Page 152 of Bride of Ice
It shot out from his hand and made a loop in the air, then another, and another. Children shrieked as the mad bird swooped at them and finally stuttered to a stop on the grass.
The third craft, painted to match the sky, soared in a lazy circle before halting in mid-air and dropping straight down.
The fourth, decorated with black and yellow stripes like a bee, darted forward at great speed to sting an old woman on her wimple, sending her into gales of laughter.
Colban grinned. Clever Ian had made a whole flock of birds out of parchment. Birds that actually flew. He imagined the lad’s notebook was now littered with dozens of illustrations and calculations he’d used to predict their flight.
Ian sent out a pair of white doves next, which sailed in wavering patterns, side by side. Then a brown owl that spiraled slowly to its demise. A black raven that shot like an arrow from the stage to the sward. Then a large, multicolored phoenix with a long tail that undulated through the air before the beast came crashing down at the feet of a squealing wee lass.
For his final performance, he rapidly unleashed a flock of six birds of different colors, one right after the other. Each made a single vertical loop in the sky, then descended at a gradual angle to the ground in the crowd’s midst. But the last one stopped short when it struck Colban’s chest.
Colban started to chuckle in delight. But the crowd around him had grown silent. He supposed, with his foreboding black garments and black hood, they expected him to have a black mood as well. And he supposed he should appease their expectations. After all, he needed to keep up his disguise. He should pick up the offending object and crumple it in his fist.
But when he retrieved the bright blue parchment and saw the beady black eyes painstakingly painted on its face, the feathers delineated in careful detail, he didn’t have the heart to destroy Ian’s handiwork.
Instead, he threw the thing back. It made half a loop, stalled in the air, and fluttered to the ground. He obviously didn’t have Ian’s flight skills.
The crowd remained silent, and he gazed toward Ian.
The lad had gone pale.
Colban frowned and turned on his heel. Ian couldn’t possibly have recognized him. Not cloaked as he was. Yet he felt like the lad’s eyes had somehow pierced his hood and looked into his murdering soul.
Colban shoved his way through the crowd, leaving before the lad could make his identity known. He made his way past the gates of the castle toward the safety of the pavilions as the soft strains of the next entertainment, a musical consort, floated over the courtyard.
So focused on escape was he, he didn’t notice the pair of ice blue eyes observing him from atop the battlements.
Chapter 39
Watching the hooded man bolt across the field, his cloak flapping as he hastily ducked into one of the pavilions, Hallie knew it was Colban. It had to be. Who else had such a long and confident stride?
And yet there was enough of a sliver of doubt in her mind that she didn’t climb down from the battlements at once to pursue and confront him. It could all be just her wishful imagination, after all.
Why would Colban return to the place where his own kinfolk might recognize him? Where he could be connected to Archie’s murder? It made no sense. Such a risk would be foolhardy.
Even if she discovered itwasColban, what would she say to him? Go away? Perhaps it was best she didn’t find out.
Hallie pressed at her temples. She had to concentrate on the tournament. She would be competing in the sword fights on the morrow. She needed to practice.
Though she’d told no one about her condition, and it was still indiscernible to all but the most observant eye, carrying extra weight in her belly was throwing off her balance. She needed to focus on her form and agility. The last thing she needed was worrying that Archie’s killer was in danger of being discovered.
The stranger never returned to the courtyard. He didn’t come to the feast in the great hall. He likely had a servant bring him supper in his pavilion, where he would sleep for the night.
But she knew she’d see him again on the morrow, for he no doubt intended to participate in the tournament.
All night long, Hallie fought combatants in her sleep. And lost. In her dreams, each time her conqueror removed his helm—whether he was short, tall, stout, thin, dressed in red or yellow or black—it was Colban. By morn, shaken by suffering so many imaginary losses, Hallie rose early, determined to regain her fighting confidence.
An hour on the practice field did her good. She sparred with Jenefer and Feiyan, who had risen at dawn. In no time, she’d found her center again. Renewed and laughing with her cousins, she looked forward to the contests ahead.
Gellir and Brand were still too young to compete in the matches. But rather than observing from the rows of stands constructed on the tournament field, they took up a position as close to the fighters as possible. They mingled with the knights at the perimeter of the field to study their weapons and watch their techniques. Ian joined them, making sketches of the various pieces of armor, inspecting greaves and poleyns and questioning the knights about the pieces’ strengths and weaknesses.
Because there were so many contestants, the first few rounds of matches would occur simultaneously, with two challenges on the field at any given time.
Isabel had been awarded the honor of drawing the names of the competitors from a basket filled with slips of parchment. The winners of each contest would continue to the next match until the field was winnowed down to two combatants. The winner of that final match would be the tournament champion.
For the first match, Feiyan’s name was drawn, along with that of Sir Renard de Bois. Because her fighting style was so unusual, full of clever acrobatics, she handily won the match.
Meanwhile, Sir Rauve triumphed by brute force over his opponent, The Blue Knight.
