Chapter Eighteen

The tournament grounds were glorious to behold, even to Fox. Banners and pennants were bright and brilliant in the sunshine. Armor gleamed as knights moved, their weapons sparkling like distant water. Byr found seats or strolled about to visit with friends, taking their time so that all might see their clothes made of costly fabrics and the glitter of jewels falling from their hair or tails.

People laughed and cheered in all directions, many of them enjoying wine or ale despite the early hour and the rising heat. Somewhere not far away, someone was roasting meat. Children were underfoot, fighting with play swords and very likely sneaking into tents. Fox would have done the same as a child if a tournament like this had ever happened near his village.

To one side of the wide swath of land now teeming with spectators, knights, and the servants who assisted the knights was a vast field, empty for the moment except for stakes being used as boundary markers. Fox didn’t want to think of the event set to take place there the following day—the massive mock-battle that would lead to more injuries than anyone would ever admit to. He kept his attention on the series of circles and squares delineated by more boundary markers, multicolored cloth strips fluttering from each stake to indicate where each event would happen.

Long lanes ending in straw barriers were for archery displays or perhaps knife or axe throwing. Squares of mud and dirt generally meant events involving horses, where knights had already torn up the ground in practice runs. Some of the sites for sparring seemed to be set up on grassy portions of land and some didn’t for reasons Fox could only guess at.

There was not much seating provided. Many nobles had paid for benches to be built for them. Commoners were not given any seating, but in deference to the heat, large lengths of blue or red cloth had been strung up between poles to provide shade for anyone who needed it. Seeing that made Fox feel foolish for bringing his personal shade, although he wouldn’t have needed it where he was. He possibly also would not need to worry about his meals for the day, which he hadn’t realized he was until that moment. In past years, he had never had to doubt where he would be or what would be offered to him, although he had still never been seated in the king’s box as he was now.

Fox peered around rather than look at anyone else in the box. A few enterprising business owners from the area had tables to sell cakes or beer. There were also tents filled with anything the byr might ask for. There was even a kitchen tent, although that was mostly for the knights who would be staying out in the fields and who would need more than cakes to keep their strength up.

Farther away from the color and chaos of the event grounds, some of the knights had built tents and temporary stables to provide the horses with shade and some peace. Many knights would sleep out there tonight. Fox wasn’t sure the ground was completely dry, but also didn’t think that would stop any of them. It was a waste of energy to ride back and forth when most would be exhausted by the end of the day and only have another long day ahead of them.

Fox didn’t know if Conall planned to stay in the fields tonight. He hadn’t thought to ask and would probably get no chance to. He had been seated in the back corner of the king’s box, which was either an honor or an insult. Fox had stood outside the box, in the shade but nonetheless standing, in previous years, even back when Domvoda had been regularly fucking him. Now he had his own chair, and though he was behind everyone, he was still close enough to the king that Domvoda could turn and speak to him if he wished.

Domvoda was at the center of the box, with the Potentials and their families and friends in three small groups to his right. Several of Domvoda’s advisors were on his left, in front of Fox, which would have told Fox where he stood with the king, except Fox was no sort of advisor, and anyway, four byr were also seated there, near the front. They were all older knights, too aged now to compete or fulfill any of a knight’s other duties. Two of them had been in the king’s box on previous years, and had either been asked to explain finer points of the competitions to those within the box or had appointed themselves to the task.

Fox took several moments to study the aged knights as he hadn’t in past years. One had a chunk of his tail missing. Another had a cane propped against her chair. The cane was not lacquered and the handle held no silver or jewels. Only one of the knights had any jewelry, and beneath the embroidered surcoat worn in memory of his youth and service he was dressed in the popular fashions of the court in the capital. The other three were not. Two wore some armor despite being seated in the king’s box, their armor likely still the finest thing they owned. The remaining knight dressed much like Conall did, although all of these knights had surcoats with their family crests or some personal symbol on them.

The byr did not treat their knights well, no matter how much they would fete them over the coming days. That knights were also byr truly meant nothing. Fox wondered if these knights would admit to that. Three of them must have had some awareness of the truth, keeping their heads together for quiet conversation unless asked a question.

