Ashes of Roses (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms Book 4) (5 page)

I stared, but she only shook her head. “’Tis nothing that you haven’t seen before. Now go, and make me proud! Just be sure to be back before twelve hours have passed, for I can’t hold the spell any longer than that!”

As I didn’t trust myself to speak, I only nodded, then slipped out of the stables. No one was watching, no doubt still occupied with cleaning up the aftermath of my stepsisters’ preparations, and so I was able to steal away unobserved. The promised carriage waited a few doors down, and I hurried toward it, accepting the hand of the driver as he lifted me into its interior as if I had done that sort of thing every day. After all, this was my first test. I must make him believe I belonged here, or certainly no one else would.

But he only bowed, and shut the door behind me, then moved on to take his perch up front. I heard him chirrup to the horses, and the carriage began to move forward. Clenching my hands in my lap, I willed myself to be calm.

No matter what happened, there was no going back now.

T
orric

“
W
ell
, I see you’ve managed to make a spectacle of things once again,” my mother commented in the acid tones she’d perfected over the years. “How on earth are you going to choose one young woman from all
that
?” And she pointed with her fan of carved ebony and peacock plumes in the direction of the milling crowd, one that was far more weighted toward the female sex than any crowd at a tournament generally might be.

Of course I would never admit such a thing to her, but I did begin to wonder if she had a point. We had estimated and we had guessed, but we hadn’t known for sure until we opened the gates to the tourney field exactly how many prospective brides might answer the summons. Judging by the brightly dressed throng below, it had to be at least four hundred.

Lyarris, ever the diplomat, leaned forward and smiled at Mother, something I was rarely able to do. “I daresay it looks rather overwhelming from up here. But I trust Torric to sort them out quickly enough. After all, you won’t give anyone who isn’t handsome a second look, will you, brother?”

I shot her a sour glance then, even though I knew she was probably right. After all, what was the point of such an exercise if I ended up with a plain wife? Certainly somewhere among that mass of young women, even now heading toward their seats in the stands, there must be one who was lovely in addition to being intelligent and charming. That couldn’t be too much to ask.

However, I did not deign to reply, but instead scanned the crowds, although at this distance attempting to pick out any true details of their faces and figures was difficult. Here and there I thought I saw a girl whose countenance seemed pretty, or whose person promised to be pleasing. But none of them stood out all that much, and I began to wonder if this tournament had been that wise an idea. True, at the end, after the victor had been crowned, we would all move to a series of pavilions set up beyond the fields, where we would take refreshment, but that was some hours off. And in the meantime I would have to sit up here in the imperial box and pretend to be interested in the doings of the horses and their riders.

Ah, well, better to be up here than down there, sweating under the heavy mail and perspiring even more in concentration. I recalled those days all too clearly; my father had of course made sure I had thorough training in arms, although the chances of my ever having to lead an army into battle were slender enough. At any rate, I had enough experience that I knew it was far more pleasant to be watching the clash of arms, rather than down on the field collecting a new set of bruises that would last for days.

I did note a distinct lack of brightly colored favors fluttering from the warriors’ belts or their sleeves. Most of the men gathered to display their battle prowess today were younger and unmarried, but I wagered that most of the young ladies who were similarly unattached had not wished to bestow their favors upon mere knights or even baronets or dukes’ sons…not when they had set their sights on an attachment far more lofty than that.

“Ah, quite the turnout,” came Lord Keldryn’s falsely hearty tones from behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see him bowing to my mother and my sister, then rising as he surreptitiously wiped at his face with a silk handkerchief, though the day had turned out to be fairly mild.

“My son is quite the prize,” my mother replied, a response that would have sounded neutral to almost anyone else. However, I caught the edge of irony in her tone, and forced myself to remain silent, to act as if I were still engrossed in watching the milling crowd below me.

Although I had decided to let it go, it appeared my sister had not, for she said at once, “Of course he is a prize, and would be even if he weren’t the Emperor.”

My mother lifted an eyebrow, and I held myself still, wondering which salvo she would launch next. But apparently she did not wish to cause a scene in so public a place, for she said only, “Lord Keldryn, my chair, if you would.”

