Chapter Two #2
After the meal, Kestrel went to bed with dreams of her dashing knight and stolen kisses dancing through her head.
The morning of the tourney dawned gloriously bright, with not a cloud in the sky to obscure her joy. Since Gerard and other Calla brothers were preparing themselves for the jousting and melee and Father was busy meeting with the family solicitor and other business, Beryl took Kestrel to the fair.
It had been at least three years since she’d been to a fair, and she basked in the childlike delight of trying various sweet treats and indulging herself in shopping for trinkets, laces, and ornaments.
The mature part of herself then fulfilled the responsible obligation to look over at the offerings of herbs, stones, and other supplies for healing magic.
Even more exciting was spotting the Queen and the earth musician turned mage, Beau Thompson, who seemed to be close to Artavian.
Both were back in trousers and Earth-style shirts, seeming to want to blend in and not attract attention, so Kestrel opted to leave them to their shopping.
Then, at last, it was time to head to the pavilion in front of the castle walls and find their seats for the tourney. Father was already there. Kestrel was pleased to see that the box reserved for House Goshawk was near the royal box where Lord and Lady Calla sat with Queen Xochitl and Beau.
The Queen had changed her clothing and was now resplendent in a violet gown of lei silk from Shellandria, where the faelin lived.
The crown she wore was bigger than yesterday’s, twisted gold and copper embedded with tiger’s eye and garnet to resemble flames.
Matching garnet and tiger’s eye earrings and a large pendant completed her ensemble, both stones known for power and protection in magic, and multiple healing properties as well.
Kestrel wondered how Xochitl had attained the rank of purple robes so young.
Her mother, Kerainne Leonine, was a legendary figure in Wurrakia history, had long ago attained the black robes, and was over two thousand years old.
But even with that knowledge, Kestrel had trouble believing.
Kerainne must have trained her relentlessly on Earth, which would have been unimaginably difficult, with that world being barren of magic.
The heralds blew their horns, signaling the beginning of the joust. Kestrel’s thoughts about the new, strange queen immediately fled at the prospect of watching the noble knights demonstrate their feats of strength and having everyone see Gerard ride up to her on his stallion and present his lance for her favor.
Then to see him ride and tilt victoriously for her .
But first the lower level knights went first.
Sir Patrek Guillory and Sir Gordon Wadden were both handsome in their armor and were known accomplished knights, but a smug smile crept on Kestrel’s lips at how much handsomer and higher-ranking Sir Gerald was.
She scolded herself for such uncouth pride and made sure to speak kindly to the maiden who granted Patrek her favor, a green satin ribbon that matched her gown.
“Miss Dormer, Sir Patrek is very gallant and a most worthy suitor.”
Alayne Dormer had been in Kestrel’s group when taking the tests for the blue robes. She and Kestrel had been fast friends throughout those harrowing weeks.
“He is, isn’t he.” Alayne’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink. “He’s come to Dormer Hill twice this season. I think he’s going to ask Father for my hand.”
“Dormer Hill and Guillory Manor are well situated estates. I’m sure Lord Dormer will see the advantages of a joining of your houses.”
Alayne beamed at her. “I pray to the fates that you’re right.” She leaned over and spoke as quietly as possible below the roar of the crowd. “And I hear you’re going to make the biggest match of the decade.”
Kestrel smiled her secret smile. “The news has not been officially announced yet, but there may be a clue for all to see this day.”
“Then I am even more excited to see whose lance will take your favor.”
The horn blew to signal the start of the match and Alayne’s attention snapped to her beloved Sir Patrek. Unfortunately, he lost the match as Sir Gordon knocked him from his horse.
Kestrel patted Alayne’s shoulder. “He still rode bravely.”
The girl nodded, but her shoulders slumped with disappointment and she fell silent for the next five matches.
Kestrel did her best to cheer for all the noble knights and appreciate her years of study that allowed her to recognize all the knights’ sigils and remember most of their names.
Raptor’s Roost was on the far south end of Wurrakia, so Kestel had been schooled at home rather than at the deportment schools in the capitol.
She remembered begging Beryl to teach her how to do teleportation spells, but her pleas fell on deaf ears.
Beryl was old-fashioned in Wurrakian culture, and insisted that a lady must only practice healing magic.
And Father flat out refused to allow her near the capitol until she was ready for marriage.
