by Sharon Shinn
He’d won the ones he did play, though. He was supple and fast, and behind his dreamy eyes was a quick intelligence. Justin thought he was probably more dangerous than Torrin, though Torrin was clearly the one all the other cousins admired most.
“Hoop toss,” Arrol said.
“What’s that?” Justin asked.
Torrin was pulling the rings out and lobbing them to the other players in the barn, reserving a pile of the smallest ones for himself. “We throw the hoops in the air—you catch them on your sword. The more you catch, the more points you win. The smallest ones are the hardest to capture,” he added.
Justin didn’t move. “I don’t nick up my sword with game pieces,” he said. Not that his own weapon was currently hanging at his belt; it had been given over to Torrin’s keeping the evening they arrived.
Torrin looked impatient. “No, of course you don’t,” he said. “We use old ones that have been discarded. There ought to be three of them back here in the barn. You can pick the one that feels best in your hand.”
By the Bright Mother’s weeping red eye, Justin thought, following Torrin to a corner of the room. This man will be competing with me till the day I die.
The three swords were indeed fairly battered, and two of the blades were bent out of true, but the third one was in reasonably good shape, though lighter weight than the weapon Justin carried on a regular basis. That might be good, he thought, whipping the blade through the air just to get a sense of its reach and heft. If he was going to use it to pluck objects from the air—
“Where do I stand?” he asked.
They pushed him to the center of the open space, then stood around him. It turned out any of them could throw a ring in the air at any time, from any direction, the only stipulation being that it had to rise high enough to afford him a reasonable chance to catch it. They all agreed on the lower edge of the window set in the pointed slope of the barn’s upper story. Justin positioned himself, raised his sword, and nodded at Torrin.
Instantly, he was in the middle of a hailstorm of metal rings, and he dashed from side to side, spearing them from the air. One or two hit him on the back or shoulder; more than a few fell with a thud to the wooden floor. But he caught a good number, and they rattled against the hilt as he lunged for another one, and another. When all the hoops had been disposed of, he had eleven hanging from his blade. Another twenty or so dotted the floor. He didn’t think it was a bad showing for his first attempt to play—then again, he was always going to fare well at any activity that allowed him to have a sword in his hand.
“Good game,” he said, tilting his blade down so the hoops slid off in a musical clatter. “Do I do it again or is it someone else’s turn?”
No one bothered to tell him if he’d done well or poorly. Torrin held up his hand, and Justin passed him the sword. “Pick up about six rings,” Torrin directed. Justin joined the others in gathering the hoops from the floor, then they all made a circle around Torrin.
“Go,” the young man said, and the rings went flying.
By the time all motion ceased, Torrin had collected five rings. He looked disgusted, but didn’t bother to swear or complain, just handed the sword to his brother.
Hayden only managed to pluck three rings out of the air. Two of the other cousins caught six apiece. Arrol, who went last and therefore was clearly their best player, snagged nine.
Justin began to think that his own performance had been nothing short of spectacular.
“What’s the usual score at hoop toss?” he asked when Arrol had emptied his sword.
“Five or six is about average. Better than seven and you’re among the best,” Hayden said.
Justin arched his eyebrows. No one had complimented him on his own achievement; maybe they all thought he’d just been lucky. “Huh. Wonder how well I’d do on a second try,” he said.
Arrol turned smoothly and handed him the sword. “I was wondering the same thing,” he said in his smoky voice.
Justin stepped to the center again and waited for them to gather up the rings. “Go,” he said, and the air was filled with a flock of flying metal. He stabbed, whirled, stabbed again, convinced that this time the others were releasing all the targets even faster. But when the last ring hit the floor and rolled to the side of the room, Justin had twelve hoops dangling from the blade.
He knew better than to gloat or preen. “Must be my kind of game,” was all he said. “I’ve always been handy with a sword.”
“So have I,” Arrol replied, “but you must be remarkable.”
Justin shrugged and tilted the blade down, watching all the rings pile up on the floor. Ellynor had been right; before this visit was over, someone was going to challenge him to a duel. That it was likely to be a mock battle with all participants still alive at the end didn’t mean it wasn’t going to be fierce and deadly serious.
“Some people try to be good at a lot of things,” he said. “Some people pick one. I picked one, and that’s it.”
Torrin chucked a ring at him, no force behind the throw, and Justin grabbed it with his hand. “I’m guessing there are one or two other things you’re pretty good at,” Torrin said.
