Chapter 14 #2
Rowan took it without looking at him.
The second knight entered the arena on a black destrier, his armor gleaming silver. He took position at the opposite end from Rowan. Earlier, Ben had called him Sir Geoffrey. Local guy who had been doing this for years. A good rider who knew his stuff.
“And now,” the herald announced, “let the tournament begin!”
The crowd erupted.
Charlie's eyes found Ben again. He'd moved to the sideline, arms crossed, watching. Even from here she could see the tension in his shoulders.
He felt it too. Something off.
Their eyes met across the arena. Ben's expression shifted to concern. He'd caught her watching him, and seen something in her face. They immediately shared the rapport that had kept them alive in the attack months ago.
Charlie gave the smallest shake of her head. I don't know. Just... watch.
Ben nodded once. I've got your back.
The herald raised a flag. “First pass! Riders, take your marks!”
Both knights spurred their horses to opposite ends of the list—the long wooden fence running down the center of the arena that kept the riders separated but close enough to joust without the horses running into each other.
Rowan settled into position, lance couched. Through the helmet's visor, Charlie could just make out his eyes. Focused. Ready.
The flag dropped.
“Charge!”
Both horses exploded forward, hooves thundering, sand flying. The crowd's roar turned deafening.
Charlie's heart hammered. She forced herself to breathe.
The knights closed the distance impossibly fast—forty feet, thirty, twenty—
Impact.
Rowan’s lance struck Geoffrey’s gritted grand guard with a crack that echoed across the arena. His lance shattered spectacularly. It was designed to break safely. Geoffrey’s glanced off Rowan’s guard.
“Five points for Sir Aldric!”
The crowd went wild.
Both riders circled back to their starting positions. Rowan tossed aside the broken lance. Duke ran forward with a replacement.
Charlie watched the exchange as Rowan took the new weapon and adjusted his seat in the saddle.
Was it her imagination, or did he shift his weight differently that time?
“Second pass!” the herald called.
The riders turned and faced each other again. Charlie noticed Rowan's posture had changed. Subtle, but there. He was sitting differently, compensating for something, the way someone adjusted when their chair wasn't quite stable, when their footing wasn't quite sure.
The saddle. Something's wrong with the saddle.
She saw it now—the way it sat slightly off-center on the horse's back, the way Rowan kept shifting his weight to compensate. The way the leather girth strap looked... wrong. Too loose? Too tight? She couldn't tell from here, but Ben had seen it and Ben knew horses and tack and—
The flag dropped.
“Stop!” Charlie heard herself shout, but the herald's voice drowned her out.
“Charge!”
Both horses launched forward.
Everything happened too fast and too slow at the same time.
Charlie's blood went cold.
Her gaze snapped to Ben.
He was already moving.
Ben vaulted the barrier—one hand on the rail as his legs cleared it in a single fluid motion that screamed Ranger training and immediate danger.
The herald turned, confused.
But Ben was already sprinting across the sand toward Rowan's end of the list, and Charlie's brain finally caught up to what her instincts had already screamed. On the edge of her awareness, she heard Viv asking what was wrong.
Rowan was committed. No way to stop a destrier at full gallop. The gray thundered down the list, Rowan's lance leveled at Geoffrey's grand guard, his body leaning forward in the saddle for maximum impact.
Ben was still running, still shouting something Charlie couldn't hear over the crowd's roar.
Charlie grabbed the railing of the Queen's box. “Rowan!”
Her voice cut through the noise—combat training, projection, the ability to be heard over gunfire and explosions and chaos.
Rowan's head jerked slightly. He'd heard her.
Ten feet from impact, Rowan dropped his lance. The weapon tumbled into the sand as both hands grabbed for the horse's mane, for anything solid, for purchase.
The crowd gasped, confused. This wasn't part of the show, was it?
Charlie watched the saddle suddenly coming loose, tilting, Rowan's weight shifting wrong, his hands fisted in the gray's mane but momentum carrying him forward and down as Rowan's saddle slid completely sideways.
He was falling, going under the horse, about to be crushed beneath half a ton of panicked horse—
Ben hit them both at full sprint.
He didn't try to stop the horse. That would have been insane. Instead, he grabbed Rowan's armor—those careful hands that had buckled every strap, that had checked every fitting, now pulled Rowan away.
Ben's momentum combined with his grip yanked Rowan sideways out of the falling saddle. They went down together in a tangle of limbs and armor and sand, Ben taking the impact on his shoulder and rolling them both away from the horse's hooves.
