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“PARDON ME.” ADELAIDE darted between a page leading an enormous gray destrier and a knight decked in full heavy jousting armor. Dresden waved to her across the chaos of knights, attendants, and horses. A squire ran past with a panicked expression, his shouted “sorry, my lady!” muffled in the rattle of armor and stomp of hooves. A white horse lowered its head, and she spotted the back of Regulus’ head, his black locks curling near his neck. She dodged the end of a lance as a page walked by.
Regulus turned as she approached, his face wrinkling into a wide smile. “Good morning, Adelaide.”
“Good morning.” She held out a strip of dark green cloth that matched her sleeveless dress. The sleeveless style wasn’t fashionable, but her skin welcomed the warm sunlight and the cooling gentle breeze. Honestly, as pale as some of these Monparthian women were, they could stand to ditch sleeves on occasion.
Regulus took the cloth, letting his fingers slip over her hand and down to the fabric. “You look beautiful.”
Adelaide took in his armor, bulkier and thicker than yesterday’s sword-fighting armor. “You look handsome and heroic.”
His face contorted in a grimace but returned to a pleased smile before she could even blink. “I’ll look for you in the stands.”
“You better. Try not to break anything other than your lance.”
“Here I thought the lady visited her knight before a joust to wish him luck.”
“Please.” She smirked. “I have a feeling you don’t need luck.”
“A little extra luck never hurt anyone,” he said with a shrug, his tone teasing.
Her heart fluttered. “All right.” She reached up and grabbed the back of Regulus’ neck, pulling his head down to hers. Her fingers wove through his hair as they kissed. She stepped back, her heart beating fast, her emotions a whirlwind of light and song and beautiful, perfect things. Her fingers slipped off his neck. He opened his eyes, a dazed look on his face. She bit back a chuckle. “Good luck.”
“I think you broke him.” Dresden held a fist over his mouth. From the twinkling in his eyes, he appeared to be trying not to laugh.
Regulus blinked. “Don’t you have something better to do?”
“The only thing I have to do is tell you to get to the lists before you’re late.”
“I thought that was my job.” A thin young man walked closer. He had a mess of dark blond hair and a short, patchy beard. He held a helm in one hand and clutched the reins of one of the tallest destriers Adelaide had ever seen in the other. The muscles across the black stallion’s broad chest rippled as he stomped his foreleg.
Adelaide gasped in admiration. “Is this your horse?”
“This is Sieger.” Regulus moved to the horse’s shoulder and patted its thick neck. He pointed to the youth. “And that’s my squire, Harold.”
Adelaide held her palm out to Sieger. “He’s gorgeous!” Sieger rubbed her hand with his soft muzzle.
“Bad news, Reg,” Dresden said. “Your horse has stolen your lady. You’re only handsome, but he’s gorgeous.”
She shook her head at Dresden, then looked back at the horse. Sieger’s wavy black forelock tickled the back of her hand as she rubbed between his eyes.
“He likes you,” Regulus said. “He’s picky about who he lets touch his face.”
“I’d best let you get to the arena.” She scratched under Sieger’s chin. “Take care of him, Sieger.” The horse whinnied, as if agreeing.
Regulus tensed. His hand moved to his belt, but he wasn’t wearing a sword for the joust. Adelaide followed his icy gaze as she turned around. Nolan stared at Regulus with obvious rage and a little confusion.
“Competing, Hargreaves?”
Her stomach twisted at the venom in his words.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Regulus said flatly.
Nolan shrugged, his armor creaking. A vein in his temple pulsed. “Sure you’re in good enough shape to hold your own with a lance?”
“I’ll manage fine.”
“Hm.” Nolan shifted his gaze from Regulus to Adelaide. His eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head to the side, considering her. “You look...enchanting, my lady.”
A feeling like a ball of hot lead settled behind her sternum. He knows. Oh, Etiros, he knows. She swallowed against the tightness in her throat.
Nolan eyed her token in Regulus’ hand. “Hopefully you don’t regret that.” He offered a curt bow and continued on, followed by a squire leading a large white horse with a braided mane and tail.
“Hey.” Regulus put a hand on her shoulder. “Ignore him.”
She forced a smile and laughed nervously. “Yes. I’ll see you soon.” She rushed away, weaving between knights and mounts and servants.
Minerva frowned as Adelaide approached. “What happened? You look frightened.”
Adelaide gulped. Her fear was that obvious? “Nothing. Everything’s fine.”
“You don’t sound fine.” Gaius shook his head. “Shouldn’t have let you go alone.”
“Nothing happened. I just...” What could she say? Gaius didn’t know her secret. And there were so many people around.
