Page 70 of Prince of Shadow and Ash

“What if it scares him?”

Adelaide looked at Minerva. Anxiety gnawed at her stomach.

Minerva chuckled and shook her head. “Based on what I’ve heard, how he acts, and how he fought today, I’m not sure anything scares that man.”

“But what if it’s too...strange?”

“Regulus hasn’t lived his whole life in Monparth. For all you know, he’s met a mage before.”

She hadn’t considered that.

“All right.” Adelaide nodded. “I’ll get to know him more. Focus on that, not whether or when to tell him.”

“Good.” Minerva held out her hand, and Adelaide helped her to her feet. “Ready for supper and dancing?”

Adelaide smiled as her gaze went to Min’s belly. “Only if little Adelaide is.”

“Oh ho, really?” Minerva laughed. “Gaius’ mother is determined it’s a boy.”

Adelaide laughed and hunched over to talk to Min’s stomach. “You’re a girl, aren’t you? We shall throw knives and climb trees and speak Khast and I’ll tell you stories about your mother’s childhood shenanigans.”

“I think not on that last one.” Minerva rolled her eyes as she grinned. “And just because you’re the better knife thrower doesn’t mean you can steal my job.Ifthe little one’s a girl, I’ll teach her like Mother taught me.” Her grin turned mischievous and her eyes glinted. “You can teach future little girl Hargreaves to throw knives.”

Adelaide choked on a gasp as her face flushed. “That’s it, I’m not speaking to you for the rest of the night,Tha Lonri.” She took one final glance in the mirror and headed out, Minerva’s laughter following her.

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REGULUS WALKED INTOthe gate at the end of the jousting arena and looked around, impressed. Benches and tables filled the arena. Lanterns hung from posts positioned around the low walls and in the stands. Candelabras glowed on each table. Commoners crowded stands, taking full advantage of the hospitality of the tournament. They would eat the same food as the nobles, but they weren’t allowed to eat with them. Nobles were already finding seats at the tables in the arena. No one told them where to sit in the spirit of the tournament. All hereditary nobles could compete, and thus all were equal at the tournament. Except they weren’t.

The nobles sorted themselves. Knighted freemen, like Regulus’ knights, sat with the commoners. They could get into the arena if they wanted, no one checked letters of nobility here. A title would suffice. But the legacy nobles made their disdain clear. Even most poor knights felt more comfortable with the other freemen. Within the arena, the wealthier and more famous nobles claimed the seats closest to Baron Carrick’s table, positioned below his viewing box in the center of the arena.

Regulus headed for that table. As one of the day’s champions, he had been invited to sit with the tournament’s host. Baron and Baroness Carrick’s high-backed chairs sat in the middle, flanked by two chairs on either side. A page stood to the table’s left. A couple other winners were also arriving. Regulus recognized the sturdy man with silver hair as Sir Gerald Malone, champion of the archery competition. He hadn’t watched or paid attention to any of the other competitions that day, so he didn’t recognize the tall, lithe man with the red hair and beard.

The page directed Sir Malone to the chair on the far right and directed Red to the next seat. He pointed Regulus to the chair on the far left. Regulus leaned on the arm of the empty chair next to him and extended his hand across three seats to Red. “Lord Regulus Hargreaves.”

The man shook his hand with a grip like a vise. “I know.” He had a deep, commanding voice. “Everyone is talking about you, Lord Hargreaves. I only caught your last fight, but it was impressive.”

“And you are?” Regulus felt a little swell of pride, but kept his posture relaxed.

“Lord Frederick Ganlar, son of Duke Ganlar. Long staff champion.”

Regulus nearly gasped. As one of three ducal families in Monparth, the Ganlars were practically royalty. Three barons and several lords, including Adelaide’s father, owed Duke Ganlar their fealty. What was he doing competing in a tournament held by a lesser noble?

Ganlar laughed. “I know what you’re thinking, Lord Hargreaves. I’m here for the same reason as everyone else. Sport, my friend.”

“Pardon my confusion, but you came all the way from Nueres Duchy to compete in the long staff?”

“And why not? As you can see, I’m good at it.” He held up his hands and lifted one shoulder. “But mostly, I can’t compete in Nueres. Men get nervous about fighting their liege’s heir. They make mistakes they otherwise wouldn’t. Takes all the fun out of it.”

“But...why not the sword?” Sir Malone asked the question Regulus hadn’t dared.

“Because that’s what everyone would expect.” Ganlar stroked his big red beard. “I enjoy surprising people. But mostly I enjoy the long staff. It has its own unique cadence. And the added challenge of not being able to rely on any sharp edges.”

“Speaking of which, that looked to be a nasty cut Sir Carrick landed on your leg,” Sir Malone said. “I’d rather expected you to have a limp.”

“Oh.” Dread circled Regulus’ throat. “It wasn’t as bad as it looked. And the physician did a good job.”

“Not to be crass,” Ganlar said, leaning back in his chair, “but you look like you’re not a stranger to pain.”

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