CHAPTER EIGHTEEN #3
I had to get her out of there, far away from him.
But I was still trapped at the king’s feet.
And Lord Brandon, who was again in our entourage, was completely useless, sitting too far from me to speak to or ask for help.
If he would even give it. Something told me he wouldn’t, not unless he saw it as a way to guarantee the success of our mission.
Food was brought out to the pavilions along with endless drinks: wine, mead, beer and cider. Hours had passed since I’d first come outside, and my knees were beginning to ache having sat on the ground so long.
But it was obvious that King Tirian had no intention of letting me sit in a chair—not even to eat.
Plates of fruit, cheese, bread, and small cakes were laid on the red rug where I perched. I could feel the eyes of hundreds on me as I ate slowly and daintily, as I knew Olivay would. And regrettably, passed on the offer of chocolate cake.
The musicians slowed, their last song coming to a close, the dancers wrapping up their performance. The court jester returned, cartwheeling his way onto the field.
He bowed low to the king, then spun on his heels, one hand over his eyes for shade.
“Look at all the faces here, come to see our valiant knights joust.” He lifted up one arm, his fist by his head as if to show off his muscle.
But there was none. “And of course, all of the usual suspects are here. Armorsmiths, farmers, dancers, musicians, our esteemed nobility, His Majesty King Tirian. And of course, seven dozen men named Jaron.”
Laughter rang out across the field and through the seats.
King Tirian was not amused though, one hand fisted at his side, his gray eyes slanting, his face sneering.
“But what’s this? An uptick I see in the king’s men? So many soldiers! So many brave guards. What threat is here amongst so many hot-headed knights, each one with an ego bigger than the last?” He turned again in a circle. “I hear talk,” he shouted, “whispers in the dark! Of chimera!”
And then he looked right at me. “And then I hear there are demonos who will sneak into your beds at night, disguised as your wives, suck out your soul with a kiss and eat your children for dessert.” He laughed. “Oh, and Princess Olivay is here, too.”
My cheeks heated, my heart thrumming. It was just a joke. Not a pointed attack on me. It couldn’t be. How would he know? But from across the field, watching me with his green eyes, and his entire body turned to face me, black armor gleaming, was Jaron.
“Enough, fool,” King Tirian called. “There’s no chimera here! The ones in town were slaughtered. Hunted down and killed by my own guard.”
There were several shouts of support, as well as claps for the king. The soldiers standing guard used the hilts of their daggers to drum against their shields in support.
The jester bowed. “So I have heard of their bravery. The chimera slain.” He mimicked a sword impaling his belly. “But what of the demonos?” He turned again in a slow circle, his finger pointing. “Any woman here could be one.”
“So could any man,” the Hermit yelled. He’d pushed through our pavilion and came to stand at the edge. “How do we know you’re who you say you are?” he asked, his voice affected to be Lord Brandon’s. But I could hear the edge, the anger and the power beneath.
“Too true, my lord,” the jester cried out. “But if you want proof I am who I say, and not an Azete in disguise, then this is for you.”
He turned around, bent over, pulled down his pants, and let out the loudest fart I’d ever heard in my life.
I looked away and covered my nose, even at the distance I sat away from him. I was completely horrified. And disgusted.
But the entire tourney erupted into laughter and bawdy cheers. And a few other men decided it was time to fart. The jester’s crude joke had actually worked in my favor.
Because the soldiers were coming onto the field and grabbing the fool, though making sure their actions were overly theatrical and in jest, before they dragged him away.
No one was looking at me. Only the spectacle of his show, and its disgusting end.
Well, with two exceptions. Brennan. And Jaron.
Brennan’s face was scrunched up, his mouth tight, clearly disgusted by what he’d seen and heard.
But Jaron—he was looking at me with the same intensity as the night before, the same accusation in his eyes.
It had to be a coincidence that the jester made a joke about chimera and Azete in my presence.
It had to be. They were the talk of the country this week because of the attack.
Because it was news. Just as I was news, because of my betrothal.
But my doubts were already creeping in. The Hermit placed a hand on my shoulder.
“Steady,” he hissed. “Just a fool.”
“Are you so sure?” I mouthed, looking at him.
His brows drew together, and he yelled out, “Ah, time for the jousts. Come on herald, redeem the tourney from its flatulence.”
The herald stepped forward, wearing a tunic of blue and red. A moonstag embroidered across the center, a trumpet in one hand. He bowed before the king.
“The games begin at your command.”
King Tirian stood. “Let the jousts begin.”