Gaius’ expression softened. “He’ll be fine. He seemed all right last night, and he’s strong. If he has anywhere near the skill on a horse that he demonstrated yesterday on foot, I’m sure he’s in no danger.”
“Thank you, Gaius.”
As they walked toward the stands, she pulled Minerva back. With their arms linked, she leaned in close. “I need to tell you something about last night.”
Minerva glanced at her but said nothing.
“I messed up. It was an accident. I saw Regulus on the ground, getting pummeled. I didn’t mean to. It just happened.” She glanced around, making sure no one appeared to be trying to overhear her whispered conversation.
“What happened, Adelaide?” Minerva’s hushed words came out in a rush.
“Fire. I threw fire at them. I said I had a torch that went out,” Adelaide added in response to Minerva’s horrified squeak. “But, I think they bought it. Most of them.”
“Adelaide...”
“Regulus knows.” Adelaide lowered her head, keeping her voice as quiet as possible. The sounds of the chattering crowd also headed to the joust helped hide their conversation. “You were right. He’d seen magic before. He didn’t care, and he promised not to tell. And I trust him.”
“Then why do you look so worried?”
“Nolan.” Her lower lip trembled. “I saw him just now. The look he gave me...something he said... I think he knows.” Her breath came out shaky.
“Are you certain?” Minerva clutched Adelaide’s arm, her fingers digging into her skin.
“He’s at least suspicious. Curious.” She adjusted her arm, and Minerva’s grip lessened. “What do I do, Min?”
Her sister shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m not sure there is anything you can do, other than be cautious and alert. This is why Mother and Father didn’t want you using your abilities.”
“It’s not as if something like this hasn’t happened before,” Adelaide reminded her. “It’s part of why I wanted to learn. To control it.”
“That’s working splendidly.”
Adelaide looked at the ground.
“I’m sorry. That was cruel. It’s going to be all right. Worrying won’t fix it. So let’s enjoy the joust, and figure out what to do if, and only if, this becomes a problem.”
“All right.” She nodded as the tightness in her chest eased. “Good.”
They found some seats close to Baron Carrick’s box. All the signs of the feast from last night were gone, replaced by a tilt, the wooden fence running down the middle of the length of the rectangular arena. Once nearly everyone was seated, a herald sounded a trumpet, and the competitors rode into the lists. People applauded, loud cheers going up now and then as favorites rode past. The competitors, twenty-six in all, rode once around the arena. They sported a variety of decorative pieces, from plumes on helms to full body caparisons on horses. Some knights, such as Regulus, had little to no decoration, and wore simple armor. While all the horses wore criniere armor pieces over their chests, they had a wide range of barding, from full armor to only the criniere.
Regulus received a few cheers from people who had been impressed with his performance in the sword competition. He nodded at Adelaide as he passed, a crooked smile beneath his raised visor. She heard the name “Belanger” from someone seated lower down in the stands and strained to hear, even though her gut told her she shouldn’t.
“Well,” a man said, “he traveled all over as a mercenary. Probably developed a taste for foreign women.”
“Not to be crude,” a woman said, “but it seems fitting, doesn’t it? They’re both mongrels of sorts.”
A loud cheer as another jouster rode past drowned out the conversation. Other conversations filled her ears, and she couldn’t hear any more. Adelaide’s eyes stung. She gritted her teeth. But the woman was right, in a way.
They were both mongrels of sorts, although she hated that derisive term. Both looked down on because of their parentage. Maybe it was fitting, but not in the judgmental way the snobby noblewoman thought. Perhaps that was why they were so comfortable. Why they understood each other so well.
She watched Regulus ride out of the arena, a pleasant warmth settling in her chest. Let them talk. Their talk had never determined her worth, and it wouldn’t define her now. Talk didn’t determine Regulus’ worth, either. And if they couldn’t see him for the good man he was—a man who wouldn’t press charges against his attackers, a man who accepted her secret without question, fear, or selfishness, a lord who treated his knights as equals—their loss.
The first competitors took their lances, and Adelaide got caught up in the excitement of the joust. Baron Carrick had opted to choose combatants at random, rather than using a tree of shields. Apparently last year the right to choose your own opponent had been abused to further personal feuds, and Carrick wanted to keep things civil.
To her right, a knight with a small metal eagle with spread wings on his helm rode a dappled gray destrier with hooves the size of supper plates. On the other side of the arena, a knight rode a blue roan with a spiked chanfron over its face. Hooves pounded the ground as they charged, sending up little clouds of dust. Lances shattered with a resounding crack. The first pass ended in a tie, with both men landing solid hits on the other’s ecranche, the small shield affixed to the left shoulder. Both lances broke. Three points out of a possible four—one for broken lance, two for hitting the ecranche. They had two more passes to secure victory in the round. Unless, of course, one unhorsed his opponent in the second pass.