Those questions seemed to mostly be from Byr Din. Matlin Loriloft and her family needed no answers or wanted to seem as if they didn’t, and Byr Falnya, with his cousin a knight, must have known a great deal already. Fox thought curiosity was a good quality, but Domvoda’s tail tip flicked against the leg of his seat each time Byr Din’s sweet voice was heard.

That was more proof that Fox was not Domvoda’s advisor. Domvoda did not seem to be taking Fox’s advice to heart by getting to know any of his possible consorts better. Fox tried to turn his mind to that problem so he would not think about the clashing of swords and armor, or whatever was happening in any of the events before them that made people hiss in sympathy or shout encouragement.

Archery was the one event he could watch without too much tension, at least, the event when it was held on the ground. Once the knights got on horseback to shoot, Fox took to studying the spectators, and then the Potentials when he could get away with it. They had been looking Fox’s way since Fox had arrived, so he had to be careful.

Byr Din was eager to learn and, Fox suspected, more innocent than he first appeared, with no one in his family wise enough to offer him better counsel. He did come alive when discussing plants, but that was not an interest Domvoda shared.

Matlin Loriloft was not here to merely serve as a fertile of noble blood. She wanted to be consort to a king. Fox doubted she would have left her home otherwise. Yet nothing she had done had won over Domvoda as she had clearly expected it to. She was beautiful and accomplished but Domvoda only seemed to like her when she was visibly annoyed. If Fox were being generous, he would say that her accidental but revealing honesty in those moments was what Domvoda was interested in.

Unfortunately, the easiest way for Domvoda to irritate her was to bring Fox with him wherever he went. Matlin Loriloft was now sitting stiffly, speaking with her family or once or twice with Byr Falnya, the most tactful of the three. The only one of them with any real chance with Domvoda, although Domvoda might not agree.

No one expected a great passion to spring up between Domvoda and these fertiles, but there should at least be some feeling to draw them close to one another. Domvoda had varied tastes, and Byr Falnya was quiet but pleasant to look upon.

Maybe too quiet. Attraction was still necessary for a knotting to take place and Domvoda might not feel that for reserved Falnya. Although Fox couldn’t find any common trait among Domvoda’s many bed partners to indicate that Domvoda wouldn’t want a lover with a more contained, private nature. Perhaps Domvoda was attracted to one or all of them but refused to allow himself to show it. That was what Conall would say.

With Conall on his mind, Fox thought he imagined the sound of Conall’s name, but then he heard it again and raised his head.

Conall was in armor and a surcoat of plain white, which made Fox frown slightly when he compared it to what was worn by the other knights. No matter the number of events a knight was in, they wore the crests of their families, seeming to view the acquisition of dirt and sweat as an honor. Not that Conall was in every competition. No one was in all of them. That would have been impossible, and even if someone could have managed it, the knights would stick to the events they were good at. No one was going to risk an injury for an event they had no chance of winning.

Conall seemed to be acting as a judge for the event starting around him, which was… fights with shorter knives, as opposed to fights with longer ones, like the one Conall often wore. Fox assumed that would happen next and looked away.

“For a moment, I thought you were finally interested enough to watch,” Domvoda remarked, bringing Fox’s gaze to him. Domvoda was smiling faintly. “You were actually facing forward, but I see it’s become too much for you again.”

Everyone except for Matlin Loriloft and two of the older knights were now glancing to Fox.

Fox shrugged delicately and tossed his head, sending his curls over his ears and into his eyes. “I can appreciate the skills involved without needing to watch the display.”

Domvoda tracked the bounce of one of Fox’s shorter curls before moving his attention to Fox’s face. Unlike when Domvoda had first seen him that morning, his gaze started a familiar, startling burn in Fox’s cheeks before Fox glanced away.

It had been all stares and coldness when Fox had been led to the box, the last of the group to arrive. Every person already there, even the members of the Loriloft family, had turned to him, and Fox had kept himself motionless except to nod politely to the servant leading him to his unexpected seat as though he could not feel all the attention upon the pink and red of his clothes, and the hair that—as Conall had said—made Fox look as though he had just been bedded and bedded well.

Domvoda had been still. Fox had hoped he would be pleased at Fox’s daring, but those eyes had not lit up. Not until now.

“Fox has no taste for violence,” Domvoda explained although Fox hadn’t heard anyone ask. “Even as sport.”

