by Megan Derr
"Your knavery and lies have caused problems to those who should not be entangled in your affairs. Kodey is not precious to me; he is everything to me, and if this squabbling between you and the Duke of Lons so much as harms a single hair upon his head, I will soak the tourney fields in your blood and hang you from the parapets by your entrails."
He spurred his horse, forgetting the duke and his men, forgetting all but his destination. He fervently hoped that the only trouble Kodey suffered was the result of his own foolish plans and overeager nature.
Kodey collapsed upon his bed with a groan. He was never moving again; it hurt too much.
At least he was finally out of the bloody armor. He was never jousting again—never.
He definitely had not shown himself as well as he had hoped. The most he could say was that he had only been unseated once, but it had been a very near thing the second and third times. That was more than enough and he felt wretched at the thought of having to recount his abysmal failure where Brice might learn of it—but he had shown himself well in mace earlier that morning, and if he showed himself well in sword, then perhaps the two good showings would make up for the abysmal third. Surely that would be enough.
Groaning again, Kodey turned over so that he could stare up at the ceiling. Far in the distance he could hear the continuing tourney, the cheers and screams as another pair jousted, the ring of steel, the cries of venders, and the songs of minstrels. Thankfully his final trial was not quite upon him.
Reaching up, Kodey groped blindly at his neck for the leather thong hanging from it. Sitting up and wincing in pain, he pulled it from his neck and removed the bracelet and ring. He had put them there for safekeeping while he jousted and would stow them again for his next bouts. They were comforting to look upon, however. Ademar had shown well in his own joust, Isemay nearly screaming herself hoarse cheering for him. It had made Kodey lonely, for all that more than a few spectators had cheered for him as well. Since the banquet, all manner of people had approached him, spoken with him, many asking questions of Lady Winifred or Chastaine and Lyon. Even the grand duke had summoned him briefly—and how sick had he felt to discover the identity of that old man. Chastaine or Brice would have cuffed him good and hard had they known he had forgotten so important a crest as that of the grand duke, the grandfather of Lady Isemay—that most certainly increased his anxiety a thousand fold. He had been given a token by the granddaughter of the Grand Duke; what did that mean? Was there special etiquette? Was he being suitably polite and respectful? Would Chastaine be receiving a missive in regards to his knavish behavior at tourney? Was he embarrassing Yvain?
Groaning loudly, Kodey fell back upon the bed and turned to bury his face in the soft coverlet. He did not stir until a knock upon the door forced the matter and he reluctantly sat up just enough to brace himself on his elbows, calling for the knocker to enter.
Yvain appeared in the doorway, smiling with amusement as he took in Kodey sprawled across the bed. "Still recovering from the joust?"
"Aye," Kodey replied, grimacing. "Mayhap I should not have attempted it." He sat up and smiled as Yvain sat down next to him. "I thank you for this kindness, Your Grace. 'Tis something I never once thought to experience and poor show or not, I am having very grand a time. Truly, you have been far too kind to me."
Laughing, Yvain reached up to tousle his hair. "Nay, it is good to see you so enjoying it. My youth was spent fighting too many real battles; I am afraid I lost all taste for even these mock combats." He smiled, but there was only sadness in it and Kodey could only stare bemusedly. "I think many would say 'twould have been better that day to leave me to die, but I appreciate you saving my life. If the least I can do is let you play as young men should, that is little enough. Now come, you should do something about those bruises and muscles before you become too stiff and sore to move."
"Aye, aye," Kodey said obediently. Groaning loudly as his body announced it was already stiff and sore, he stripped off his tunic and the linen beneath, baring his chest. He winced at the massive bruise spread across his side and even part of his stomach. The banquet that night would be a special torture all its own, he did not doubt. His armor, thankfully, had spared him more serious damage; he had taken far worse in arguments with Brice, as more than one of those had taken them from the embrasures all the way down to the moat far below.
Tossing the clothes into a corner, Kodey fumbled through his leather satchel for the salve made by Lady Winifred and the other women. It healed nearly everything and only moments after applying it, Kodey could breathe a sigh of relief that did not cause spikes of pain throughout his body.