The gray gelding, suddenly rider-less and terrified, veered away from the list. The saddle had fallen completely off and lay in the sand.
The herald was frantically waving the abort flag.
Geoffrey hauled back on his reins, his horse rearing as handlers rushed in from the sides to Rowan’s panicked gray. Viv was screaming.
“Viv, Maddie, stay here!” Charlie was moving before she knew it—over the railing, dropping the six feet to the arena floor, landing in a crouch and coming up running.
She reached Ben and Rowan in seconds. Both men were on the ground, Ben still gripping Rowan's armor.
In her ear, Shane was calling for paramedics.
“Don't move,” Charlie ordered, dropping to her knees beside them. “Rowan, can you hear me?”
“Yeah.” Rowan's voice was muffled by the helmet. His chest was heaving. “Yeah, I'm—I'm okay.”
“Ben?” Charlie's hands were already checking him for injuries, professional training overriding everything else. “You hurt?”
“Shoulder.” Ben grimaced but pushed himself to sitting. “I'm good.”
“The hell you are,” Rowan said.
The crowd was on its feet now, a roar of confusion and concern. People were shouting. Phones were out, recording everything.
Viv appeared at Charlie's side, her queen's composure shattered. “Rowan!” She dropped to her knees in the sand.
“I'm okay.” Rowan fumbled with his helmet, got it off. His face was pale, sweating, but his eyes were clear. “I'm okay, love. Ben got me.”
Shane materialized with two Faire paramedics. “Clear the arena! Everyone back!” He looked at Charlie. “What happened?”
“Saddle failed.”
Shane went to investigate.
Duke ran up, all concern. “My God, Rowan, are you alright? I had no idea—”
“Don't.” Ben's voice cut like a blade. He was on his feet now, one hand on his shoulder but steady. “Not now, Duke.”
Duke stepped back, hands raised. “I was just—”
“I said not now.”
More security arrived. The arena was controlled chaos—handlers with horses, guards clearing spectators who'd jumped the barrier, the herald trying to calm the crowd with assurances that Sir Aldric was unharmed.
Charlie helped Rowan to his feet. The plate armor was heavy, and his legs were shaking. “Easy. You might be in shock.”
“I felt it.” Rowan's voice was quiet, just for her and Ben and Viv. “When I mounted up. The saddle felt wrong. I thought maybe I was just nervous, or the horse was skittish, or—” He stopped. “I felt it shift on the first pass. I knew something was wrong. I just didn't know what.”
Charlie's stomach dropped. “You knew?”
“Not for sure. Not until—” Rowan looked at Ben. “You saw it. Before the second pass.”
“Yeah.” Ben's jaw was tight. “The girth was separating. I saw it start to give.”
“And you ran onto the field without thinking.” Rowan's voice held something like awe. “You could've been killed.”
“So could you.” Ben's voice was matter-of-fact. “Wasn't about to let that happen.”
“King. You and Moose come here.” Shane’s voice sounded grim through the comm.
“Ben.” Charlie pointed toward Shane, kneeling beside the saddle with an official. They walked over to him.
“Take a look at this.”
Charlie and Ben knelt to examine the leather strap. It was still warm from the horse's body. She examined the break point, and her blood went cold.
The strap hadn't frayed. Hadn't worn through from age or use.
It had been cut.
Not all the way through—that would've been too obvious. But deep enough. A clean slice on the side against the horse’s belly, hidden from casual inspection, weakened just enough that under the stress of a full-tilt joust it would fail catastrophically.
Charlie looked up at Shane and met his gaze. She saw her own understanding reflected back. They'd talk. Later. Privately.
This wasn't an accident.
They made their way back to Rowan and Viv. Maddie stood with them, tears streaming down her face. “Oh my God, Rowan! Are you okay?” She looked horrified. “I can't believe this happened. Thank God you're alright. Thank God Ben and Charlie were watching!”
“Yeah.” Rowan pulled Viv close. “Thank God.”
Charlie looked around the arena. The crowd was being ushered out while the handlers took care of the horses. Duke, stood off to the side, looking shocked and concerned and completely innocent.
Someone had cut that strap, knowing it would fail, knowing Rowan would be on that horse, knowing the physics of a full-speed joust would send him under the animal's hooves.
Ben was watching her with that steady, knowing gaze. Warrior recognizing warrior. Both of them understanding what this meant.
The game had changed.
Someone wasn't just leaking information anymore.
Someone was willing to kill.