Chapter 26

T he flags fell. Jousters galloped forward, colliding in storms of splinters. The crowd roared. By the end of the first round of eliminations, a contestant had already been carried prone from the field. Senseless competition with deadly consequences.

"I'm surprised you're still here," Huxley called to Baron, craning his neck above the twins sitting between them. "You did hear the king, did you not, my lord?"

Corvin inched away from Huxley on the bench, nearly climbing into Leon's lap, but for once, his twin didn't protest. Leon sat like a statue, fingertips digging into his knees, no doubt resisting all the emotion boiling within.

For their sake, Baron adopted his signature calm. "Seeing as we share a carriage, Mr. Huxley, I thought you would appreciate the postponement of my house arrest until you could enjoy the tournament's conclusion. If you'd prefer, we can leave now, and you'll forfeit the bets placed on Lord Nicholas to win."

Huxley returned his attention to the field, retaining a hint of satisfaction in his expression. As the next contestant was unseated, he cheered with the crowd.

The twins didn't cheer or shout insults. At the last joust they'd attended, before Father's death, Leon had been so eager to bellow abuses at a fallen jouster that he'd overbalanced on the stands and fallen himself, bruising his tailbone. Corvin would never have let him live down such an event, but he hadn't seen it because he'd been trying to climb Baron's shoulders to cry foul play at the other contestant.

Now they watched in silence.

Baron glanced toward the royal box where Aria sat in the canopy's shadow. He could no longer see her face, but from her shocked expression earlier, her father's declarations had been as unexpected to her as to the rest of court. Baron took a small bit of comfort in that.

Any amount of comfort was welcome—better than the veiled glares he received from all directions in the stands.

At last, the final clash roared from the lists and stands in crashing metal and screaming cheers. Henry Wycliff stood victorious over every participant.

Baron managed a hint of a smile. Earl Wycliff had seven sons, and there wasn't a bad one in the bunch—not even Hugh, who had declared himself Baron's official rival in swordsmanship years ago. Henry was second-youngest, barely eighteen, yet Baron wasn't surprised to see a Wycliff distinguishing himself yet again.

From the field, Henry bowed to the royal box, helmet lodged under one arm, dripping sweat yet beaming all the same.

The king stood. "Your inexorable champion!"

The field thundered with applause as already-hoarse voices cheered once more. One of the field attendants hurried forward to present Henry with a golden trophy, which he raised high.

But the king wasn't done. "A trophy is not all you have earned today, Henry, son of Earl Wycliff."

Henry turned back, grinning.

Somehow, Baron knew what was coming. Inexorable.

"You shall also be the first to take the Crown's challenge and compete for my daughter's hand!"

Like a man suddenly Cast to stone, Henry's smile froze, arm still hoisting a trophy that seemed to have dulled in the light.

Aria's expression couldn't be seen.

Baron applauded with the rest of court because people watched him from all sides, and he refused to meet Corvin's gaze no matter how the boy tilted on the bench.

As the royal family descended from the stands, Baron stood with the rest of the audience.

"Time to go home," he said.

Where he would then have to remain. Imprisoned for the actions of another.

He'd been wrong not to leave the country when he'd had the chance. He ought to have packed up his brothers and taken them to his mother's sister in Patriamere. She was a kind woman; she still sent him letters every few years. There were also lands across the sea, like Pravusat, where Silas attended university. It was a country boiling with war but welcoming of magic.

Edith had warned him to run. Most of the Casters he knew personally had already fled.

But every time Baron had considered it, he'd remembered his father's hopes, remembered that his parents were buried on Reeves soil. This warm land with its lemon trees was all Baron had ever known.

He'd sacrificed his life for lemons.