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“Really, you don’t know what it means to me to have you agree to be part of my team,” Gloria said to Ilsa. If she were a more affectionate woman, she would have squeezed Ilsa’s hand, but that seemed a bit too much. Gloria took a long drink of her ale.
“Thank you. You know I never get asked to be on melee teams. It’s ridiculous. These men think a woman cannot hold a shield and swing a sword. What I think is they can’t read history books to know how many men Krigadamites have defeated over the years.”
“You started hand-to-hand combat training at 7 while most of these pigfuckers were picking their noses. They’re crazy for not wanting you on their team.”
Ilsa smiled, clearly thrilled that someone finally appreciated her. Krigadamite Befala warriors were some of the best anywhere in the world—skilled, strong, tough, and they knew how to work as a team. All values a smart sponsor would look for when creating a melee team. But all the men saw was that, while big for a woman, Ilsa was smaller than most of the men and did best at archery, a skill not tested in a melee. All while overlooking her mind, swiftness, and ability to read her opponent. Gloria was glad to have her, and in fact, if there had been four more women exactly like Ilsa, Gloria would have asked them all to be on her team and call it a day.
But the other Krigadamites in the tourney didn’t have Ilsa’s focus and experience, so Gloria had to dig up four others for her team. But who? Gloria decided to solicit Ilsa’s opinion, not only because she would have to fight with them, but because if there was one person on the tourney circuit who knew the competitors as well as Gloria, it was the woman sitting across from her.
“So who else?” Gloria asked. “I’ll be entirely honest—in a perfect world, we’d have Nico Xylander.”
Ilsa sighed and shook her head. “He’s good, but the word is he’s already agreed to be on Amund’s team.”
Gloria groaned. “Are you sure?”
The last thing that golden boy needed was Nico Xylander at his side. Most people would think she was insane, but she would rather have Nico than Amund. Or the supposedly great Kostas Roncallus. She still couldn’t figure out how Kostas had beat Rishi in the sword. He was nearly impossibly fast and strong, which was the only reason he managed to defeat Rishi, the technically better swordsman. But that wasn’t what she was thinking about—she was thinking about Nico, and the fact that if she could convince him to switch his short blade for a buckler in the sword contest and straighten out his bow arm, she could make him the champion of this whole tourney.
“I heard it from Swithin Howard,” said Ilsa, “who’s also on Amund’s team.”
Gloria grimaced as much from the bad news as from hearing Howard’s name. The man was a flashy asshole who wasn’t half as good as he thought, and she wouldn’t want him anywhere near a team of hers with his fiery temper. She wanted people willing to work together.
“You know who’s spoken for and who isn’t,” Gloria said. “Of the people left, who do you want to fight with?”
“Now, I know this is going to sound a little crazy.”
“I’m about to turn 26. I’m unmarried. And I’ve stopped talking to my father so I can sponsor a melee team with the inheritance from my dead mother. Crazy is where I live right now.”
Ilsa snorted and took a drink of ale before continuing. “What do you think of Logan Young?”
Logan Young was someone she hadn’t given much thought to. A little past his prime, Sir Logan wasn’t winning many events on the circuit anymore, but he had a ton of experience and brought solid talent in every aspect to the table. Also, unlike almost everyone else in the tournament, Sir Logan had seen battle when serving in the Immani legions. He was big and fierce and knew how to work with a team. Perfect for a melee.
“Let’s go ask him right now.”
And so they did, and just like that, Gloria had the second member of her team.
“Who else are you thinking about?” Logan asked, scratching at a new scab over an old scar on his cheek.
“Well, I have some ideas, but I’d love to hear what the two of you think, since you’ll have to work with these folks. Just don’t try to sell me on Aldenberg or any of the Annenstrukers. Those assholes are all foam and no ale.”
They talked for a bit, and Gloria even admitted her dream of having Nico, only for Logan to confirm what Ilsa had said: Nico had already signed on with Amund. They dismissed the fighters with bad technique who were getting by on luck, superior armor, and fortunate seedings (thanks to her father). Instead, they focused on people with good skills and instincts who would be team players.
“And we should have a nobleman,” said Logan.
“A nobleman?” Gloria scoffed. “I don’t care ratshit for titles; only whether or not someone can fight.”
“It will help us to be taken more seriously,” Logan went on. “And with the seeding and smoothing over other problems. I hate to speak against your father....”
“Oh, please do.”
“But I don’t trust him not to change how the teams get to pick ground at the melee in order to favor Amund and Kostas. With a nobleman, we’ll be harder to screw over.”
Gloria had to concede the point, and they eventually settled on asking Lord Baldwin Ostensen, heir to the Duchy of Severn. He wasn’t ideal—the third meet, at Nordligsby, would coincide with his marriage to the King of Annenstruk’s sister, and once he went off on his honeymoon, he would be lost to the team for the remainder of the tourney. But he could see them through the foot melee in Sanjay Durga at least. They called Baldwin over, and the enthusiastic young earl agreed, but immediately had to run off and write his fiancee to let her know he would be headed to Sanjay Durga before their wedding, instead of coming straight to Nordligsby from Keneburg.
