Chapter 1
The sun shone as brazenly as Kaelen’s grin, its beams reflecting off the jousting yard’s sands. Banners of red and gold hung from stands, and merry crowds swarmed the tiers.
Richard sat beneath the royal canopy, grateful for the shade and the breeze coming from sorcerers a few rows behind.
It seemed a poor use of their abilities.
These mages could harness power from the underground Threads, deep ley lines of magic, to perform the most incredible feats, and here they were cooling the royal stands.
But the Lady Chamberlain had insisted. It did not do, she’d chided, for a king to appear flustered by the heat.
Under the summer’s sun, Richard found himself glad he’d listened.
He smiled as another roar erupted from the stands.
Kaelen had just unhorsed Sir Darron with a strike of his lance, sending the man tumbling into the sand.
Laughing, Kaelen lifted off his helm, revealing dusky blond hair ruffled against his brow.
He turned a circle on horseback, thrust his lance to the sky, and the cheers swelled, chanting his name as one.
Richard’s smile widened. In the stands opposite, a boy was perched on his father’s shoulders, waving a flag. A woman speckled with dust was whistling with two fingers in her mouth. Old men were swigging from ale flasks, chortling as they exchanged money.
Happy faces.
Two months ago, this same yard had been a clearing ground for rubble. Masonry pulled down from shattered parapets, carts hauling broken pillars. Two months ago, the bells had rung in warning. The blood-troll had lumbered through the city, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.
Yes, his people needed this. His people deserved song and sport and a day when the screams were of joy rather than terror.
And Kaelen, his brave, foolish knight, deserved to bask in their revelry.
Richard watched the man urge his horse towards the yard’s end, where squires waited.
They jostled each other to help him dismount, and Kaelen laughed.
His head tilted back, his eyes crinkled, and Richard’s heart gave an absurd jolt.
“You are staring, Brother.”
Richard raised a brow at Elara, resplendent in an airy silk gown. “Is that not the point of a tourney, Sister? To spectate?”
“Perhaps.” She hummed and fanned herself. “But most do not tend to spectate with such soft eyes.”
Richard scowled. What was that meant to imply? Ignoring her smug smirk, he swivelled to his left and adjusted the tiara falling from Briony’s curly hair. The girl had turned twelve two weeks prior and struggled with her new, daintier crown.
“It is too hot.” Briony wrenched the tiara off, her cheeks a blotchy red. “How ever do Corwin and Kaelen manage in their armour?”
Richard gestured at one of the sorcerers to send cold air Briony’s way. “Battle does not wait for mild weather, little one.”
She shrugged and bit at her thumbnail. Richard frowned, uneasiness prickling. The girl he knew would have continued to chatter until his eyelid twitched. Recently, however, her silences stretched too long.
Tutting, he tugged her thumb down and kept her hand clasped in his.
Perhaps it was the changes that came with adolescence.
From his chambers, he’d overheard Briony’s laments to Elara—about her rotund, short body, so unlike Elara’s slim figure, and the coarse hairs sprouting above her upper lip.
Certain that Briony would not want her eldest brother interfering, Richard had left Elara to it.
But maybe he should have a word. Assure her that such changes in the body were common and that she remained his bookish little sister.
Before Richard could try to phrase it in his head, a trumpet blared, and the crowd hushed. In the centre of the yard, the herald—an old man with a straight back—brandished his voice cone.
“People of High Ardenia!” he boomed. “Tomorrow’s morning sun shall witness the final match of our King’s Tourney!” He swept his arm towards the yard’s far end. “Behold your champions!”
Two riders emerged. Kaelen, of course, tall in the saddle, armour gleaming.
And—Richard chuckled—Corwin, his brother.
He’d turned twenty-five last month and wore the ridiculously long plume of feathers that Briony had gifted him.
Preening upon his horse, he winked at a cluster of ladies nearby, who shrieked and blushed.
