Page 20 of Feathered Thief

At a loss for words, Kazik simply nodded. He did trust Helena to be true. And he trusted his mother to find a way. In the strength of her encouragement, he threw himself even further into his studies and military training, and he practiced more patience, in his opinion, than should be required by any young man’s parents.

Finally, just when he’d begun to think the day would never come, his mother assured him that Helena and King Ryszard would arrive in time for the melee weekend, the biggest militaryexercise of the season. Kazik’s heart was too full for words, but his mother understood.

Taking advantage of the extended evening light, he headed to the archery range and tried to work out his angst with a longbow. Like everyone else, he had struggled with the unwieldy weapon at first, but now he could draw and shoot a seven-foot bow with better than fair accuracy. He could also effectively wield a lance on horseback and use a sword and shield in hand-to-hand combat. His reflexes and footwork were rapidly improving.

But he was still short.

Would Helena be pleased to watch him fight the mock battle? Would his beautiful betrothed offer him her token? He had dreamed of such a moment for years.

During this visit, he was determined to tell his golden princess how much he loved her even though just thinking about saying those words made his throat tighten until he could hardly breathe. What if she laughed? He knew his fears were ridiculous—Helena liked him. Maybe she even loved him.

And she deserved to know his feelings for herbeforethey married. He wanted to declare his love with no discouraging audience (namely his father) around to coldly inform them that such emotion was unnecessary, possibly even unhealthy, in a marriage. Kazik also wanted no unsolicited observers around to laugh if his voice cracked, which it still did when he got nervous.

He had no idea how to guarantee a happy marriage. He couldn’t ask his parents—he would die before discussing private things with either of them. Also, their marriage wasn’t happy like he’d thought it was when he was a child. A few of his peers were betrothed, but none of them talked about it other than juvenile joking and teasing. Maybe, since military training currently took precedence over everything else in life, they were all too exhausted to care? Or maybe, like Kazik, they cared too much and evaded teasing by avoiding the subject.

Kazik admired his tall, strong, dignified father for his intelligence and his courage and skill in the political arena. And until recently, the grand duke had represented responsibility and the importance of living with purpose and integrity.

But now his father’s relationships with friends and subjects—even with his wife—seemed strained, cold, and artificial. Had he changed that much, or was the change only in Kazik’s perspective? The grand duke frequently vanished for hours, even days at a time, yet Kazik’s magic revealed that his father was still on the castle grounds, concealed by magic. The possibility that not only unlawful but downright evil magic was involved made him feel sick inside.

After shooting his last huge arrow, he approached the distant target to evaluate his success and collect his arrows. Not perfect, but good at such a distance in tricky lighting. The memory of teaching Helena to shoot made him smile. Maybe she would appreciate a high-quality new bow and quiver as a wedding gift?

But he seriously needed to focus on his training. In just a few days, he and other trainees near his age and rank would finally take part in the annual melee—a practice war in an enclosed arena—and Kazik suspected his peers all shared the same blend of excitement and dread he experienced. They would battle with practice swords, not sharpened steel weapons, but wooden swords could cause bodily harm. The danger was real.

Kazik desperately hoped Helena would arrive in time to watch him fight. Or . . . she might witness his annihilation in the battle’s opening moments.

No matter. If he were “killed,” she might worry, and maybe even kiss him.

After all, daydreams do occasionally come true.

7

VALOR AND BETRAYAL

Once again, bad weather delayed Helena’s journey to Mnisztwo Castle. She and her papa arrived well after midnight and hurried to their usual suite. By morning the worst storms seemed to be over, but the morning sky was as gray as the castle walls. On the bright side, the clouds and a breeze kept the open arena and pavilion from being unbearably hot.

The duchy’s future knights, including Kazik, had been preparing for battle since dawn, or so she was told. Helena still hadn’t so much as glimpsed her betrothed.

Colorful flags waved from every support post, and excitement filled the air. This melee wasn’t the first Helena had ever attended, but it marked the first time her father allowed her to sit on a raised bench in the pavilion with other young women near her age. Shivering a little, she felt alone among her peers.

Yet she felt pretty in the new gown Papa had ordered with help from Madame Euzebia, whose royal seamstresses had worked their magic to create a lovely surprise. Her kirtle was a deep summery blue—her favorite color—and the silky white chemise beneath showed at her throat and sleeves. She could not have been more pleased by the way its fit and drape flatteredher late-blossoming figure. Several of the young ladies seated nearby were equally well-dressed and carried themselves with confidence, yet Helena still felt good about her appearance.

Would Kazik notice?

At last, a man shouted something jumbled, the crowd cheered anyway, and with a cacophonous blast of trumpets, twelve mounted contestants entered the field from the right, led by young pages carrying bright yellow and green pennants. Red and black pennants preceded the team entering from the left, and one horseman in that group caught Helena’s attention. She didn’t need to see his face; she simply knew which rider was Kazik. The device of a gold horse and a flying bird intertwined with a red cross on his tabard, and his black steed wore a caparison with the same device—Helena recognized the horse from Kazik’s descriptions as Iga, his favorite mount.

Next, the teams scattered around the arena. To Helena’s complete surprise, Kazik reined Iga into position directly before her, raised his visor to reveal his beautiful eyes, and extended his blunted lance toward her. Nearby, other contestants did the same for their chosen ladies. Helena saw Prince Czwarty—who was on the opposing team—offer his lance to Lady Kornelia, seated further along Helena’s bench.

Blushing, Helena copied what the other girls did: she drew a clean handkerchief from her bodice and knotted it on the lance’s tip. With a glow in his eyes, Kazik nodded to her and withdrew the lance. After untying the cloth, he held her gaze, tucked her token beneath his tabard and over his heart, then pressed his hand there.

She could hardly breathe. He looked so grown up! Helena vividly remembered the way he’d held her hand while he slipped her betrothal ring into place last winter. Would he hold her hand again today? The shyness flooding through her every time shelooked at him . . . she hoped it would go away quickly so they could resume their comfortable friendship.

Or maybe she wanted something more . . . She spun the slender gold band on her finger and hoped he would seek her company again once the events ended.

Kazik lowered his visor, turned Iga around, and rejoined his team as they completed their lap of the arena. Then the riders from each team maneuvered their mounts into line at even intervals, facing their opponents. Tossing heads, snorting, and stamping revealed the warhorses’ eagerness to charge.

All that time, Helena heard the other girls exclaiming about their favorites, and the few girls she knew by name teased her about her betrothed and her token. She smiled, too shy to talk about Prince Kazimierz, but her gaze kept returning to him. His polished armor and chainmail gleamed in the muted light.

Iga pawed the ground. The tension rose, and the riders couched their lances. Then a trumpet blasted, and twenty-four horses hurtled forward in a thunder of pounding hoofs and battle cries, followed by a tremendous clash. A few riders were unhorsed, and one steed staggered to its feet, leaving its rider in danger of being trampled. Helena clapped both hands over her eyes and let out a scream . . . in chorus with most of the other girls in her area.

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