by D. E. Morris
“I pray you do well, Sir.”
“Do better,” he teased. “Pray I unhorse every man I am up against.”
With no more words for her, he spurred his armored horse on and disappeared into the pavilion area with the rest of his competitors.
Lilia was teased endlessly as she wove her way back through the seats to try to hide herself among the rest of the ladies. With cheeks as red as strawberries, she couldn't help but laugh at the inquiries all around her. “I have no idea who that was,” she admitted, pressing her hands to her face. “I talked to so many of them.”
“You mean flirted,” Rowan corrected, a wicked grin on her face. It wasn't something Lilia could argue, which only made her bury her face in Mairead's shoulder. It wasn't until the herald wearing a tabard boasting the crest of the McKane family announced, “Prince Connor McKane.” did Lilia even bother to look up. She'd missed who the challenger was but now, her full attention was down below. The knight who'd asked for a favor from her waited on his horse at the left of the field, her ribbon retied to his wrist. He lifted his hand in acknowledgment and the crowd cheered.
“He's jousting?” Lilia whispered, her eyes wide. “He can't joust.”
“He must be able to if he is here,” Mairead offered quietly.
“Jousters, at the ready!”
Squires on either end held onto the horses, the beasts snorting and dancing on their hooves, ready to go. Another squire handed their knight a lance before hurrying back and out of the way.
“Charge on!”
The horses were let go and shot forward with no prompting or utterance of command. They thundered down the field, kicking up clumps of dirt under their powerful hooves. As the jousters raced toward each other with impossible speed, they lowered their lances and aimed for the grand guard that was attached to their shoulders. Both knights made contact, but only Connor's lance shattered and splintered, sending fragments of wood flying behind him as he sped by. He tossed what was left of his lance to the side and grasped the reins of his horse in time to slow the animal down at the end of the list.
“One point to Sullivan for a touch!” the herald announced. “Five points to McKane for a broken lance!”
The crowd cheered and clapped, and Lilia, finding herself both excited and terrified, clutched Mairead's hand. “He broke his lance!”
“He did, indeed,” the older girl confirmed with a quiet laugh. “And you thought he was incapable of jousting.”
Rowan gave an unladylike snort. “He still has two more passes. Don't give him too much credit yet.”
Lilia gave the blind girl a dirty look despite knowing she couldn't see it. “That is your half-brother out there.”
“I know,” Rowan laughed. “That's why I said what I said.”
“Sshhh!” Lilia hissed, clutching Mairead's hand tighter. “They're going again.”
This time, both men ended their pass with shattered lances and the audience roared their approval. Few in the grandstand knew much about Sullivan, a noble from Cieria, which meant most of their attention was on Connor. They watched the way his squires moved about him and his horse with quick precision, wiping sweat from his face and a small trickle of blood from his brow where his helmet gouged him. One squire climbed up on a stool to give him a ladled sip of water, which Connor took, swished around in his mouth, then spat out on the ground. The same squire helped the faceplate of his helmet back down where it belonged before latching it in place.
“Jousters, come about!”
Connor picked up the reigns and turned his horse around. As soon as the herald gave the familiar call, Connor was handed a new lance before his horse charged down the field. The men closed in on one another and there was a loud crack as wood shattered, quickly followed by exclamations of surprise and the distinct thud of hundreds of pounds of armor hitting the sand. One of Connor's squires ran out in front of his horse, throwing his arms up to try to slow the animal down. The other two sped out into the arena to see if Connor was injured.
When Sullivan struck him, he hadn't been seated properly. The force of the impact lifted him from the saddle and threw him backwards, sending him tumbling over the rump of his horse to land on the flat of his back in the fine sand. Everyone in the grandstand was on their feet, trying to see over the list wall to where Connor lay, but to no avail. Lilia had shouldered her way through everyone else and stood at the edge, Ashlynn's arm around her as though to protect her. “Get up, Connor,” the younger woman muttered. “Get up.”
For a change, no one watching made a sound. Everyone stared with bated breath as the two young men lifted Connor's helmet from his head, the only noise coming from competitions being held elsewhere in the village. Quiet words were exchanged between the three of them, then the younger men gripped Connor carefully by each arm and hefted him to his feet. A clap and a cheer began to build at seeing him stand, and when he lifted his hand in a tired wave to show he was alive, the applause grew.
“Look,” Ashlynn instructed Lilia. “See? Look at him walking.”
The younger woman let go of a sigh of relief, but in the next second, her expression screwed into one of worry once more. “What is that in his arm, by his shoulder? See there, wedged up under the grand guard.”
“That,” Jaryn said slowly, a painful wince on his face, “looks to be a piece of a lance.”
Lilia looked at her queen, her brows together. “May I?”
“Of course.” As Lilia rushed away, Ashlynn glanced to the back row toward Rowan. “He is going to be fine, Rowan, but if you want to go as well, Mairead may lead you.”
Rowan only shrugged, feigning indifference that her tight-lipped frown betrayed. “I am sure he will be well taken care of.”