The chancellor hurried to pull the seat out for her, and even waited to make sure her skirts were all disposed of gracefully before he bowed once again and backed away. Good gods, the man was an earl in his own right, and not one of the footmen. But no one dared gainsay Korrelia Deveras, not even the chancellor.

And, most of the time, not even her son.

Frowning, I took my own seat, and Lyarris settled herself beside me, easily and with no assistance, though her gown was quite as elaborate as our mother’s. My sister wore an expression of pleasant neutrality, but I could tell from the glint in her eye and the small twitch at the edge of her jaw that she was not quite as placid as she appeared to be.

Ah, sister, I love you, but I do not need you to fight my battles for me…

By this point most of the crowd had settled itself on the long rows of benches in the stands, and I saw the first two combatants readying themselves at the far end of the field, raising their helmets in place, taking up the lances their squires had handed them. Still, there were a few latecomers hurrying to get the remaining few seats, their gowns bright against the dry autumn grass and the low fence of whitewashed wood that surrounded the ring.

A gleam of dark copper caught my eye, and I saw a young woman with an astonishing head of dark red hair making her way along the path that led to the stands. Even in profile her face appeared pure and lovely, although I could not make out any exact detail from so far away. Her gown was almost the same dark russet as her hair, her body slender and graceful. There seemed something almost hesitant in the way she looked about her, as if she were not quite sure she belonged there. Not all that surprising, if she were some nobleman’s daughter freshly in from the country. Still, something about her diffidence made her immediately endearing. I found myself wanting to go down to her, to reassure her that of course she was welcome here, that someone so beautiful would always be welcome in my court.

However, I knew if I rose from my seat now, so close to the beginning of the tournament, it would be a severe breach of etiquette. No, I would have to remain here and hope to find her again, and soon. Not that it should prove all that difficult; her hair, so rare and so lovely, would make her stand out in any crowd.

“You’ve spied someone, I think,” Lyarris murmured, her own gaze intent on the scene before us.

“I did,” I replied, in equally subdued tones. “Did you see her? The girl with the red hair?”

“Red hair? That is interesting. No, I did not.”

My gaze followed where she was looking, and thought I could guess at the source of her distraction. Up in the first round was Lord Sorthannic Sedassa, Duke of Marric’s Rest. I had thought for several months my sister had evinced some interest in the man, although she had said nothing on the topic.

It might not be a bad match, even though the duke’s mother was a commoner. But with his sister now wed to the Mark of North Eredor, there could be some political expediency there, above and beyond the weight normally given to a duke and lord of one of the empire’s greatest estates.

Well, time enough to think on that later. This tournament and the events scheduled to follow it had been planned with the goal of finding me a wife, not my sister a husband, and I doubted Lord Sorthannic would marry himself off in the next week. There had been no whisper of a betrothal there, or even an attachment. He was still newly come to his inheritance, having been lord of Marric’s Rest for barely a year, and no doubt he wished to feel easy in his new position before taking on the added responsibility of a wife.

But when I looked away from the field, back toward the stands, I found I had lost sight of the redheaded young woman. The stands were covered by enormous sail-like structures of canvas, and the shadows they cast were enough to dull the hair of everyone sitting beneath them, making it impossible to detect the girl I sought.

“I am sure she is still there somewhere,” Lyarris said, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Be patient.”

“I am patient,” I replied, and settled myself back in the throne-like chair I used for outdoor events such as this. “I am just finding myself wondering who thought it would be a good idea to start off this whole thing with a tournament.”

She refused to be baited. “I believe I proposed it, Torric, but you did not gainsay the idea, so I thought you found it favorable enough.”

“I did…at the time.”

“Well, do try to put on a somewhat pleasant expression, brother, for a scowl such as the one you’re currently wearing will only make everyone who came today think you are not pleased with the turnout.”

I hadn’t realized I was frowning, but her gentle admonishment did remind me that I should not act like a spoiled child deprived of his favorite toy, but rather the ruler of the greatest country in the world. Settling back in my chair, I glanced past Lord Keldryn, who had taken a seat behind my mother, to where Lord Hein, my seneschal, stood watchful in a corner of the imperial box. I knew it was no use to ask him to take a seat; he would remain alert, on duty, ready to remedy anything that might go amiss during the day’s festivities. Indeed, I wondered whether he had slept at all the night before…or whether he planned to sleep until the five days of celebrations were over and done.

