Chapter 65
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
AUDREY
Oh, you dear, sweet man. What ever happened to you? —Spiced Eggnog in conversation with Man in the Mountain
La’Angi Tourney Grounds
When I took up position it was again without Isolde. She needed rest. That she agreed was testament to the truth. I was running late. The shrug I’d wanted had a hole. My hair had taken eons to untangle. I’d needed cold cloths to reduce the damage tears had done to my face.
Yasmine stayed with me, and Fiona. My wonderful friends held the conversation for me.
They’d been waiting for me, of course. The competitors from the different events were in each corner, wearing sashes, tabards, or shields of the color they bore.
I couldn’t make out a single face in the piles of humans.
They gave the speech. I gave the nod. The horn blew.
I could be on a ship this evening, learning how to sail, making plans to visit the bones of long-lost civilizations. I could meet Elnyta’s other lovers. I could meet their family.
In the bailey is the best location to meet him.
The main bailey had good footing, and decent visibility.
I wouldn’t have to worry about being overpowered.
The guard would hesitate if they were ordered to take me.
I was sure of it. His men wouldn’t, but mine would.
In public. But if I was caught in the bowels of the keep…
I’d draw him out. Somewhere public, like the bailey. The marketplace would’ve been good. Plenty of witnesses. I couldn’t let him get me alone. That was the key to survival. Keep it public. Keep the pressure on. Fight my fight.
Before me the field had turned into a mess of bodies and colors. In the chaos, keeping track felt impossible.
Except for the red group.
Against one end of the field they stood in a formation that was blazingly familiar to me.
Loose enough to move quickly, tight enough to protect one another, they waited until the mess in front of them began to thin.
Those who noticed what was happening balked, turned, and were often tagged before they could gather their fellows to attempt an attack.
As competitors left the field, I watched closely.
Would the reds wait until they were attacked, or risk moving forward?
How many of those men could maintain that formation during movement?
The yellow team fought the blue, and the green fought them both.
Pockets of resistance fell slowly. Those who remained found their fellows easier. They began to organize.
Now. From the lines of the red team, I saw heads turning and lips moving. They were communicating, but they weren’t attacking.
My lungs felt overfull.
Yasmine leant my way a little and said, wryly, “Look at that. Men, working together.” Then she added, “Must be for coin and commendations.”
It was. But…
A group of blues circled yellows. They shouted at each other, then gestured at the reds, clearly calling a truce.
Now. Before the other sides organized.
The teams split and went in two directions, attempting to flank the red team. But reds were deep enough, and loosely formed enough, that they could pivot. On the wind, over the clash of metal against wood and the shouts of the crowd, I thought I heard a familiar voice bellowing commands.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw Thomas, his eyes on the field, a small smile on his mouth.
It was all the confirmation I needed.
When every combatant wearing a tabard not red had thrown their weapons on the ground or left entirely, I watched for him.
It wasn’t hard to find him, because the others all turned to him, too. He was moved from the center to the fore with friendly touches to his back and excited hands waving.
I watched him walk forward, helm under his arm, blue eyes clear, and his stance relaxed. The crowd loved him. They loved that he didn’t posture or grab at fame for himself, but shone the light on me. They loved that he made no bones of being my man.
“Kaelson’ll be proud,” Thomas murmured, in a rare display of approval.
Fuck Kaelson. I’d seen a lot of melees in my time. I was proud.
When had my knight become a general? And how could I address it?
The words were jamming up in my head. He bowed to me, his fist closed tight and held to his heart. Time seemed to slow.
In a few days, that obvious loyalty might well save my life. Or end his.
“Did you enjoy the entertainment, my lady?” Chay called.
“I did, sir.”
“Does our victory stand, my lady?”
There were no rules against anything he’d done, nor could any fault be found in the way they’d fought.
“Your strategy was excellent, your technique good, your communication ample for the task, your lack of casualties impeccable, and,” I thought of the horrors of last year, “your concern for your fellow competitors’ wellbeing was exemplary.
I look forward to meeting you all this evening.
” We were going to need to dip into future tourney’s buckles.
Never had a group been so well organized.
Surely, someone had tried before, and yet Chay had done it. How?