“What about Rishi Zaman?” Ilsa suggested next.
They discussed his assets—great swordsmanship, which would be huge in the melee. But they also went over his possible drawbacks—he was young and they had no idea if he could work with others. Yet at the end, they agreed they liked him personally, and thought he would fit in well with the team.
That decided, and with only one position on the team left, Gloria finished her ale in a single swallow and blurted out, “What about Quin Porcher?”
“That kid is impressive,” Logan jumped in. “Where’s he been all these years?”
“Spilling drinks on women in Newshire,” Gloria grumbled, remembering quite well her introduction to the man. “He has a few quirks I’d like to beat out of him, but he rides great and did better in the sword and joust than anyone could have expected.”
“The fact he got as far as he did in the joust in that armor on that horse says a lot,” Logan pointed out.
“And he was going great in the sword until he had to fight Rishi, and Rishi can make anyone look bad in the sword,” said Ilsa. “And I really liked him when I met him at archery.”
“But do you think he can work with a team?”
Ilsa nodded enthusiastically. “I think he would be so excited to be asked, that he would do anything you wanted.”
Gloria let that “anything” go, trying very hard not to think about how firm Quin’s body had felt when he had run into her in the Broken Lance, or the blue of his eyes. And most definitely she would not think about his very fine seat in the saddle. “Well, that’s a possibility then,” Gloria said. “Let’s go talk to Rishi. He’s been with Quin a lot and will have thoughts on him.”
Rishi was only too happy to fold at his card game and then agree to be a part of their melee team. “I really didn’t think anyone would ask. Thank you so much. It’s really a pleasure to be on a team sponsored by you.”
If Gloria had been a blusher, this would have been the moment. Luckily, though, she had a focus as sharp as a Befala’s krigsvard. “You seem friendly with Quin Porcher,” she said nonchalantly, sipping from the ale Logan had fetched for all of them. “What do you think of him?”
“Quin would be fantastic!” Rishi beamed. “I joked with him before the sword event that I would take him out easily, but I’ll be honest—he was one of the tougher matches I had before that last one.”
They discussed Quin’s attributes through a mug of ale, Gloria taking in what the other members of her team thought of Quin, but spending even more time in her mind on what she had written in her notebook. For years, she had tried to watch tourneys dispassionately, only looking at the results, not allowing herself to get caught up in names and titles. Sometimes a fighter earned his fame, like Nico Xylander. But others, like Amund Linwood, were overrated because of their looks, charm, and their possession of “a mysterious something,” as her father famously said, that did not hold up when you looked at the overall results. Yes, shiny armor and an outrageously expensive horse could help. For instance, she had no doubt that if she had put Quin in the Duke of Sortland’s armor and on his horse, the outcome of their joust would have been different. Quin had natural talent, smarts, and determination. With a little polish, he would show up all the dukes and princes for six kingdoms.
“So, we better go snatch him up,” Gloria laughed, hoping everyone at the table wouldn’t hear the slight thickness in her voice. “Which way did he go, Rishi?”
“Off to the banking tent to send home his winnings. With the paperwork the Procellus Bank makes you fill out to take a shit near them, I’m sure he’s still there.” Rishi raised his mug to drink, then slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that word in front of a lady.”
For dramatic effect, Gloria wanted to drain her mug, but it was a little over half full. She managed to finish it, but it took such a long time, she felt as though the moment was gone. “If you’re going to be on my team, Rishi Zaman, then you need to understand that I can make all the sailors of Aryavarta blush with my vocabulary. So no more of this assfuckery bullshit with apologizing to me.” She pushed herself up. “And now to go land our final team member. Shall we meet in the morning, 8:00 at the Green Shield tavern to discuss business?”
“Might I suggest noon?” said Logan.
“Pansy assed bastards. Fine. Noon. Let me go find Quin. Someone try to tell Baldwin the meet time.”
Gloria felt only slightly wobbly on her feet as she made her way from the beer garden in the direction she believed the banking tent should be located. She didn’t know why it made her nervous, the idea of talking to Quin, but it did. He was a poor, no-name knight, who should be flattered that Gloria Weekes, daughter of the great Sir Duncan Weekes, was paying him attention. But the truth was, he was good, better than he probably realized, and she ached to work with him and make him better. The fact he was handsome, with his blond curls and sweet smile, had no influence on the matter.
She turned a corner between two tents, and the far larger and grander Procellus Bank tent loomed before her. It was such a sight, in fact, she lost track of where she was walking and ran into something extremely sturdy. She bounced back and focused on the obstruction.
“So sorry. Are you alright?” asked Quin Porcher, of all the sturdy objects on earth for her to have run into.
