Chapter Eighteen
Pel
By the time he got inside, Pel had managed to calm down sufficiently, so that despite the fact that he still wanted to punch Tor—Torex!—in the face, he didn’t think the desire would be obvious. A large part of Pel wanted to head up to his room and not emerge for a week.
But that wasn’t what today was about. There was no way Pel was going to leave the field to all the Illustrious and Extraordinary winners—or very sore losers. Pel was going to show up, and Torex was just going to have to deal with the fact that he was sharing the attention with Unremarkable Pel.
Pel huffed out a breath as he made his way to the banquet hall. All right, maybe Torex hadn’t done it because he was upset about losing to Pel in the first round. He certainly hadn’t seemed upset. He’d been weirdly cheerful about getting hit, in fact.
But Pel wasn’t sure that it was much better that the other man couldn’t envision a competition that didn’t have magic in it, that he couldn’t just let it be about pure artistry and skill where absolutely anyone could choose to compete.
And he’d looked so stunned when Pel had brought it up, like it hadn’t even occurred to him that Pel might be annoyed by needing magical help to be able to participate. Pel scowled. He was the worst!
As he crossed the threshold of the banquet hall, a cheer went up. He forced a smile onto his face as he became aware of just how many people were watching. He accepted the drink that someone shoved into his hand and took a gulp of it.
No one else seemed to find it the least bit strange that magic had been involved in every aspect of the competition.
His smile was slipping, Pel realized, and so he firmed it up again and took another sip of his ale and looked around the crowded, raucous room. All the chandeliers and crystal lights were lit, making the room bright and welcoming, and musicians gave the event an even more festive air.
Pel had to give his father credit. Although the idea had not been his, he’d gone all in.
Yes, he’d likely done so in the hopes that Torex would report back to his brother how he’d been celebrated in such style and how King Forex treated his subjects so well, but regardless, there were huge mounds of food and countless barrels of ale, enough even for the great number of people who’d come to watch the competition, and who were no doubt delighted by the showing of magic.
It was just… Pel sighed. He’d thought the first demonstration was more than enough to illustrate how effective magic was. That had been the plan, and then there’d been the non-magical competition. Tor hadn’t told him about the change beforehand, and that made it feel a lot like he’d been set up.
But even as angry as he was, part of Pel just couldn’t believe Tor would do that, not after all the time they’d spent together. He’d never mocked Pel about his magic—or lack thereof—and an entire competition designed to put Pel in his place didn’t seem his style at all.
But was blissful disregard for Pel’s point of view any better?
There was another swell of noise, and Pel turned without thinking.
It was Torex arriving, of course, getting his own array of cheering and back-slapping, a loud roar that made it impossible to decipher individual words, which was probably just as well, because if it was jumbled enough, then Pel didn’t have to hear the man be lauded as the most magnificent wielder of magic who had ever existed.
Pel had already known that. He hadn’t thought it necessary to emphasize it yet again.
He realized his hands were clenched white-knuckled around his mug, and he made a conscious effort to relax his grip as he made his way over to the other winners.
Hoping his smile came across as genuine, he lauded them once again for their efforts, thanking them for putting up such fierce competition.
With forced cheerfulness, he made his way through the entire banquet hall, circulating so that everyone who desired to speak to him could do so. He managed, mostly, to stay out of Torex’s way.
Everyone else was so happy, and Pel tried to remind himself that they’d all wanted the spectacle, and they’d gotten it.
That showy magical finish had made it even more exciting for them, because it wasn’t something they normally saw.
Pel was clearly really sensitive about this, and he’d probably made a bigger deal of it than he should have.
But… why hadn’t Torex told him from the beginning? Then, at least, Pel would have known it was coming.
Surely the man knew him well enough to know it hadn’t been a happy surprise?
Out of the corner of his eye, Pel caught sight of Torex again, watched as he grinned and nodded, as he took the time to congratulate the other winners in person and to mingle with anyone who wanted to talk to him.
Was it Pel’s imagination, or did that smile look a little forced?