Yvain laughed where he still sat upon the bed. "'Tis no wonder you have so many hoping for your victories today; I am astonished you do not carry a multitude of favors."
"My ring and Lady Isemay's token are all I require," Kodey said, striding to his trunks and pulling out fresh robes.
"Aye," Yvain agreed idly, picking up the objects abandoned upon the bed. He stroked the jeweled bracelet briefly, and then shifted his attention to the ring. Kodey paid it no mind, more interested in glaring at the contents of his trunk until his fresh tunics deigned to reveal themselves. He had finally unearthed one when Yvain's words drew him up short.
"What is the riddle behind this inscription?"
Kodey dropped the tunic he held, staring. "What inscription?" He strode across the room and took the ring as Yvain held it out. By the … there was an inscription. Abruptly there seemed to be no air in the room, or perhaps it simply could not get past the sudden constriction of his throat.
To Whelp, from My Lady
His eyes stung and Kodey struggled to maintain some dignity. Brice … those words could only have come from Brice and how like him to be so completely … so completely Brice about the matter. Kodey wished Brice were here so he could punch the bastard soundly. Or kiss him soundly, even if very likely Brice would then punch him.
"I did not see the inscription before," he said slowly, not entirely trusting his voice. "I found the ring in my trunk shortly after our arrival. I thought 'twas a gift from Sir Chastaine or Lady Winifred."
Yvain smiled faintly, looking more than a little amused. "I take it the inscription reveals neither of those to be the one who bestowed the gift?"
"Nay," Kodey said softly, looking again at the inscription. "'Twas Brice."
"Ah, the pretty Beauclerc who ever strove to slay me with a glance," Yvain laughed. "I think I begin to see the whole of the tapestry. I confess I am still curious as to the inscription. Some private jest?"
Kodey smiled faintly. "Aye, something much like that. Upon our first meeting, I was quite besotted. I had never before seen a man who possessed such beauty and never had I seen hair such as his. He demanded to know why I was gawking and called me a whelp. I took offense and accused him of looking like a girl." He smiled, although it was part grimace, torn between amusement and vexation. "I am afraid that our manners in regard to one another never improved."
"Indeed," Yvain said. He stood and clapped Kodey lightly on the shoulder. "Finish getting dressed, ere you miss your sword trial. I am certain you want grand stories to take home to your Brice."
"Aye," Kodey agreed, and moved to obey even as Yvain departed.
Several minutes later he was back upon the tourney grounds, moving through the crowd of knights, spectators, and entertainers, boots squelching in ground turned muddy by a brief summer shower the night before and the surfeit of activity. Nodding or waving to those who called his name, Kodey made his way to the dueling grounds. For this he did not require a full suit of armor; simple mail, sword, and shield would serve him best. Nor did he wear a helm—a risk, but one he would take, for Chastaine and Lyon alike had advised being able to see well. That as much as anything was likely to spare him taking wound.
Kodey smiled as he saw a long sleeve flapping at him and crossed the muddy field to look up at Isemay.
"You are here at last, good sir," she called down from
the stands. "I feared none would come to give my husband a sound thrashing. I am happy to see I shall not be disappointed."
Kodey swept her a deep bow. "I would hate to disappoint a lady," he said, laughing.
"Then do not," Isemay commanded with mock haughtiness, "but go forth and thrash my husband."
"Aye, my lady," Kodey replied, bowing again. "Your wish is my command."
"Do not make her more unbearable than she already is, if you please," Ademar said, coming up alongside him and resting a hand on Kodey's shoulder as he glared up at his wife. "If anyone ever did need a thrashing … "
Isemay sniffed and tossed her head. "Be off with you, husband, and receive your thrashing nobly."
"Aye, wife," Ademar replied, rolling his eyes before sketching a bow of his own. He had started to say more, when a herald called their names, voice sharp and piercing above the din of the crowds.
Kodey exchanged a brief smile with Ademar as they headed to the center of the combat field and took position at their respective ends. High in the stands, at the front and center point, was the grand duke, who signaled to the herald. Nodding, the herald called out the start of the bout.