Justin allowed himself a small smile. “If they have something to do with fighting, probably.”
Hayden glanced at Torrin. “My sister says you’ve been injured recently,” the younger man said. “Probably wouldn’t want to wrestle.”
Now Justin had to smother a laugh. Had she been trying to protect him? Or was she truly worried about his health? “I’m about healed,” he said. “I can show you the scars.”
That elicited a quick interest from everyone present, so he pulled his shirt up over his head. The silence that followed was profound, and he knew they weren’t just cataloging the fresh wounds, still red enough to look angry. They were reading the history of his life carved into his chest and back and shoulders. It was a fairly detailed and mostly ugly tale.
He resettled the shirt and shook his hair back. He should have had Ellynor cut it before they arrived; he was starting to look as shaggy as Cammon. “I could fight if I had to,” he said, “but I don’t know that I want to wrestle just yet. Just for fun.”
“No,” Hayden said. “Well—Ellynor told us we couldn’t even ask you to.”
They all laughed at that. As if women’s words carried any weight! Arrol knelt on the floor and began returning the hoops to the wooden case.
“Almost dinner,” Torrin said suddenly. “Let’s go back to the house.”
CHAPTER 43
THE only times Justin had been allowed to see Ellynor in the past three days had been at meals, and so he looked forward to them with more than the usual anticipation. Tonight it was a little hard to find her, since the ranks of family had swelled by another fifteen or twenty—new arrivals who’d come in while he was showing off for the young men, Justin supposed. Tables had been set up in the large dining room that opened into an equally large sitting room, and there was room for about sixty people to sit together in one more or less continuous space. Surely that many were gathered there now, clusters of adults talking with great animation, packs of children running and screaming around the chairs. Chaotic and noisy, but everyone seemed happy. Glad to be together.
And the food smelled wonderful.
Justin spotted Ellynor waving at him from the main table in the primary room, and he worked his way through the crowd, nodding politely. Everyone stared at him, knowing him not only for a stranger, but for the stranger who was the reason they had all convened. The younger girls smiled and ducked their heads. Any man under the age of thirty watched him with a measuring eye. The older women assessed him, too, but for different reasons, he thought. Will he be kind to Ellynor? Can he be trusted? For what reasons did he win our girl’s heart?
He finally reached Ellynor’s side and surreptitiously put his hands on her waist, kissing the top of her head. “Sit,” she said, and pushed him into a chair. “I have to help serve.”
“Did
you cook, too? I don’t know what I’m smelling but I can’t wait to eat it.”
She smiled, pleased. Her face was flushed with heat from the kitchens. She was wearing a simple gown set off with a beautiful collar of black opals. All the women wore similar gems on their hands or around their wrists, Justin had noticed, and a few of the men wore heavy rings set with the same kind of stone. Senneth had once said the folk of the Lirrens wore black opals to honor the Dark Watcher. Ellynor had resumed hers as soon as she stepped back inside this house. “I helped with some of the meal,” she admitted. “Sit. I’ll be back.”
It took a while, but eventually every table was laden with tureens and baskets and serving plates, and every chair was occupied. The dishes were passed around from hand to hand, and there was much talk and laughter among tables and between rooms. Justin filled his plate, ate every scrap on it, and filled it again.
“What’s in this bread?” he demanded of Ellynor, taking his fourth piece as a basket passed his way again.
“Isn’t that good? It’s the salt bread I told you about.”
“There’s more in it than salt,” he said emphatically.
She laughed. “It’s feast bread. Only made for special occasions.”
He watched her as he chewed and swallowed. “Am I a special occasion?”
“Well,” she said demurely, “we are.”
Her attention was briefly claimed by the woman on her right, but she soon turned back to Justin. “So what did you do to amuse yourself while I was working hard in the kitchens?”
He grinned. “What have I done every day? Proved myself to your brothers and your cousins.”
She rolled her eyes. “What was it today?”
“Hoop toss. Ever play?”
“No. I’ve watched it, though. Arrol’s usually the best.”
Justin nodded. “He was pretty good.”
She waited, but finally had to ask. “So? How did you score?”
He grinned. “Better than Arrol.”
She looked pleased. “Really? That must have impressed Torrin.”
“Oh, I think it did.” He glanced away from her to scan the tables. He eventually found Arrol seated deep in the heart of the adjoining room, carrying on what looked like an intense conversation with an older man. “The one who impressed me was Arrol.”
