Page 21 of Feathered Thief

The clash and boom of blows, the shrieks of frightened or angry horses, the earth-shaking rumble of stamping, charging hooves, and the young men’s battle cries and howls all terrified her. A solid blow from a lance or wooden sword or a fall from a horse could kill or maim.

Helena peeked between her fingers. She couldn’t help it!

And then she couldn’t look away. Kazik’s lance had shattered, but the fighting was in close quarters now anyway. While she watched with her hands pressed to her cheeks, ready to cover her eyes at any moment, Kazik blocked a blow from an opponent’ssword, unhorsed him with a shove of his shield, then wheeled his mount to fight another. Kazik was strong and quick, and even Helena could tell that he knew how to use his weapons. He and two teammates worked together, escorting their fallen or surrendered opponents to their team’s corner of the field, where two younger boys, serving as the team’s squires, held them under guard.

When Kazik rejoined the conflict, fewer than ten combatants were still on the field. Six wore red-and-black armbands, yet the battle was not yet won, and one member of the green-and-yellow team was particularly effective at disarming his opponents. When Kazik closed in to fight that worthy opponent, the action became terribly difficult to follow, and Helena couldn’t understand their shouts and orders amid the grunts and squeals from the horses and the clash of weapons. It looked like utter chaos!

She saw a wooden sword swing at Kazik’s head and cried out, clapping both hands to her cheeks. But Kazik blocked the attack with his sword while simultaneously unhorsing his enemy, who lost his helmet in the fall. Just as she shouted in relief and triumph, she realized that the “enemy” he’d just unhorsed was Prince Czwarty.

To the audible relief of many ladies in the stands—especially Lady Kornelia—the imposing young heir to a principality was soon back on his feet and crossing swords with another unhorsed combatant. Both young men looked too exhausted to seriously harm each other. Helena had never particularly cared for either Czwarty or Kornelia, but the prince was Kazik’s friend, and she didn’t want him seriously hurt.

The melee ended soon afterward, and Kazik’s team was declared triumphant. Still in her seat, with people chattering all around, Helena briefly overheard a man seated behind hersay, “It seems the grand duke’s son is a force to reckon with, competent and clever.”

Pride in her betrothed seemed to fill Helena’s chest. Simultaneously, she felt limp, relieved that Kazik appeared to be uninjured but all too aware that another time he might easily sustain broken bones, a concussion, a dislocation, or worse. Even the lucky ones had nasty bruises and abrasions.

She knew she would never understand the appeal of watching war games, and real war had to be vastly worse. Yet she was proud of her betrothed’s skill and courage.

A brief award ceremony followed. Many people were leaving the pavilions, but Helena remained in her seat where she could watch Kazik lead his exhausted horse forward with the others to accept his prize, which might have been a jewel—she couldn’t quite tell. Instead of remounting like the other boys did, Kazik walkedbeside his mare, patting and praising her. Helena couldn’t hear his voice amid the cacophony of whinnies, shouts, and band music, let alone the crowd noise all around, but she could easily imagine his calming tone.

She loved his deep voice, and apparently so did Iga.

His eyes gleamed in his dirt-caked face as he scanned the crowds. Several people shouted congratulations and waved to him. He waved back, too exhausted to smile. He seemed almost disoriented. Was he searching for her?

When he passed her pavilion, she stood up and called his name. His head turned, their eyes met, and his dirty face brightened. Helena read her name on his lips as he approached the platform, and she knelt on the dirty footrest to reach down to him. Their fingertips touched.

“I must tend my horse and clean up, but then I will find you.” He looked even worse at close range. Sweat blended with dirt, and blood crusted his face. Helena glimpsed worry—or wasit anger?—in his eyes. “We must talk,” he said, his voice deeper than she remembered. “In private.”

Foreboding flooded through her. “What’s wrong?”

He glanced to either side, then set his jaw and shook his head. “After I clean up, I will find you. My father is plotting to?—”

“Kazimierz, you must make haste.”

Helena recognized the grand duke’s voice, deep like his son’s.

Anger flashed in Kazik’s eyes, but he bottled it up. “Yes, sir.”

Then he turned back to hold her gaze. His lips didn’t move, but she heard his voice inside her head. “Find Geoffroi behind the castle, past the gardens. He’ll keep you safe. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can. It’s important.” A chill of apprehension washed through her as he hurried away.

Without once pausing to think of her father, Helena left the crowded field, craving peace after so much noise and conflict. Kazik would find her, but why did he seem so angry? She’d been happy when he requested her token, but now . . . A dark cloud seemed to hang over her. Or was it magic?

Fear, hope, and speculation whirled through her mind while she made her way through the dispersing crowd and began climbing the terraces and steps that made the castle’s hillside accessible. Once at the top, she hurried to the royal flower gardens, but as soon as she passed along a path between sweet-scented roses, lilies, and lilacs, the path that should lead away from the castle, she seemed instead to get closer.What in the world . . .?

She stopped to regain her bearings. There was the castle, bristling with battlements. Could anyone see her from its windows?

In the other direction, tall though she was, she saw only more hills beyond the gardens. Surely, if she walked directly away from the castle, she would find an end to the winding paths, gazebos, fountains . . . Maybe she was on the wrong path? Shecouldn’t even find a gate to exit the gardens, much less a magic doorway to a meadow like Kazik had described to her.

Worry and fear seemed to dog her steps. She felt . . . watched.

Hearing unfamiliar voices from somewhere behind, she thought of asking for directions but instead slipped into an alcove, hoping to go undiscovered. Empty chat with strangers was the last thing she wanted just then. Tears burned her eyes, though she couldn’t have said why.

Screened from the world by vines and flowers, she sat on a handy bench. Maybe the world would make better sense after she rested for a few minutes.

The voices drew nearer. She closed her eyes as if that might make her invisible.

“She is an awkward creature,” a woman’s voice stated, laced with amusement. “So very tall! Nevertheless, it was cruel to annul their betrothal only days before his fifteenth birthday.”

Another voice responded: “But what else could His Grace do? The boy’s grandfather, our Royal and Imperial Highness, would never allow the royal heir of Wroclaw to marry so far beneath him. The boy must marry a cousin to keep the family line pure.”

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