Kodey wasted no time, but went straight to the offensive, drawing his sword as he moved. He brought up his shield to knock aside Ademar's defensive swing, encountering a shield himself, and knocked it hard enough to sway Ademar's balance briefly. Ademar recovered more quickly than he had anticipated, however, and Kodey found himself in the defensive position. He laughed and kept the position for several more swings, arms jarring from the force of the blows—Ademar was no slattern with his blade.
Blow after blow rained down, blocked and parried and dodged as he was driven back. But then Kodey lunged forward—not with sword but with shield—swinging out hard and knocking into Ademar's with enough force to send him stumbling. Only then did Kodey bring his sword up, driving a struggling Ademar back and regaining the ground he had sacrificed in order to steal back the offensive.
In the next moment, however, he was the one taken by surprise. He could not even say for certain what happened, except that Ademar had quite clearly been holding back in regard to speed until that moment. Were it not that he was quite running out of breath, Kodey would have laughed. This was ever so much better than true battle. He threw himself into it with renewed fervor, using every trick he had learned in order not to be pummeled by Chastaine and Lyon.
Sometime later, although he knew not how long, the grand duke's voice rang out, far louder and sharper than even the herald had been. "Enough!" he bellowed. "Combatants, you have done enough."
Kodey immediately ceased, grinning at Ademar, who offered one of his own. Lifting their swords, they knocked them together before turning and kneeling before the grand duke.
"You show yourselves well, combatants," the grand duke said, motioning for them to rise as he began to clap. The people around him followed suit until the applause in the small field was deafening.
Over all of it, louder than even the herald and the grand duke, was Isemay. She let out a sound that could only be described as a shriek and jumped down from the stands—Ademar bellowing all the while for her to behave—and bolted across the field toward them.
"Woman," Ademar groaned, "you are an affront to decency and decorum."
Isemay laughed and threw herself into his arms, and Kodey snickered as Ademar did not really put up much fuss about the kiss she placed upon his lips. He laughed all the harder as the ruckus around them increased thrice over, shaking his head as Ademar and Isemay made a proper show of things. 'Twould make him jealous save he was simply too happy to be bothered.
"I do wonder what your grandfather will have to say about this," he laughed as Isemay let go of her husband, looking briefly at where the grand duke had his face buried in one hand.
She grinned as she embraced him and kissed his cheek. "Oh, I am certain he will tell my father that is what comes of being too soft with his daughter, but privately he will be impressed and pleased and proud. He spoils me."
"Aye, that he does," Ademar groused, but the effect was ruined by his far-too-pleased expression.
Kodey sheathed his sword and abandoned his shield—there were young boys aplenty willing to take such things back for the ability to brag about which of them had done what for whom. He stretched out an arm to Ademar, who grasped it with a warm smile.
"We shall have to arrange a private rematch someday, Kodey."
"Aye," Kodey agreed. "Mayhap you will both visit Castle Triad sometime and we can have another bout then."
"Oh my," Isemay breathed, long sleeves fluttering as she drew her hands to her chest, eyes fastened on something behind them. "Might I kiss him next?"
Ademar scowled and turned sharply around. Kodey turned at the same time—and could not believe his eyes. "Brice!" he cried out, and bolted across the field as fast as his feet would take him. Surely he had taken a blow to the head or the jousting had done him in more thoroughly than he had expected. Only at the last moment did Kodey recall that what Isemay had done to Ademar would not be looked well upon if he were to do the same to Brice, although he wanted nothing so badly as to throw himself into Brice's arms and kiss him. The last moment was, however, a trifle too late. He was spared crashing into Brice and toppling them both only because Brice shot out an arm and forced a halt.
"Brice, what are you doing here?" Kodey demanded, grinning. Had Brice truly come to see him? "Did you witness my sword bout? Did I show myself well? How long have you been here?" He faltered to a stop when Brice only frowned, the expression worsening as he looked around them, lingering on Isemay and Ademar—and turning positively cold as his eyes landed upon someone Kodey could not see. He twisted in the grip Brice still had upon one shoulder and saw him glaring at Yvain.