“Red takes it!” the stewards were yelling. “Red takes the melee!”
But the chant wasn’t for the color. It was for the man.
Champion.
Champion.
I felt the ground shake as they called for him. In my head we were here again a year ago, and the stands were silent as I tied a ribbon around his arm, everyone holding their breath, waiting on my father’s approval.
I couldn’t let my father speak to too many people. He’d go for Chay first. Take out the biggest threat. The thought made the world sway.
Thomas’ family would need to go. Amongst all the faire-goers, they’d be safe to leave tomorrow.
They’d get lost in the traffic with everyone else.
No one would recall their faces. They could go to Chay’s lands, rather than Thomas’, or perhaps just a quiet inn along the way somewhere.
Knowing my father would arrive in three days gave us an excellent starting point to strategize from.
If they weren’t contacted by Thomas in a few days, they could go into hiding. I’d send them with money to start anew.
Thomas would die if I did. My father wouldn’t let him remain.
The dress that’d been planned for me for the evening didn’t fit.
I knew the problem. I’d gained bulk through my arms the design didn’t account for and couldn’t flex around.
I had no time, no energy, and no concern for anything, anymore.
I was done. I wanted to be in my tower, with Isolde.
I wanted to make my final splash and climb out of the pond.
I went as a kraken.
Oh, they saved some of the delicate apples that’d been sewn onto the intended dress, draping them over my bare back, decorating my naked leg, dangling one from my elbow and another off the curve of my breast. The shining embellishments fluttered against my skin like a promise.
They hid nothing.
I had nothing to hide.
It wasn’t until I was in the feast hall, saying polite words over the winners and handing out buckles, that I saw Chay, eye to eye. He’d washed up and looked pretty much like he did any day—like he’d be happy to go for a ride, and willing to catch a hilt tossed his way and join me to train.
Never once had I wondered what would happen to Chay if I fell.
I already knew.
The polite words had dried up. He looked at me, holding the buckle with the swords on it, his bright blue eyes patient.
“It doesn’t matter what the occasion is,” I said, slowly. “I never feel like I have quite the right response for you, sir. Everything is trite, or simple.”
“I like simple, my lady,” he said. “I know you value accuracy, and I appreciate that, but simple gets things done, sometimes.”
That was all we needed to do, was get this done. He didn’t care about the buckle, and I didn’t care about the pleasantries. On the cycle went, and us with it, through the feast and finally to the ball.
I’d gone for bold fashions since the tourney started—and in the lead up, too. I’d avoided out and out scandalous designs until tonight, though.
Finally, when I walked in, they didn’t flock to meet me. The ones who were disgusted took themselves out of my path. Oh, they whispered, and I let them. The ones who just wanted a trail of blood to follow discussed strategies to strike.
Those who were unafraid, who saw me as something other than a rich heiress, they stepped forward. I was finally able to have a series of semi-rewarding conversations, progress a number of outstanding issues and double-check a few final pieces of information.
None of that mattered when I saw my favorite captain appear from behind a pillar, silver goblet in hand and dressed as finely as any of us. They were holding a lively conversation with a man I recognized as one of Kadan’s. I hadn’t had a lot to do with him, but I knew him for a merchant.
They should’ve been gone.
The fear nestled up behind my ribs like a bellyful of bubbles you couldn’t move. I glanced at the two people before me, an older couple who dealt in wools and furs, but also had some interesting ideas on buildings. I had no idea what we’d been discussing before Elnyta caught my eye.
“Apologies,” I said to them both, shaking my head a little. “I’ll need to catch up with you both anon.”
How they reacted I didn’t notice nor particularly care. No one reached out to touch me as I crossed the floor now, no good-natured taps to the shoulder, nor a quick nudge and murmured comment.
Being a kraken was lonely, but it was also efficient.
Elnyta saw me coming and stopped, one thumb hooked into the beautiful grey belt at their waist—that looked like it’d cost more than all the boots on their crew—their hair braided and tidied to reveal the places they’d shaved it away from their ears and the designs inked into their skin.
It was less than one day since I’d had them whispering my name in reverence as they fucked me.
They’d promised.
“Pardon us,” I told Kadan’s man, who’d already stepped back when he saw me coming.