“It’s going to get worse for you,” Byr Falnya said, startling Fox and apparently Domvoda as well, who turned to look at him. Byr Falnya continued to study Fox. “Will you be all right?”

Fox froze, taken aback by the concern. Then he considered Byr Falnya might have said it to appeal to the king… or to encourage Fox to leave. But since it could have been genuine, he finally ducked his head respectfully.

“Thank you. I’ve learned to look away at the crucial moments, but it’s very kind of you to ask. When is Byr Shine to compete? I hope she does well.”

Byr Falnya startled him again with an excited smile. “Soon. I caught a glimpse of her earlier and she was pacing, the dear.”

It was like watching Byr Din come to life while speaking of healing herbs. Fox smiled back, then looked over to the icicle that was Matlin Loriloft before resettling in his seat and turning his attention elsewhere. If the others returned their attention to the events around them, Fox didn’t look up to see.

Byr Falnya might have possibly decided to tolerate the king’s strange relationship with a commoner former lover. A sensible course of action, all things considered. Falnya and Domvoda would not be a love match, so there was no need to feign jealousy or even to feel threatened. Fox didn’t know exactly how Domvoda viewed him, but he and Domvoda were not a love match either. Nor had Domvoda indicated they should be. Fox was not at his side, or in his bed back at Saravar. Domvoda did not dote on him.

There were knights near the edge of the fields being caressed and fussed over by those that loved them. One could make feelings clear even without giving favors. Although, of course, plenty of favors were visible.

Some of the knights had strips of ribbons tucked into gloves or their belts. When Byr Shine appeared, she had one such ribbon fluttering from her arm. Odd, unless knights gave them to each other too. Perhaps if they weren’t competing against one another. Though what did Fox know? He wasn’t even sure Conall had his. He might have dreamed it.

A small lock of Fox’s hair would not grant Conall good fortune. Favors didn’t actually do anything except show someone was worrying for a particular knight or hoping they would win. Favors might even be dangerous, inspiring knights to act recklessly in order to please their beloveds with a victory.

Conall was fond of victories. Fox tried not to think about it.

The whole thing was foolish. The tournament, the favors, the emotions behind them. All preposterously unnecessary when knights already sparred with each other to keep their skills sharp. But the spectacle was compelling, Fox could admit. And the knights did seem to enjoy it, although differently from how the audience did. The colors were pretty, and the competitors were alluring in their armor, determined to do their best for themselves, and for the crowd, and most especially for anyone whose favors they wore. The pageantry felt eternal in a way Fox couldn’t explain even to himself. As if tournaments were one of the largely forgotten ancient rituals, a practice that had changed over centuries to become this.

A knight Fox recognized from Kaladas led her horse to the edge of the field, where someone finely dressed and obviously byr met her. The knight, as tall as they all seemed to be, bent her head and got a sweet kiss and then a square of embroidered cloth pressed into her hands. Fox could see the flustered pleasure on her face even at a distance.

Domvoda also watched the granting of the favor, although Fox looked away before Domvoda would realize Fox had seen. Not that Fox believed Domvoda was pining for such an arrangement for himself. Even the possibility was confusing, as unsettling as the realization that if Domvoda did want to play knight, he could have entered at least some of the events for today. No one would risk seriously injuring the king in any of the more physical matches, but Domvoda was a skilled archer, especially on horseback. He could have entered to have fun. His Potentials could have enjoyed competing to offer him a favor, with all the byr breathless as they waited to see whose favor he would accept.

Or, if the knight and not the favor had been what had intrigued Domvoda, then he could have chosen a such a knight for his fertile and he could have been the one to make some towering figure blush. A knight might do him well, if Conall had been to his taste.

But then he would have to admit that he wanted such things.

“It is perhaps best that the king does not take part in the tournament,” Byr Falnya said, seemingly from nowhere, apparently full of the same ideas as Fox. Perhaps he had also seen where Domvoda’s attention had gone. The entire box, even the old knights, went silent. Byr Falnya was undeterred, sliding a look from Fox to Domvoda. “Imagine the troubles that would arise when it came to the matter of bestowing favors.”

Matlin Loriloft tensed. Byr Din turned toward the king with questions in his exquisite eyes. Fox made a horrified squeaking sound, a startled laugh he did not quite let escape, then quickly looked to Domvoda as well. If nothing else, Domvoda should admire Byr Falnya’s audacity.

