Page 47 of To Touch A Silent Fury
“Each and every one of you who means to take part in the Laithcart Games must hereby swear upon their oaths to the Triad to respect tomorrow’s outcome.” He commanded the room too easily; the ever-present threat of his status as the Sighted Heir and the promise of his red eyes was enough to strike fearinto even the bravest man. “You will pledge your support to the victor, and the wife they will gain thereafter. None will wage war, no matter how tomorrow plays out, no matter who wins and who loses.” He glanced at me for a second, and dread filled me as he finished his speech. “No matter who dies.”
The room was quiet for a moment, and then the chorus of support began. A cheer rang out, and then another. Princess Derynallis wore a smile, the first one to touch her eyes that night, and it chilled me more than even the prince could.
I did not move, and I did not cheer. I forced a smile onto my face as the first man pledged to respect tomorrow’s events, no matter how they played out.
They believed they were coming to a gentleman’s agreement. They believed he meant to ensure peace between all nations, and a fostering of good will that no man here would wage wrongs upon another by his marrying of me. Of course, the only people they believed would die tomorrow would be at sword point in the mud of the rain-soaked arena.
They had not seen what I had seen in Langnathin’s eyes when he spoke those final words.
The Dragon Prince accepted oath after oath, and I stood frozen like the perfect smiling doll trapped in Sollie’s music box. A ghost girl again, so far removed from my own body I could hardly remember to stand and breathe.
One by one, each man in the room agreed to stand by whatever happened tomorrow. One by one, each man agreed not to argue when the Dragon Prince hatched his plan tomorrow and murdered me.
13
Tani
The jousting was horrible. I hated watching it, even when nothing happened and the pair failed to make any contact. I was glad for the tinkling pink beads covering my near-constant grimace.
The mud churned with every yelping approach, squelching and splattering underfoot as riders ran their bucking heads at one another again and again. The crowds jeered and waved, whooping if their countryman knocked a shield, or yelling at a splintered lance.
I held my breath each time, waiting for the show to be over. The morning’s bout had been attended by only a quarter of an arena, and it wasn’t until nearly half the pairs had run against each other that it reached half its capacity. Now, as the final pair glared at each other, both still firmly seated, the arena was full.
There was an air of anticipation, as if the previous hours were nothing more than light entertainment before the real show. And maybe that was true, for of the thirty-one contestants, onlyfive were unhorsed. Four provoked by a knock, and one thrown by his horse. Five men out of the tournament for good, whom I would not be prevailed upon to marry. The one unseated whom I recognised well was Baron Feltsheaf, the larger Tastelands man who had called me Nox-cursed the night before. His fall was hard, and I winced when he needed two men to help him limp feebly through the mud and out of my sight.
One man walked straight into the next round unchallenged, given Duc de Fleur’s last-minute decision to withdraw left him without a viable partner. No one else had withdrawn in the night. I tried not to think about that and consider its implicit connotation that all thirty-one of these men were willing to take me as their wife.
I looked around again, straining my eyes to make out any faces across from us, or in the currently empty royal box.
“I’ll tell you the moment I see him.”
I heard the Thread’s sighed words beside me, but I still could not stop myself from looking. Finally, after craning my neck throughout the full arena, I slouched back against the wall and looked at Ersimmon. “He said he’d be here.”
Thread Ersimmon rubbed his face. “Yes, well. Perhaps his mother wished to spend some time with him.”
“Langnathin is gone, too,” I said.
Thread Ersimmon hummed, unhelpfully.
“You did not sour his stomach to me.” I didn’t make it a question, because it wasn’t one.
“I offered to turn away any suitors not to your liking,” the Thread said. “As he is not competing, I saw no need.”
Loopholes. I swear the Brotherhood lived for them, and it was honestly tiring. In my nerves, I found my temper easily pricked. I narrowed my eyes. “Do you not find it strange that they are both gone?SethandLangnathin?”
“Of course I find it damned strange, girl,” he grumbled. “I was the one who wanted you to stay in your room, remember?”
“And give him a sitting target? A private room where any assassin could slip inside? If he means to kill me, he will have to do it where everyone will see.”
Thread Ersimmon shook his head. “I suppose there is some terrible logic to that. But the clouds are looking black.”
I stared at the arena floor, my eyes blurry as the squires moved the lances and fence posts from the mud, clearing the field for the upcoming battle. “You think it will rain again?”
“That is not what I meant, and you know it.”
A dozen bannermen ran into the space, running laps as their supporters cheered in recognition of local crests. I recognised Sparrospen’s from the bunch, and his opponent’s, though it was hard to be sure at our distance. From the people cheering, it seemed these were all the Tastelands squires.
In the wings of the arena, twenty-six men readied themselves to fight. Soon, there would only be one left, and he my Fate Bound husband.