“There is too much corruption in a city that size,” he’d told her gruffly. “You must remain pure an innocent in every way so that you’ll be worthy of the finest match in the land.”
And now Father’s efforts and Kestrel’s many years of loneliness had finally paid off.
Not only did she indeed have the finest match in the land, but when she married Sir Gerard, she’d live in the capitol full time, have a full social schedule where she’d meet countless noblewomen for teas, attend and host hundreds of parties, and one day rule over the entire country.
A hush fell over the crowd, turning Kestrel’s attention back to the jousting match. A warrior rode forward on a black horse, bearing colors and a sigil she didn’t recognize. A snarling black canine on a silver field.
“Master Lycus Dane!” the herald shouted in introduction.
Alayne looked up at Kestrel with wide eyes and spoke for the first time in an hour. “The Wolf!”
“The Wolf?” Kestrel asked, not knowing him from her books on the noble families or her comportment tutor’s lessons.
“He’s Lord Aylmer’s enforcer.”
Kestrel knew it was rude to stare, but two things about the warrior caught her attention and held it like a lodestone. The first was his unruly mop of black wavy hair, usually a sign that he may share ancestry with the Tolonquan tribespeople at the northern border.
The second was his scars. Kestrel had never seen a man so disfigured.
Harsh white lines covered his face like a map of a craggy mountain.
One scar bisected the corner of his mouth, twisting his lips in a frozen, wicked smirk.
Another scar came dangerously close to his right eye, and had healed in a way that raised one brow above the other.
“What happened to him?” she wondered aloud.
“Nobody knows,” Alayne answered in a low voice. “I heard the last person who dared to ask him was bedridden for a week from the beating he gave them.”
Kestrel gasped at such barbarity and was still unable to tear her eyes from the Wolf. Even though the whole audience had to be staring at him as well, the Wolf seemed to sense her gaze and his eyes, black as sin and cold as the grave, met hers.
Her body froze as chills raced up and down her spine despite the summer sun’s warmth.
Then, almost so quick she could believe she’d imagined him noticing her, the Wolf’s cold eyes flicked to Lord and Lady Calla and Queen Xochitl.
He dipped his head in a bow so curt and shallow that it bordered on rudeness before donning his helm, which was hammered into the shape of a wolf’s head.
The Wolf’s opponent was Sir Briar Rosewood, a knight renowned for his romantic poetry and swordsmanship.
With his shing gold hair, bright blue eyes, and sigil of a red rose on a white field, Sir Briar presented himself as the polar opposite of the Wolf.
If this were a song or story, this match would be good versus evil.
Kestrel chided herself again for such childish flights of fancy. If the Wolf was evil, he wouldn’t be serving House Calla.
And yet, when the Wolf’s lance sent Sir Rosewood flying off his horse higher than any previous man had flown before crashing into the ground, she couldn’t help but shiver.
Artavian Calla then shocked all of Wurrakian society, not only by riding in the joust, but also by presenting his lance to the Queen’s minstrel companion for a favor.
“That’s what they were arguing with Lord Aylmer about,” Kestrel murmured. “Master Artavian loves a man.”
“He’s a bumboy,” Father grumbled with disgust.
Though it was different from what Kestrel was familiar with, she didn’t see any harm in the youngest Calla son being with a male. After all, he had no need to sire an heir, for he had nothing to inherit. Furthermore, he would soon be her brother in law. So she was obliged to view him kindly.
And despite some rumbling disapproval and accusations of Artavian being weak, the mage rode well and defeated Lord Mormont, Captain of the noble guard. Kestrel cheered loudly for him and was pleased at how many joined her. Even Lord Aylmer managed a smile and an accepting nod.
Next up was Sir Mathurin. Kestrel cheered more fervently, knowing that the eldest Calla would be next. Mathurin won his match too.
Finally, the trumpet blew and her betrothed trotted out on a silver stallion.
“Sir Gerard Calla!” the herald called over the loud cheers.
A hush fell in anticipation to see who the Lord of Wurrakia’s heir would approach for a favor.
When Gerard rode towards her, Kestrel’s heart sang. She beamed in triumph as the crowd cheered at the sight of her tying her ribbon in a loop to slide down his lance. She hadn’t paid attention to who Gerard’s opponent was, and had to look away from her betrothed a moment to identify his sigil.