Impromptu dancing sprang up, and Pel watched as the loud group of drinkers became loud and boisterous groups of dancers.
He wasn’t a huge fan of dancing, but of course the winners of the competition were highly solicited as partners.
Pel steeled himself and danced with the first blushing young lady who asked.
And then he made himself keep doing it, because he’d look like an arrogant jerk if he refused.
Once someone finally screwed up the courage to ask Torex to partner with them, everyone was clamoring to do it.
The King scowled at the scene that was being made, but Torex seemed not to notice if he was dancing with a baker or a princess or a farmer.
He whirled them down the line and knew every step effortlessly, because of course he did.
Pel wondered how the man could be such a contradiction.
Was he really just a product of society, and he hadn’t noticed how the change to the competition would make Pel feel?
Because he’d seemed genuinely horrified when Pel had told him, and although he seemed to be having a lovely time now, his smile slipped just often enough for Pel to be left with the impression that he was faking it just as much as Pel was.
How could they both be miserable?
Torex danced with Larexa and then with Bavil—and then there was a great clamoring from the crowd, and Pel found himself paired the High Prince. They stared at one another stiffly for a moment, and then Pel bowed awkwardly, Torex returned the gesture, and they both tacked smiles on their faces.
Torex really was an accomplished dancer, and under any other circumstances, this might have been pleasant.
Just at the moment, it was pure torture.
Pel wanted to run, and he wanted to grab onto Torex and shake him…
and maybe there was part of him that wanted this to be a real dance that they were doing because they wanted to dance together, and that just made the irritation and confusion surge higher in Pel.
They stared at one another every time they met up in the dance again, entirely fake smiles on their faces as the crowd cheered and clapped around them.
They had to go through three dances before the crowd seemed satisfied, Torex laughing and assuring everyone that he needed to catch his breath and grab a drink before he expired in the middle of the floor—or hadn’t they noticed him running from arrows earlier?
There was much good-natured laughing, and they were finally able to separate. Pel was thirsty, too, but there was no way he was going to the refreshment table at the same time as Torex.
He realized that they hadn’t spoken a single word while they’d been dancing.
Pel was still angry, but the lack of normal interaction also stung. Torex disappeared without another word, and Pel made himself look away so he didn’t keep staring after the other man like a complete fool.
Slipping off the dance floor, he found a chair near the far wall where he could surely sit for a minute or two. Someone sat down beside him. Resigned, he turned his head to find that it was his brother. He raised an eyebrow. Bavil held out a cup.
“I thought you might be thirsty.”
Pel examined this, but there didn’t seem to be anything objectionable in it.
“Thanks,” he said, taking the drink and sipping at it.
Lemonade. Their father was really committed to this endeavor if he’d sacrificed some of the lemons grown in Alossa.
Bavil nodded and rose to his feet. “Congratulations. You did great today.”
He was gone before Pel could respond.
It seemed like a very straightforward compliment, but it couldn’t be… could it?
Pel stared down at his drink and wondered when life had gotten so complicated.
Well, it certainly hadn’t grown less complicated when a certain High Prince had shown up and seemed determined to turn Pel’s life upside down.
Why had he clapped loudest when Pel had won, but then decided that he simply had to add magic to the mix?
Why was he laughing and dancing with everyone here but he’d spent the entire dance with Pel just staring at him, eyes weirdly somber even with that meaningless smile tacked on?
They were friends, or Pel had thought they were, and it certainly didn’t seem as though Pel was the punchline of a joke, not the way Tor was acting. So maybe instead of running away, Pel should have demanded an explanation.
He couldn’t imagine that any explanation would be adequate, but maybe there was something. There were nebulous hopes swirling around his head along with all the doubts.
Tor had come to ask him what was wrong when he’d realized Pel was upset. Even if Pel thought the man was a fool, that had to count for something, didn’t it?
And Pel couldn’t get answers unless he actually listened.
Suddenly, Pel couldn’t wait until the dancing and feasting were over, but they obviously had a mind of their own.
Reluctantly, he continued to mingle and try to be gracious with everyone who wanted to talk to him, even if magic was what they wanted to discuss.