Young men with a lack of things to do took the opportunity to gather as many of the broken lance pieces as possible while Connor was being helped off the field. As she sat back down, Ashlynn watched Connor's squires bring Sullivan the horse that he had rightfully won. “Well,” she muttered, slipping her hand into Jaryn's, “that is certainly one way to start off the competition.”
Luella leaned forward in her throne to look across Tasarin to where the couple sat. “You never told me that Lilia and Connor were courting.”
The blonde woman gave a slight shake of her head. “I do not believe they truly are. He has been to Altaine several times since Mirasean was lost, as has Gianara. They have been working with Killian and Cailin to try to set up a safety network for the displaced dragons and Gaels from the islands that were also destroyed. He has spent more time there than Gia, stating that he wanted to get to know Rowan better. I believe in doing that, he also got to know Lilia quite well.”
“They write letters,” Jaryn added, the twinkle in his eyes giving his words a feeling of conspiracy. “I caught her reading one he sent to her once, all girly and giggly, and know there have been at least two times I sent something to Ibays just after another messenger had left for Lerranyth.”
From behind them, Wessely shook his head and made a sound of disapproval. “Such gossips you all are.”
“And so judgmental you can be,” Ashlynn teased, looking back at her father with a winning grin. As she returned her attention forward, she nodded down the field. “Papa is right. Look, here come the next jousters. Let us keep our attention on them instead of what Lilia and Connor may or may not be.”
“I will only say this,” Luella continued, rubbing a hand over her belly. “It is a shame Fionn and Alanna do not join us more. I think they have done a fantastic job of it in Ibays, and though it would have been convenient to have Connor on the throne in Lerranyth, his sister and brother-in-law are well suited for the position.”
“It would be nice if they were more social,” Tasarin agreed. “At least they are here. I am certain we will see more of them as the week goes on.”
Luella's lips curved downward. “I do hope so. I would like to get to know Alanna better. She reminds me of my mother - a small, meek woman who seems to disappear in
the shadow of her overbearing and much more vocal husband.” Frown turning into a smile, Luella looked once more at Ashlynn. “We should do something this week, we five high queens.”
“I would certainly enjoy that,” Nuala contributed.
“We shall plan on it then.”
There were several more rounds of competition as the morning went on. Out of four more match ups, only one other jouster was unhorsed, and his injury was so bad that he had to be carried off the field. By the last round, the boys had become restless and were playing at jousting themselves behind the grandstand. They took turns on Tiyal's hobby horse, using sticks as their lances as they charged at one another.
The final two knights came into the arena, one on the horse Lochlainn had been feeding, the other on a well-muscled white dappled stallion. An Ibayish noble rode the dark horse, and when Killian's name was announced as the other rider, Rowan gave a loud cheer, making Ashlynn laugh. “Sometimes I wonder if that girl will ever be a lady.”
“That one may be too wild to break,” Jaryn told her with a wink.
A tartan ribbon was tied to Killian's wrist, waving red as he lifted his hand in acknowledgment of the cheering crowds. The herald gave the familiar cry that sent the squires running to their appointed knights with lances, and in an instant, the horses were off. There was a certain precision with which these two men moved, as though they had been doing this all of their lives. Instead of lowering their lances and then sweeping them over the list for a hit, both men lowered at a diagonal, their lances parrying as they passed one another. Each man broke their weapon against the other, giving them both five points each. In the second pass, Killian hit his opponent for a single point, but in return, he took a lance to the head that nearly sent him into the dirt. The watching crowed booed the bad form, only cheering again when it was announced that the knight lost five points for the head shot.
“Is he okay?” Rowan asked, getting her commentary from Vala.
“I think so?” The older girl watched Killian closely, eyes narrowed against the sun glinting off his armor. His faceplate was pushed up and there was a collective groan when everyone saw half of his face covered in blood. The squires were quick to remove his helmet completely, calling for a surgeon. Everyone moved with great speed, knowing there was only a small window of time for Killian to be looked at and be ready for the third pass before he was disqualified. As the surgeon checked him over, the grandstand got a better view at his bloody face.
“My goodness,” Kenayde gulped. “That is a lot of blood.”
“He's bleeding?” fretted Rowan.
“It's a head wound,” Cavalon told her. “They always look a lot worse than they really are.”
Vala squeezed her hand. “The surgeon is leaving and they are putting his helmet back on. He must be well enough for the third pass.”
Rowan's brow wrinkled in thought. “My da has six points and the other rider has none. He'll have to unhorse Da for ten points to win.”
As the horses were turned to face the list, Killian's horse reared and snorted, angry as though he wanted payback for the poor hit. Almost before Killian had the lance in a secure grip, the horse bolted forward, getting a jump on the other knight. He, in turn, gave a mighty kick to his mount and charged on. Both of them brought their lances down, but Killian was prepared just a fraction of a second before his opponent. He drove the tip of his lance into the center of the grand guard, squeezing the lance up under his arm, tight against his breastplate. Leaning forward ever so slightly, he stayed firm in his saddle as a lance broke against him. The other knight was momentarily lost in a shower of splinters before he toppled over the side of his horse and fell into the sand with a heavy thud.