Ellynor glanced straight at her cousin as if she had known exactly where he was sitting. In fact, she probably had; she probably could close her eyes right now and recite exactly who had taken what place at every table. She was linked to these family members the way Justin was linked to Senneth and Tayse and his circle of friends. He could almost feel the bonds between them, thick and tangible as woven rope. “He’s always been one of my favorites,” she said softly. “But he’s grown so quiet lately.”
Justin tore a fifth piece of bread between his hands. “Why? What happened?”
“Oh, the woman he loved declared herself bahta-lo and went to live in Gillengaria. In Ghosenhall, in fact.”
Justin shrugged. “He could follow her, maybe. Join the royal army, settle down with her somewhere in the city.”
“I don’t think so,” Ellynor said dryly. “She’s married to the king.”
Justin almost choked on his bread. He grabbed his glass and gulped down half of his wine. “Arrol is in love with Queen Valri? Valri is a Lirren girl? Are you sure?”
She looked surprised. “Well, of course I’m sure. Everyone knows it.”
“No one I’m acquainted with knows it!”
She looked at him helplessly for a moment. “That’s right. I keep forgetting. The people of Gillengaria have no understanding of our customs. You probably never even noticed the patterns in her hair—or knew what they meant if you saw them.”
He thought rapidly, conjuring up an image of the young, beautiful, and wholly mysterious queen. She had flawless white skin, eerie green eyes, and lustrous—but very short— black hair. “She doesn’t have patterns,” he said. “Her hair’s only down to here.” He brushed a finger along Ellynor’s jaw.
“She cut her hair off?” Ellynor sounded distressed. “Maybe—I suppose she didn’t want anyone to know who she was then. I don’t know why.”
“Probably because the noble folk of the Twelve Houses would not think so highly of the king marrying a Lirren girl,” Justin said. “I’m sure they all think she’s from some minor branch of a respectable House.”
Ellynor looked affronted. “The Lirrenfolk are respectable!”
He laughed at her. “Perfectly. But the marlords and marladies have strange ideas about class and station.” He took another, more meditative sip of his wine. “I wonder if Senneth knows,” he said. “About Valri. I don’t think she does—she seems as baffled by the queen as everyone else is.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t tell her. Or Tayse,” Ellynor said. “If Valri doesn’t want anyone to know—”
He just looked down at her a moment, trying to decide what to say. “I’m not used to keeping secrets from Tayse,” he said at last. “But I’ll try.”
The woman next to Ellynor tugged on Ellynor’s sleeve again, and the man beside Justin began to ask him about travel through Gillengaria, so they lost their opportunity for private conversation. Soon enough, all talk ceased as Ellynor’s father stood up and clapped his hands for silence. He was lean and wiry and dark-haired as his daughter. Justin had not spent much time alone with him over these past few days, but he’d judged the man to be an older, somewhat more thoughtful version of Torrin.
“Some of you have traveled far, and all of you have traveled happily to join our family at this time,” Wynlo began. “It seems we will be celebrating a wedding! All of you know my daughter, Ellynor, of course, but let me introduce the man she is to marry. Justin, stand up.”
He came to his feet, drawing himself up straight and keeping his face entirely solemn. Cammon would call that his intimidating look, but, in truth, he was covering a certain unease. He was never comfortable speaking in front of a crowd. He made a small nod to the assembled group and stood until Wynlo motioned him to resume his seat.
“A man from Gillengaria,” Wynlo continued. “But my sons and I have accepted him, and we expect you to do the same.”
“What is his station?” someone called out. An older man, maybe one of Wynlo’s brothers.
“He is a soldier in service to the king,” Wynlo replied. “An honorable position.”
“How did he meet Ellynor?” a woman asked.
Wynlo glanced at Ellynor, who answered. “Most of you know my family sent me to the Lumanen Convent to be with my cousin Rosurie.” There was a low murmur of anger, outrage, and dismay, heartfelt for all that it was quickly subdued. Everyone here had heard Rosurie’s story by now, Justin supposed. Ellynor continued, “I was walking on the streets of Neft, a small town very close to the convent, and a drunken man took me in his arms. Justin came to my rescue.”
The crowd’s response to that was far more favorable. Wynlo took his seat again. Justin guessed that meant that he and Ellynor would be fielding the rest of the questions.
“Did you think he was handsome?” one of the little girls called, and then dissolved into giggles.
“I did,” Ellynor said with a smile. “Don’t you think so?”
“How long have you been in service to the king?” a young man asked.
“I have been a King’s Rider nearly eight years,” Justin replied.