Adelaide shifted forward in her seat as the knights re-queued. The horses nickered and pawed at the ground, waiting for the squires to release them to charge again. The knights picked up their lances and the squires dropped the reins. A roar went up from the crowd as the horses surged forward, power in the thunder of their hoof falls. The knight on the blue roan struggled to couch his lance, and the tip bounced off his opponent’s breastplate. Eagle knight’s lance crashed into the other knight’s solid visor. The lance exploded from the impact, sending shards flying high into the air. Adelaide gasped, as did most of the rest of the crowd, as the second knight’s head whipped back. His left hand grabbed desperately at the pommel of his saddle as he leaned backward until his back hovered over the blue roan’s flanks. But he kept his seat.
One point for the knight on the blue roan. Four for eagle-helm knight. Adelaide enjoyed the joust for the tension, the uncertainty of it all. The eagle knight’s chances looked good. He just needed to get another good hit. But if their luck reversed in the third tilt and they tied, they would have to take an extra pass. If the blue roan knight could unhorse eagle knight, he would win. She tapped her hands on her lap in anticipation.
The knights charged forward again. Their horses leaned away from each other as they met in the center of the arena. The snap of breaking lances echoed as pieces of wood scattered. Blue roan knight had managed a clean hit on eagle knight’s chest but had missed the ecranche. Eagle knight hit the ecranche and won by four points.
Adelaide applauded. The knights exited the arena and the next competitors entered while servants cleared wood shards from the ground. The matches flew by, not least because of how easy it was to get caught up in the crowd's fervor. Nolan won his match. She didn’t applaud him. He didn’t acknowledge her.
At last, Regulus entered the lists. Green fabric fluttered around his right bicep, tied around his armor. He smiled at her before closing his visor over his face. Only two thin slits indicated where his eyes were under his helm. His opponent, a knight who looked more mountain than man, rode a brown destrier as large as Sieger. How in creation is anyone supposed to unhorse him! A caparison of red chevrons on a field of dark blue covered the horse to its knees. She recognized the heraldry. Must be Sir Edgar Druadan.
Her heart pounded as Regulus and Sir Druadan charged each other. As hooves threw up clots of dirt and horse nostrils flared, they leveled their lances. Adelaide leaned forward, clenching her fists. The impact of their lances on each other’s ecranches and the simultaneous burst of lances into tinder sounded like a clap of thunder. Both men swayed in their seats, but kept their balance. The crowd roared in delight. Adelaide released a shaky breath.
They rode to the end of the arena and wheeled around. Pages handed them fresh lances. Minerva reached over and squeezed her fist.
“Relax!”
“I remember you being similarly tense last time Gaius tilted,” she scolded.
Minerva laughed. “All right, that’s true.”
Her gaze remained trained on Regulus as the horses leapt forward. The pounding of their hooves seemed to vibrate in her chest. Both men’s heads snapped backward as lances met helms. Her eyes widened and her nails bit into her palms. Splintered wood rained onto the ground. Regulus swayed but made it to the end of the arena. Harold turned Sieger around. Regulus shook his head and adjusted his helm before taking a new lance. She looked to the opposite end of the lists. Druadan had also maintained his seat. They were tied.
Her jaw hurt from clenching her teeth. She released a long exhale and tried to shake some of the tension from her shoulders. Both men raised their lances, signaling they were ready. Their squires released the reins. The horses charged. Adelaide pressed her palms together and raised her hands to her mouth, her thumbs tucked under her chin. Hooves thudded. The crowd cheered.
Druadan’s lance pummeled into Regulus’ visor, pushing his head back as the lance snapped in half. Regulus’ lance slammed into the left side of Druadan’s chest, just shy of his ecranche. The lance bowed. Regulus leaned forward, even as his head whipped backward. Adelaide gasped.
Druadan leaned back in his saddle. The broken lance slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground. Regulus’ lance burst, sending out shards like dozens of forcefully thrown wooden knives. Druadan flailed as he twisted backward and sideways over his horse’s flank. He hit the ground with a clang. Regulus had won.
Adelaide leapt to her feet, applauding as a cacophony of cheers, gasps, and boos erupted from the crowd. Regulus leaned forward on Sieger, his head swaying from side to side. She froze. Oh, Etiros, please. Let him be all right.
Harold seized the reins and stopped Sieger. Adelaide looked over the heads of other standing spectators, watching with bated breath. Regulus removed his helm and looked back over his shoulder. He caught her gaze and smiled. Relief rushed over her as she smiled back.