From over by the pavilions, Connor stood watching and gave a hearty cheer at Killian's win. His red hair was still a sweaty mess from his own match, and he was stood in simple trousers and a tunic, free from his armor but not yet as fully dressed as he should be.
“There you are!”
Turning at the sound of the familiar voice, he pointed to the arena. “Did you see that?”
Lilia's face was flushed by the time she joined him. Her eyes ran over his shoulder, looking for a sign of a bandage beneath his light tunic. “Are you all right?”
Connor tilted his head, distracted by Killian's win. “Of course I am.”
“I saw the piece of the lance under your armor. I was so worried it had gone into your shoulder!”
Understanding now, he grinned and pulled on the sleeve of his shirt, tugging it down to expose his skin. There was a small bandage with a red dot in the center. “It did.”
Exasperated, Lilia shook her head. “Why do you look so pleased?”
He laughed easily, covering his shoulder once more. “Every knight has battle scars, Lilia. This is my first real one.”
Try as she may to remain serious, a small smile crept onto her lips. She gave a sigh that would have sounded like irritation if she wasn't obviously amused. Her hands came together before her and she turned to stand beside him, watching as Killian rode past them in victory. “I will never understand the appeal of this sport,” she admitted. “It is so quick and so violent. People have died.”
“People have died,” confirmed Connor, “but usually it's because a jouster is unprepared or under-qualified. Like the man Killian just went up against. He knocked Killian hard in the head with his lance. That means he either didn't lower it in time, didn't lower it enough, or miscalculated the quickly closing distance between them. Seasoned jousters will do that from time to time, but not often. Killian managed to stay in the saddle, despite the hit. Have you ever had a tree fall on you?”
Lilia looked at Connor like he was crazy. “Of course not.”
“Well being struck by a lance is a little like that. Actually, it's closer to being headbutted by a dragon or smacked in the chest by their swinging tails.”
The amused smirk returned to Lilia's face. “I have never experienced those, either.”
“Trust me, it hurts. Anyway, the fact that Killian barely even moved in the saddle when he was hit speaks of a true professional.” There was a sort of awe on his face, something that lit his green eyes with admiration. “I hope I make it to the finals and go up against him.”
“The man who broke two lances and unhorsed a knight? You want to go up against him?”
Connor touched a hand to his ribs as though he could feel the pain from a lance prematurely. “More than anything.”
“You have clearly lost your mind.” With an impatient huff, she turned on her heel. “I am glad you are well, but I should return to the queen. Good day.”
Surprised by the sudden shift in mood, Connor spun and grabbed her arm, “Lilia, wait.” In the next second he let her go, knowing there were eyes everywhere. She stopped, however, which was what he had hoped for in grabbing her. Swallowing, he glanced around at people who were watching them either outright or surreptitiously. “It was kind of you to come and see to my health, my lady. Would you care to check on my horse with me?”
She lingered where she stood, pretending to think it over. “Very well.” With a slight superior lift to her chin, she let him lead the way. Some of the jousters were already out of their armor like Connor. As the pair moved through the area specifically reserved for the knights and their squires, Lilia walked a little closer to Connor so she could speak to him without having to raise her voice. “They almost didn't let me in,” she revealed. “I had to tell them I had a message for you from the queen.”
“And what was the message?”
She laughed lightly and played with a ribbon on her bodice. “I never got so far as to making one up, so I suppose I was lucky they never asked.”
The pair shared a secretive grin and he nudged her just a little with his hip. “Something tells me that you are going to get me into trouble one of these days.”
“Only if you play your cards right.”
He laughed out loud, but under his breath he added, “Li
lia Arterberry, what am I going to do with you?” Her only answer was an innocent bat of her eyes.
Connor's horse was in the fenced in paddock at the back of the knight's pavilion area with three other horses, already cooled down and brushed. The young man clicked his tongue and the horse plodded slowly over to them, a clump of grass in its mouth. When it was close enough, Connor placed a hand on the side of the horse's face and gave it an affectionate pat. “He almost kicked me in the head when I fell off.” When Lilia's eyes widened and she inhaled sharply, he chuckled. “It wouldn't have been the first time.”
“I hate the joust,” she muttered, running her fingers through the horse's mane. “It's so barbaric.”
“Hardly. It's actually one of the more cerebral sports if you think about it. You have to be aware of every movement of your own, your horse, and your opponent. You've also got to be in control of your mind. It takes extreme focus to get all the mechanics of a good hit correct, or a good fall. You have to be detached, yet surgical in your precision.”
Unable to argue, she pursed her lips. “I still hate it.” He chuckled at her again, something he did often, and she decided to change the subject. “I was surprised to see you here. The last letter you sent said that you and Gianara were making some good headway on Dragonspire. You said you didn't think you could get away.”
A thoughtful breath passed his lips. “Things were going well enough there so Gia told me to come. She knew I wanted to do this, but I think she also wanted a spy at the summit.”
Lilia quirked a brow. “So you are a spy now, are you?”
A grimace crossed his face. “I suppose to some extent. We're trying to keep the drags safe and that means keeping our ears to the ground. If there was something to be learned here, it was good that one of us heard it.”
“Did Gia stay in Dragonspire?”