Page 18 of Untempered
The dream had then shifted to my knight pledging himself to my service and training me in the sword. And public combat, were I involved, would of course make everyone respectme.She’s as powerful as any man. As her father. It would make me the first woman to own land since Barloc conquered The Lands that Were.
But weapons took years to become proficient with, and I didn’t have years.
There were ways around it. I could’ve put an arrow in my father’s eye a million times over. But, as I’d told Isolde, the language of La’Angi was the sword.
Why I felt like I’d lost someone dear to me, I had no idea. The dreams of childhood lit no lamps, and I glanced over to check that Yasmine hadn’t noticed my wandering attention. Her eyes were still locked on the group of men tormenting the one brave enough to seek my favor earlier, and polite enough to accept rejection with dignity.
“As if you wouldn’t do the same for every one of them,” she said, seeing my attention following her own, her lips curved in displeasure. “It makes them feel big, though, to risk naught and mock those who do.”
I hummed in agreement and moved my eyes to the field, breathing through the sudden rush of grief that sat across me like a wet cloak.
Perhaps it wasn’t so unusual that I’d wanted to learn the language my father spoke.
Perhaps it wasn’t so unusual that I wanted him to stare up at me from the ground, his eyes wide and shocked.
Perhaps it wasn’t so unusual that I wanted him to know I was better than him.
But I wasn’t a child anymore, and it was a lot safer to disappear into obscurity. Anyway, the bitter, pragmatic part of me knew he’d die before he acknowledged me as aught but a failed investment.
“I’ll win this tourney for you, lady Audrey!” shouted a mediocre knight in front of me.
I smiled and it felt as warm as congealed porridge. “Good luck, sir.” I nodded politely, then deliberately swung my eyes away.
It was part of the dance, and I’d done it often enough they all knew my steps.
Isolde leaned over and murmured, “Henry’s up against Mikus next round.”
I glanced over at where the shields were displayed, my stomach sinking. If I’d thought it’d make a difference, I’d have given Henry my favor in a heartbeat. The best I could hope was that he lost without injury.
Chay’s fight wasn’t much to see. He danced around, got his opponent to overextend, then used the opening decisively. “Hmm,” Isolde said from beside me, and I knew she watched, too. Since she was, I didn’t try to disguise my interest and turned to study him as he walked off the field.
From this distance, I couldn’t see how deep and blue his eyes were, or whether he had horsehair stuck to his shirt. But I could see the strength in his legs as they ate up the distance.
Yasmine leaned over beside me. “He’s new,” she murmured. I withdrew, embarrassed, and she gave me a nudge, her eyes sparkling. “You ought to see if he can dance tonight. If he doesn’t fight Mikus.”
I felt ill again. Before I could respond, Isolde nudged me lightly. “Knight from Pia,” she murmured.
I glanced over as he fumbled a block and frowned. “Really?”
She shrugged and didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. I felt her interest turn to disdain as she, too, witnessed his error.
Yasmine smiled over our heads, waving to someone in the crowd. “I’ll tell you about the lupin later,” she murmured, under the rise and fall of talk around us. “When you’re…less distracted.” And the look she sent me was veiled mischief before she stood. “This evening?Afterdances.”
“Yes. Please. And apologies.”
Her smile widened, flashing dimples. “Never.” Then, skirts in hand, she squeezed past us.
Guilt gnawed at me, sitting alongside fascination as I watched the displays of combat. Yasmine’s seat was barely cold before Luca came and settled beside me. “What do you think of Craaig from Pia?” he asked us, rubbing his hands together.
“Passable,” I replied, assuming it was the fumbling knight. One mistake was probably one too many. But, since he was here… “What of him?” I asked, lifting my eyes in Chay’s direction as he walked onto the field again.
Luca shot me a fast grin. “You’ve got a good eye, my lady. I’ve put a fair sum on Chay.” He lowered his voice a little more and said, “He’s a friend.” Then, at normal volume, “I’ve seen him move, some. Not bad in the joust, either. You’d love his horse.”
I doubted it.
Again, Chay won in much the same fashion—skirting the fight, waiting for an opening, then taking it. It wasn’t how most of these men fought. Some of his movements reminded me of the Matri’sion fighting Isolde had taught me.
I felt the unease simmer in my veins and reached for anger instead. I should be able to say that. But I couldn’t. Because Matri’sion were treated like some far-fetched rumor a sly merchant had made up to sell his spices from the north. How could there be a tribe of women, after all? How could they have babies, and who would look after them?