No. Brice was here and had given him the ring, and whatever foul mood had a grip, Kodey would not let it remain. He knew immediately what would distract. Shaking off the hand still upon his shoulder, although he was loath to lose the touch, he summoned his best smirk. "Did you see the bout I faced for you, my lady?" he demanded.
Brice's eyes immediately snapped back to him, widening in surprise. Kodey's humor abruptly died, lost to the same constriction of his throat he had suffered upon reading the inscription in the ring. "Thank you for the ring, Brice," he added. He wanted to say so very much more, but he did not dare, for what if Brice turned him away? Better to always wonder than face that final anguish.
"You are welcome," Brice said, and the faintest of smirks curved his mouth. "Who made you aware of the inscription?"
"Mayhap I found it all on my own," Kodey challenged and he was not flushing.
Brice laughed, and oh how Kodey never tired of hearing that sound, even when he was the victim of it. "Nay, I think not."
Kodey sighed. "His Grace noted it and made it known to me."
As quickly as a snuffed candle, Brice's good humor went out. He glared as coldly as he had before, gray eyes hard as stone. Reaching out, he snagged Kodey's arm and jerked him roughly forward. Any other time, Kodey would have been more than content to be pressed so close against him. "We are departing," Brice said curtly.
"What?" Kodey demanded. "You have not met my friends and there is the banquet, and I cannot simply leave before thanking His—"
"His Grace is a cruel murderer," Brice spat the words viciously. "We will no longer be mired in the plots in which the dukes dwell."
Kodey shoved away, glaring angrily. "Murderer? Nay, Brice—"
"Be silent," Brice snapped. "We depart; that is an order."
"I see," Yvain cut in, expression somber. He looked at Brice. "You went to the capital to learn more of my trouble with the brigands."
"Aye," Brice snarled. "I learned—"
"'Tis not what it seems," Yvain interrupted, and something in his tone of voice gave even Brice pause. "I simply do not want de Capre to know certain facts about what transpired at the bridge that night."
"What facts might those be?"
Kodey startled at the man who suddenly drew close as though from thin air, and he realized immediately who this was and why he had stayed out of sight until Yvain's words compelled him forward. Yvain looked ill and did not draw his sword, although the Duke de Capre's blade was leveled at him. "Enough, knights," the grand duke bellowed. "Your behavior is unworthy of your stations. Sheath your swords and attend me in my quarters." He pointed to Kodey and Brice. "You will attend me as well." He turned sharply around and strode off without waiting to see if his orders would be obeyed, knowing full well none would dare disobey.
Kodey glared at Brice, not entirely certain why he was angry … only that Brice was the source. Tearing away from the grip on his arm, he bolted toward the keep, ignoring Brice calling out his name.
Brice wondered morosely if he should not simply run himself through with his own sword; well and truly had he bungled everything, and the sympathetic looks he received from de Capre's men were salt in the wound. He stomped angrily toward the keep, watching Kodey's swiftly retreating form until it finally vanished from sight. This was not how he had wanted the matter to progress; he had hoped to take Kodey peacefully away, back to Castle Triad, and close the entire wretched affair.
Kodey had looked so happy —so comfortable—and that girl had kissed him (although Brice could clearly see she held him only in friendship) and all he had wanted upon seeing Kodey was to pull him close and kiss him until Kodey thought upon none but he, until he wanted nothing but to return to Castle Triad and Brice. Instead, Brice had acted precisely like the short-tempered, jealous bastard he ever had been, and now Kodey was mad at him and any pleasure he might found because of the ring was now well and truly gone. He had acted rashly, foolishly, and was suffering the consequences. If Lyon were here, he would have leveled a sound beating upon Brice.
Once inside the keep, it took only asking a passing servant before he was all but pushed straight into the grand duke's solar. He immediately sought and found Kodey standing near the grand duke, just off to the right. Kodey shot him a dark look, and then pointedly looked away.
