that is their right. We do not know the nature of their relationship, whatever it may look like. Though I dare say, they do look happy.”
Lochlainn reached up to stroke the horse's nose and accidentally knocked over a cane. When he picked it up, he handed it over to Cailin and the two exchanged a few friendly words. Nuala frowned. “I was not aware she was using that again. I thought her leg was better.”
“Most days it is,” Kenayde told her as they moved toward the fences. “She has had to be on her feet much more than usual this week which has made her quite sore. Combine that with warm spring days and cold spring nights, she has been in more pain than usual.”
A darkness settled into Cavalon's face and he huffed quietly. “How she doesn't blame Misuzu daily, I'll never know.”
Instead of addressing the comment, Kenayde quickened her pace and hurried up beside her father. She slipped an arm around his waist in greeting, and soon the two groups merged. Lucien was put down and the two boys traded stories on all they had seen that morning, each tale bigger than the last.
“Look!”
Seemingly out of nowhere, a third child appeared. He was as tall as Lucien, lanky, with long dark hair and pointed ears. Between his legs was a new hobby horse, complete with a straw mane and a wooden horn on its head. “I have my own horse!”
“That isn't a real horse, Tiyal,” Lochlainn pointed out.
“I know,” the elven boy pouted.
“It isn't even a horse,” continued Lochlainn, either unaffected or unaware that his comment had hurt Tiyal's feelings. “It has a horn. That means it's a unicorn.”
Lucien looked between his friends with a shifting gaze. “You have a unicorn like your father!”
This revelation brought a light to the youngest boy's face. “Like Suule!” He turned around, looking for his parents. Tasarin and Luella were making their way over, and Tiyal rode away to meet his father halfway. “I have a unicorn like you!”
Once the boy was out of earshot, Lucien elbowed Lochlainn in the ribs. Confused by the action, Lochlainn looked at the older boy with a wrinkled brow, then pushed him. Lucien pushed him right back, and before anyone knew what was happening, they were rolling on the ground, fighting over absolutely nothing.
Far from amused, Nuala groaned. “They may not be blood related, but they certainly act like brothers.”
Cavalon strode forward without a word and easily separated the two, tucking one of them under each arm. The boys hung there as though this was no strange occurrence, and started laughing when Cavalon continued forward as though he was carrying nothing more than a couple of bags of flour.
As the group progressed toward the southern fields, they found Lilia by the jouster's camp, watching men as they were suited up for the upcoming event. She had a small wicker basket hooked over her arm, and blushed profusely when her cousin Nuala called her out on ogling the men.
It had been such a long time since so many of them had been together like this, relaxed and enjoying each other's company. With the stress of the summit meetings over, they were quicker to laugh and tease one another, and the teasing was easier taken in stride. The pace was slow, in part so as to set a reasonable speed for Cailin as she limped along with her cane, and in part simply because there was no great rush. Yes, the joust was beginning soon, but it would not start without Tasarin and Luella there since they were the high rulers of the host country.
Kenayde teased the boys by tickling their legs, making them squirm and squeal within Cavalon's secure grip. Tiyal found great amusement in this and added to their torture by pulling a piece of straw from the mane of his hobby horse and tickling their ears.
It was a natural thing for the women to fall into their own group together, while Wessely and Tasarin walked just a few paces behind Cavalon, Kenayde, and the children. Each had their own dynamic, with the women happy to talk about the shopping they had yet to do or some of the dresses they had seen that week. Cailin lamented the fact that she rarely had the chance or opportunity to wear a dress. When Luella made a comment about how easily that could be changed with a meaningful glance at the back of Wessely's head, the younger woman quickly changed the subject to Luella's rounded belly and her rapidly approaching due date.
Wessely and Tasarin shared their thoughts on the various subjects discussed during the week. For the most part the men agreed on several important subjects, but when it came to the future of the Gaels and the dragons, they were of two minds. Wessely was determined the two similar races could be saved and kept safe, but Tasarin wondered if that was true, or if Wessely was being idealistic.
