Chapter 18 #2
I look at Huang from Villa Loyola, who understandably looks a bit stricken. Nobody likes to win by default. It's almost as humiliating as getting a black card yourself.
"I'm sorry," I say to him.
"Yeah, sure," he says, a little uneasy. "Whatever." He walks off back to his teammates.
I spin and go back to Kai, to the bench. It's only Lanz back there, Cal off bouting.
“Polish up your saber, pretty boy," Kai mutters to Lanz. “Looks like we need our trusty alternate because someone got the axe.”
"Yeah, I saw,” Lanz whispers. "What the hell was that?"
I'm wondering the same thing myself, Kai.
Kai says nothing, just sinks to the bench, bracing his head with one hand. I crouch beside him. “Kai, what's going on?"
"Yeah," he says, "sorry. Threw a wrench in our chances for a shutout, I guess."
"I don't care about the bout," I say. "What's wrong with you?"
Kai looks up. His eyes meet mine.
"You're better than that, Kai," I say.
"Yeah, well, guess I'm not." He shrugs. "Hair trigger temper got the best of me again." He practically chucks his saber to the ground by his feet.
"Lanz," I dart a glance over at our alternate. "Go start warming up. You'll be in against Mountstuart on Sabre."
Lanz nods. "Okay."
Kai doesn't look up.
"I'm sorry," he says, after a moment. "I barely fucking slept last night.”
The ball. He'd gone, but barely. Stayed at the edges. Skulked around until it was time to go home. To take Gwenna home. I don't say anything. I wait for him to fill the silence.
"She's too skinny," he says at last, his voice low.
"Who?"
"The Queen of fucking England.” He rolls his eyes. "Gwenna," he says, then adds, “dumbass."
I want to look back at her, but I don't need to, because Kai is right. I could feel it when we danced.
"I don't think we're taking very good care of her," Kai mutters.
My fist tenses involuntarily.
"Nothing has happened to her since she got here," I point out. "She's been kept perfectly safe."
“Yeah, and I didn’t say she wasn’t safe,” Kai says. Now he looks me in the eye. "I said we weren't taking good care of her. Those aren't the same thing."
I can trust you without forgiving you.
I swallow hard, and stare, unseeing, at the fencers a few strips away.
"Yeah," I say at last. "Go take a breather. Outside. Get some fresh air. Jt reset your head."
"Why?" Kai says. "What's the point? I'm stricken off this tournament. I'm out for the rest of the season, King. Do you forget what a black card does?"
"Did I say it was about winning the season?" I look at him sharply. "You can't insist on taking care of someone else and not yourself."
He stares at me.
"We'll pull you back up," I say slowly. "That's why there's four of us. Not everything has to rest on your shoulders, you know."
Kai doesn't say anything. But he gets up, unzips his jacket a little, and stalks off.
When he's gone, I take his place on the bench, staring into space, trying to reorient my head for my bout that's coming up in a few minutes.
Out of habit, I pick up his saber, just to keep things tidy, and as I do, as it rotates just barely in my hand, I see the gleam on the foible near the safety tip.
Oil, from the Prior at Arms. But it looks…
I pick up my own weapon. Compare them. Mine's got that sheen there too, but barely. A fingerprint's worth. Not enough to stop anything. But Kai’s…the oil from the Prior's anointing is thick, almost paste-like, clogging the tip.
My blood runs cold.
I glance toward the VIP box. The Prior at Arms sits motionless, hands folded. Watching.
He did this on purpose.
To test Kai. To see if he'd keep his composure even when cheated.
And Kai failed.
I glance at the timetable. Shelton’s warming up on the strip, but I have time. With Kai's saber in my left hand and my foil in my right, I stride purposefully over to the box.
I feel my father's stare settle on me as I approach. I nod to him, nod deeper to the prior at arms, who sits blankly to his right.
"Father," I say. "Your…grace."
I look down at the two weapons in my hand.
What was I even going to say? That they'd made a mistake?
There's absolutely no way. Prior at Arms, despite his white habit and retiring outward demeanor, is an expert swordsman, an Olympic qualifier, or so the rumor goes.
No one knows. He wouldn't have done something so stupid as an accident, but that means he must have.
I meet my father's gaze, and it's full of fire.
"A shame," he grits out, "about your brother."
Before I can answer, the prior-at-arms lifts a gloved hand. "Wrath," he says, "is a sin. Our path is littered with frustrations. One must always be even-handed and steady in mind. No matter where they may arise. Whenever they arise.”
My throat tightens.
I don’t want to believe it. He’d really sabotage a bout just to make sure that Kai would play it cool—especially knowing full well there was no way that would actually happen?
And at the same time…
At the same time, there is nothing I can say.
I could go to the armorer and report the interference, in theory, but I can't just tell on a White Brother like that.
It'd be unthinkable. Besides, the referee was right.
Kai could have always asked for a re-inspection, but he didn't. He just blew up.
That's the line he crossed, and there's no going back.
This was not right. Yet there's nothing I can do to undo it now. The rules are the rules.
“Caliburn versus Mountstuart," calls a referee. "Foil fencers, get prepared."
"That's you," my father says tersely. "Isn't it?"
I nod.
"A yellow card already," he says, even lower, so maybe only I can hear. "Don't make it worse by being late."
I nod again, more diligently.
My chest and throat are burning as I return Kai's saber to the sidelines and take my place.
Whatever focus I had is obliterated.
The rest of the tournament is a blur. Mechanical, automatic, swift. I take Mountstuart easily, Villa Loyola with a bit more effort, but come out on top both times. Cal wins too, both with healthy point margins, and Lanz…
"I'm sorry, King.” Lanz chews his lip hard, rubbing his forehead. "I haven't really been training saber enough, and that Mountstuart guy is fast as hell, and…”
“It’s okay." I grip my water bottle and drink it. Watch from our bench as the officials tally the remaining points. "We still won."
"Yeah, but it's not enough, is it?"
Kai. He's reappeared from wherever he went to. Arms folded.
"Not with the league standings,” he goes on.
On my other side, Callahan blinks, his hair stuck damp to his forehead. "What do you mean?"
I tense my jaw, doing mental math on the scores. I don't want it to be true, but Kai's right.
"We're still going to the final," I say. "But we're second in league standings now. Behind St. Ignaty."
Callahan nods. "Right. I mean, isn't that what we expected? One and two, us and them?”
"Yeah, except usually we're one," Kai says shortly. "If they're one, that means…
“That means St. Ignaty is going to host the final,” Lanz interrupts, eyes wide. “Oh shit.”
"Oh shit is fucking right," says Kai. "Hope your passports are all up to date, boys." He sends me a look that doesn't need words to convey its meaning.
Luther Pendragon’s not going to like this.
“Nothing to be done about it now,” I say out loud. “Let's just go be gracious winners and hosts.”