“My Lord Hein, we are ready,” I said formally.

“Excellent, Your Majesty.” He moved to the front of the box and lifted his right hand — the signal to the heralds, who lifted their horns and played a brief, stirring succession of notes.

At once the first two combatants — Lord Sorthannic and another knight whose device I did not recognize, a spreading blackthorn tree on a yellow background — entered the ring and bowed to the imperial box, and to the watching crowd in the stands. Then they took their places at opposite sides of the field, lances held at the ready.

“A wager, Lyarris?” I asked in an undertone. “I believe you would place your bet on the Duke of Marric’s Rest.”

The smallest turn of her head toward me, and she raised her eyebrows. “Torric, you know I do not gamble. It is enough to watch and see their skills in action.”

I repressed a laugh. “Very well, play it cool if you must…but I will see if you are still this disinterested come the ball four days hence, if Lord Sorthannic should ask you to join him in a
verdralle
.”

This time she said nothing, but the brief color that flamed along her cheekbones told me all I needed to know.

Smiling a little to myself, I returned my attention to the field. Truly, though he was new to his title and indeed to Sirlende itself, having lived here for only the past seven years or so, I knew that Sorthannic Sedassa was a worthy foe on the field. He had been schooled in the tournament arts by none other than Lord Senric Torrival, the Duke of Gahm himself, who once dominated the field before he decided he had broken enough bones and that now a younger generation should prevail.

The marshal dropped the red flag, signaling that it was time for the battle to commence, and the two combatants leapt forward on their mounts, lances pointed outward. Of course, those lances had dulled points, guaranteeing that no warrior would be carried lifeless from the field, as had happened a time or ten in the days before we became more civilized about such things, but even so, a good solid blow could leave a combatant with bruises for some time, even if he was lucky enough to maintain his seat.

A mighty crash, and I saw that the unknown knight with the blackthorn device had already lost his shield, it being splintered by a direct blow from Lord Sorthannic’s lance. The crowd applauded and cheered, and the two riders wheeled back to their respective corners so they might make another pass.

Once again the great warhorses charged toward one another, the blackthorn knight having been re-outfitted with a new shield. But that shield didn’t seem to bring him any fresh luck, for once again the Duke of Marric’s Rest made a direct hit, this time with such force that his opponent was knocked clean off his horse. At once the Duke pulled his own mount to a stop, so the blackthorn knight might regain his seat, but after a moment it seemed clear that the man was in no condition to continue the match.

The custom at this point was for the victor to withdraw, so the other man’s squires and seconds might see to his needs, but apparently Lord Sorthannic was not one for custom. He dismounted, and went to the fallen knight, offering his hand so the man might regain his feet. The knight took it, nodding, then opened his arms to the watching audience, as if to show that he had taken no lasting hurt.

At once the crowd exploded in cheers, cheers that only grew louder as the heralds announced the Duke of Marric’s Rest as the winner of the first round. After a brief exchange, the two men bowed to one another and exited the ring.

“Quite the gentleman, your duke,” I told my sister.

“He is not ‘my’ duke, as you know all too well. Still,” she added, and this time she could not quite keep the admiration from her voice, try as she might to sound neutral, “it was quite noble of him to offer assistance in such a way.”

“Quite,” I agreed, and covered up a smile by gesturing to one of the servants who stood nearby and asking for a glass of wine.

Lyarris muttered something just then, a word I couldn’t catch but which sounded suspiciously like “impossible.”

Well, I’d been called worse things, I supposed.

S
ome hours passed
, and some of the skirmishes were quite fierce — fiercer than such an event called for, one would think — but in the end it was Lord Sorthannic who prevailed, and who took for his troubles a handsome purse of a hundred golden crowns, although I doubted he had much need of it. Indeed, I heard later that he had asked for his winnings to be distributed to those establishments throughout the city which undertook to care for the poor. If such a gesture had been made by almost anyone else, I would have questioned its motives, for it seemed a little too pure, too selfless. But the Duke of Marric’s Rest, though I did not know him well, did not seem the type to be playing at politics. Indeed, I guessed he was only present in Iselfex now because it would have looked odd for such a peer of the realm not to take part in the festivities.