As the group came upon the edges of the jousting arena, they all drew together as one yet again without a word to unify them. They looked at the well raked, fine sand that was begging for a footprint or a hoofprint to mar it. The list was as yet unblemished, but as lances were broken and armored men and horses fell against it after being struck, there were sure to be gouges in the pristine wooden barrier that separated the combatants as they charged at one another. On either side of the field, colorful pavilions had been set up for the competitors and the surgeons that would surely be needed. It was not uncommon to witness a fatality in this dangerous sport, yet it remained a favorite of many.
On the other side of the fences, far across the arena was the berfrois, a roofed grandstand that sat a full story above the field. Here, thrones had been set up for Tasarin and Luella. Smaller seats, still luxurious with jewels and cushions, sat beside the tall thrones, two on each side, and lined a slightly lowered row before them. There were exactly enough seats for all the high kingdom royals, twelve in all, but they would not all be filled since the Cierian couple hadn't come. Even if they had, none of the grandstands that had been erected at the other tournament fields were ever full. Each family had different events they liked best. Of all of them, this and the strongman competitions would draw the biggest crowds.
“Look at them,” Lilia muttered. Her gaze was across the jousting arena to the place where Ashlynn and Jaryn had already claimed seats in the first row. Beside Jaryn's chair stood a man who spoke to the couple with great familiarity. Though he had started out as somewhat of an unwanted presence at Altaine, Killian quickly gained the trust of the royal couple and worked his way up from Master of Horse to Captain of their personal guard. It was not uncommon to see him with Jaryn and Ashlynn during any given event. Even back home in Siness, if one or both of them chose to leave the castle, he was right there by them. He and Jaryn had become quite close over the years, enough that they had their own inside jokes that no one else understood.
Killian said something to the couple, making Jaryn turn and point in the direction of the group. Whatever this meant to Killian, the older man bowed and took his leave, heading down the field to the pavilions and disappearing among them. As one, the group moved on to make their way around the lengthy field and fill in their spots within the berfrois. The boys took up the empty seats for themselves, all three of them eager to watch the twelve matches that were about to take place. In the back, Lilia joined Rowan, now just as tall and lean as Lilia was herself, Mairead, a veil across her scarred face, and a new lady to Ashlynn's service by the name of Vala. She was sixteen, two years older than Rowan, but much shorter than the younger girl. With her long brown hair and big blue eyes, she looked like a child among the rest of them. Anything Ashlynn needed, she was the first to act, often anticipating her needs in order to fulfill them without her queen having to say a
word.
Along with Luella's ladies, as well as Kenayde's and Nuala's, there were a total of fifteen young women standing crowded in the back. The kings' squires, not quite so lucky as to be in under the shade, sat on bleachers on either side of the covered grandstand with other nobles. As the crowds gathered, many watched Tasarin and Luella, looking for a nod from one of them to signal that they were ready to begin. There was too much conversation going on and Ashlynn had to remind them that everyone was waiting. With an easy laugh, Luella and Tasarin rose and the surrounding crowds cheered. A herald ran out into the middle of the field, positioning himself as close to the middle of the list as possible, and shouted, “Long live the king!” Everyone echoed the exclamation, doing so yet again when he proclaimed, “Long live the queen!”
“Let the joust commence!” commanded Tasarin. As he and Luella sat back down, knights in full armor came riding into the arena, six from each side. They paraded their muscled horses around, showing off their crests and colors to the crowd as they circled the field at a trot. Everyone had their favorites already, and cheers went out according to which knight was where. Eventually, they all came to face the grandstand and waited side by side, helmets obscuring faces. Each man bowed almost in unison before the group split, six to each side once more, and headed back to the pavilion area. All but one.
This knight lingered by the grandstand, his chestnut horse nearly prancing in excitement for what was about to happen. Leaning toward the royal seating, not even his eyes could be seen through the narrow slits in his helmet, though was quite clear when the Ibayish voice cried, “Lady Lilia!” All within earshot turned to look at her in surprise. Her eyes were wide and her brows elevated, taken off guard by the public recognition. “I am certain that a favor from you would help bring me to victory this day.” Rowan and Vala giggled beside her, nudging her forward. Dumbfounded, she pulled a blue ribbon from her hair. The jouster lowered his lance enough so that she could tie the ribbon around it.
