Page 141 of Arrows and Gems
Still, she was surprised at how many contestants had already been weeded out. Luther was no surprise – he’d never been good at archery. But he wasn’t the only nobleman who had already failed. And they hadn’t even made it to shooting from horseback or attempting to catch rings swaying in the wind.
Tobias might have made it this far if he’d shown up. But he still hadn’t returned from Daraigh.
“Next up: Tuck,” the guard overseeing her group called out.
Helena strolled up to the line and took her stance. She pretended to study the target for a moment. Then she slowly drew an arrow from her quiver, nocked it, and pulled back the string. The point of her arrow jumped around like she was struggling to control it.
There might not have been a single soul watching her, but she was having fun playing the part of an unskilled teenage boy with immense luck.
“Bullseye! Five points,” the guard called out, a trace of surprise in his voice.
Helena ducked her head to hide her smirk. Ah, yes, this was great fun. Although her competitors needed to step up their game. She would be disappointed if she was declared the winner before completing all the events.
“Bullseye!” another guard cried out.
Spinning, she sought out the other archer. She thought it was a simple shot, but few men had succeeded so far.
“Five points for John!” the guard called out.
John? Had someone come all the way from Daraigh or Baldur?
Helena studied the cloaked and hooded man walking to the back of the line. He was probably a few inches taller than her, broad in the shoulders, and carried himself as if he wascomfortable with a bow.
Well. Her lips curved up. It looked as if she had at least one serious contender. But it didn’t matter; she was determined to win. Despite what she’d told the council, she had no plans to marry a stranger, even if he was skilled at archery.
Though John certainly was. She watched his next two shots, and he barely paused between stepping up to the line and burying his arrow in the bullseye. And the final shot...
Helena suddenly wished the March day was a little warmer. It would make it more difficult to keep her own hood up without drawing suspicion, but she found herself wanting to see this John’s face. Because a tiny flame of hope began to curl its way around her heart at that left-handed shot, and she needed to see his face to dispel the wild notion that had taken root.
By the time the last few archers finished the round, there were only two men left, aside from Helena and the mysterious John. The next event was shooting from horseback. One competitor fell off his horse the moment he released the reins to draw his bow. The other only managed to catch a single ring with his arrow. Since the test required hooking at least two of the five rings, he was out.
“John, you’re up!”
Helena watched from under her hood as he swung into the saddle with easy grace. His seat was excellent. She tried to distract herself with the names of the Balduran princes. Aidan and... Garrett, maybe? She wasn’t sure, but she was positive itwasn’tJohn. Perhaps one of their noblemen?
He hit the first four rings with no trouble, but then his horse stumbled. The gathered crowd gasped, but he kept his seat and caught the fifth ring with his arrow.
Helena could feel the eyes of everyone present as she prepared to mount. She dallied, hoping John would pass by, but he stopped partway back to check his horse’s leg.
It was unfortunate. But Helena refused to let it bother her. No matter how much she wanted a closer look at his clean-shaven chin.
“Tuck!”
Taking a deep breath to clear the distracting thoughts from her mind, Helena set her left foot in the stirrup and hoisted herself partway to the saddle. When she slid back down, the horse snorted and sidestepped, clearly not enjoying her dramatics as much as she was. Patting its side and whispering an apology, she “tried” again, taking care to be a little less clumsy.
She wished she’d brought her own horse, but that would have given her away. So she would have to make do with this one.
The guard signaled her to start her run, and she pressed her knees into the horse’s side. It jumped forward, almost unseating her. Helena grabbed the saddle, then pulled her bow from her back sheath and sent her first arrow flying toward its ring.
Perfectly through the center.
At the second, she let it go a hair to the side. No sense relieving the tension for the spectators, after all.
The third and fourth, perfectly through the center again.
The fifth was a little larger, so she let her shot go slightly wide again, scraping the edge of the metal hoop and setting it singing.
“It takes skill to appear so unskilled,” a low voice rasped behind her as she dismounted.