Half the crowd were hooting ‘Sir Kaelen!’ and the other half yelling ‘Prince Corwin!’. Briony stood and shook a fist in time to the chants.
“Kaelen!” she yelled. “Dash his brains out!”
Richard yanked her back, but it was too late. Corwin steered his horse closer to the royal stand and aimed a smile full of teeth.
“Mind your tongue, little pest,” he called, “or I shall teach you to eat sand.”
“Kaelen will teach you first, you big-eared clown!”
Thankfully, the herald’s voice blasted, interrupting what Richard was sure would involve two royals screaming creative threats at each other.
“And now, by tradition”—the herald bowed—“His Majesty shall choose his favoured champion!”
Curious murmurs resounded as Kaelen brought his horse to a halt beside Corwin’s.
“Must I?” Richard whispered to Elara. “Could you not do it?”
“It is His Majesty’s favoured champion, Brother. Not Hers.” She snorted. “Not yet anyway. Wait until I poison your wine and claim the throne.”
“You are welcome to it,” Richard muttered. He stood, his cape billowing around him, and his crown feeling all too heavy as two faces peered up at him. Corwin had his jaw set, eyes bright with expectation. Kaelen puffed up his chest and smiled.
The herald’s assistant hurried between the two horses to pass Richard a garland of roses. He bent to accept it and addressed his people.
“Before me are two valiant warriors. Would that there be two garlands to honour their skills.”
His words were greeted with a few good-natured jeers, demanding a choice. Briony plucked his sleeve and wheedled at him to pick Kaelen. Richard held up a hand, and silence fell.
“And yet choose I must.”
He could choose Kaelen. The knight would beam as if Richard had wreathed him in gold.
The people would clap at their favourite being honoured.
And Kaelen, Richard knew already, would be the winner.
Corwin had unhorsed seven knights during his matches today, but his tendency to twist too early was something Kaelen would make use of tomorrow.
By all accounts, he should pick Kaelen.
But then Corwin’s tantrum would dwarf even High Ardenia’s towering gates. The boy’s pride was a wild thing, too easily wounded, and no matter how beloved he was by the people, he was reckless and a fool when nursing a grudge.
In any case, Richard had never truly been able to deny his own.
With a sigh, he placed the garland on Corwin’s lance. Applause erupted, interspersed with a few boos.
Corwin’s face split into a victorious grin. He hefted the roses high and bellowed, “The king is wise!”
Richard glanced at Kaelen. The knight’s hands had tightened on his reins, but in a blink, Kaelen was shoving at Corwin’s shoulder and issuing playful threats.
“I had no choice,” Richard told a glaring Elara and Briony. “We have to live alongside our dear brother, after all.”
Briony muttered, “Kaelen’s poems are going to be so sad.”
Richard rolled his eyes. Why should he feel guilty? If Kaelen possessed the slightest wisdom, he’d understand.
Nevertheless, the furrow of Kaelen’s brows lingered, and it was with a sigh that Richard leaned back in his seat to watch the crowd thin out.
Families spilled down the tiered steps, children tugging parents towards food and toy stalls behind the yard.
Vendors called out honeycakes and cider.
Squires darted around, hefting their master’s armour and swords.
In the lower tier of the neighbouring stand, bodies were packed close. By the rope partition was a lithe man in a worn jacket that reached to his knees. His cheekbones were on the verge of tearing through skin, and his eyes were milky white.
Blind, then, but he stared right back at Richard as if he knew where to look. A giggling couple bumped his shoulder, but it did not appear to register.
Richard frowned. Something about the man’s tousled mousy hair and full lips rankled at him. Had they met before?
“Brother!”
Richard jerked his gaze to Briony.
“Look, he dropped his stupid feathers!” She pointed with a cackle. “Oh, he is silly.”
Richard’s shoulders sagged. In the yard, Corwin dismounted to hurry after his plumed helm. It must have fallen while he attempted one of his theatrical bows.
Quickly, Richard searched for the blind man.
But the man was already gone.