“Sir Quintilian,” she answered, smoothing out her dress and standing straight. “Just the man I was looking for. How would you like to be on my melee team?”
He gaped at her, and the ale in Gloria’s stomach roiled as she realized how bluntly she had put the offer. She had meant to seduce him— No, that wasn’t the way to put it. She had meant to...woo? Absolutely not. Tempt? Earstien no. Win over? Yes, that was acceptable. She had meant to win over Sir Quintilian Porcher to her team, not accost him and then scream her offer. Oh well. It was out there now. He would either accept or he would not.
“Well?” she pressed. “Yes or no? Has someone already asked you? Fuck a buck. I knew I’d waited too long. You’ve already committed to someone else’s team, haven’t you?”
“Fuck a...buck? I thought the expression was—”
“Yes, yes. It always struck me that a duck wasn’t much of a challenge, so I prefer to say ‘buck.’ But what about my team, damn it?”
“I...are you sure you want me on your team?”
Gloria shook her head. In all the years she had watched her father train young men in the arts of chivalry, she had formulated many theories dealing not only with the physical aspects of training, but the mental ones as well. However, she’d never watched her father attempt to train someone like Quin. Her father worked with countless arrogant bastards. And he had worked with a few young men who were so uncertain of their talents, they never managed to develop any. But she had never run across someone quite like Quin—a young man who could conquer the world, but had no idea of his own talent.
“Do you not understand you could be right up with Sir Amund and Sir Nicolaus if you got a little training and a decent horse?”
“I will not hear a word spoken against Lilly. She is the finest mare in the Trahernian lands, and I would pit her against—”
“In the riding course, yes.” She attempted to fix her wavering stare on his cheekbones. “Your ride was a thing of beauty. You and Lilly moved as one, and I swear I felt Earstien smile, it was so pretty. Although, you really ought to be more careful of your time.” He tried to protest, but she pushed on. “But she’s not a war horse, and you’re never going to give a decent joust on her.”
“She had never jousted until this winter. I think she acquitted herself quite well under the circumstances.”
“The very fact she acquitted herself well is my point.” She took a deep breath and tried to hold her swaying body still. “Quintilian fucking Porcher, you’re a born fighter, and I can prove it to you if you join my team.”
“I don’t know. I just sent all my money home, and I was planning to stay in Keneburg and train for Nordligsby. I can’t afford to go to Sanjay Durga, and I can’t afford a warhorse. It’s very kind that you think I can do well in this tourney, but I need to catch the eye of a nobleman who can give me a position, and then I’m out of here.”
“That’s bollocks!”
“Oh my! What is all this shouting?” came a voice from behind Quin. Gloria swayed to the side and saw someone approaching. “Miss Weekes? Is that you?”
She squinted, and realized the approaching man was Fransis Sigor, son of the Duke of Newshire, and while he might also be the Earl of Wellenham, he was, more importantly, an old friend from home.
“Lord Fransis,” she smiled. “A pleasure. What keeps you at the Procellus tent at this time of night?”
“I told my father I would keep an eye on the business end of things, and I’m doing my best not to let him down. And you?”
“I came in search of Sir Quintilian. I’m forming a melee team for Sanjay Durga, and I must have him on it.”
Fransis slapped Quin in the back and gave him a hearty smile. “Well, that is the most exciting thing I’ve heard tonight. I’m glad to see you forming your own team. And Sir Quintilian, your performance was a wonderful surprise! A previously unheard-of knight turns up and puts everyone else to shame, and it turns out he’s a Newshire man! You have done us all proud.”
“Thank you so much, my lord,” Quin said with a bow. “It was my honor to, well, honor Newshire.”
Fransis laughed, but not at Quin, rather with him. “And now you’re off to Sanjay Durga with Newshire’s First Daughter of Chivalry to continue the show. This is very exciting.”
“Well, I had not decided yet if I was going to Sanjay Durga.”
“As your sponsor,” Gloria said, “I will pay for your food and travel, so don’t say no.” Quin looked at her, suddenly so hopeful, and she only now realized how poor he was. If that was his only impediment, well, she could take care of that altogether. “And I’m getting you a real jousting horse in Nordligsby if you’re a part of my team.”
“But a horse....” Quin turned his face quickly to the ground. “A warhorse is a terrible expense.”
“I’ll send Harris Evans on ahead to Nordligsby to rent you a horse. You’ve heard of Evans, yes?”
“He writes for the Quarterly, and, well, he’s noted for matching young knights with nobles.”
Gloria was smirking, but Fransis had his head cocked questioningly. “But won’t Evans want to come along to the melee?”
“Not allowed in the country,” Gloria answered. “Long story. Funny one, too. But the point is, he will scout ahead in Nordligsby to give my team the best chance possible. What do you say, Sir Quintilian?”
He glanced up at her from under impossibly long eyelashes, and she stifled a squeak in her throat. “If I’m going to be on your team, you really ought to call me Quin.”