The king’s tail hung from the back of his seat, motionless. Domvoda returned Byr Falnya’s look and spoke calmly, although Fox could not see his expression to tell if he was actually calm.

“In days gone by, I might have competed. Many rulers did. The history books are full of such stories and how those rulers won. But did they truly win, or did they win because they ruled?” The boredom in Domvoda’s voice was at odds with what he said; even Byr Din must know by now the boredom was a lie. “I’d do no one credit if I entered, and would never know if my victory meant anything. Besides,” he sighed in an exhausted fashion, “most would hesitate to face me out of fear of what would happen if they did best me. The other byr, worried about offending me, would not hire them or have them near. Is that not so, my Fox?

Fox cleared the remaining laughter from his throat. “It is. But that, at least, is something you might work to change, my king. Not that I think you should spar here….” Fox thought no one should spar here, which was a great deal more serious than bouts between friends to hone their skills. “But there is private sparring. You could reward those who have done well, even the ones who best you. And do the same if you did choose to compete.”

It was out of Fox before he could wisely choke it down.

Domvoda didn’t turn, leaving Fox to the shadows. “Full of new ideas today.”

Byr Falnya glanced to Fox and arched an eyebrow as if amused and wanting Fox to be amused too.

“The knights seem to enjoy it when someone more skilled defeats them,” Fox tried to explain himself. “It would endear them to you.”

“And that,” Domvoda said silkily, “is how I can be certain the Fox has been spending time with our Dragonslayer.”

If he could have, Fox would have ducked behind his chair. He stared hard at Domvoda but the king didn’t offer even a flick of his tail to indicate his mood.

Fox kept his head up, attempting to seem unbothered by the interest of the others around him. However, their interest quickly left Fox and turned to Conall on the field of competitors, as if the mention of the Dragonslayer had spurred them. Or maybe it was an excuse to look, for Byr Conall was easy to find and a big, broad, lovely sight: his plain surcoat, his half ear, the golden gleam of his skin and the unusual hair on his face, the mighty lash of his tail as he let his excitement show.

“He does not come to court much, does he?” Matlin Loriloft remarked. “Yet he has opinions on what the king should do?”

“Knights know fighting,” one of the older knights butted in. “It is all they should comment on. Killing a dragon doesn’t qualify him to speak on other matters. It barely qualifies him to speak on that.”

Fox did not scoff, not wanting to annoy Domvoda further. He also didn’t point out that they had been talking about fighting. He said, “And yet you are in this box, not judging the events out there. Were you not invited to?” and smiled with teeth as everyone, even Matlin Loriloft, turned to him as if shocked. The only one who did not was Domvoda. Fox addressed them all. “Byr Conall has the esteem of the king as well as the other knights.”

“He does.” Domvoda was colder than any Loriloft. “So he does not need the Fox to defend him.” Fox shut his mouth with a snap as Domvoda finally turned to look at him. “Conall defeated a dragon and will doubtless defeat many of his friends today and tomorrow without mercy. Your favor would be better given elsewhere.” Fox didn’t know what expression crossed his face, too focused on keeping the rest of his body still. Domvoda narrowed his eyes, studying Fox intently for another moment before abruptly turning away again.

“Not someone to be trifled with,” Byr Falnya agreed, also facing forward. “His title makes that more than clear.”

“Byr Drashnal is many things,” Domvoda replied, standing for a moment to gesture for an event to begin and receiving a deep nod from each of the competitors and judges in return, including Conall, “but Conall will do what needs to be done without hesitation. His ruthlessness did not begin or end with the death of the dragon. Some like to forget this, but I have not.”

“Did you bet on him?” Byr Din asked, apparently fascinated.

Fox barely glanced to him or to Domvoda, looking forward long enough to see Conall give another nod toward the king’s box before attending to his judging. After that, Fox kept his gaze away from the field and from anyone or anything else, no matter what name was spoken, or the cries and cheers he heard.

Some events took longer and went on all day, but many of the matches within those events were short. As one of the older knights in front of Fox put it, “Experienced knights who know what they’re doing do not play around.”

Conall took part in one event as a competitor during the first half of the day. An event that involved a duel with a long blade, which the older knights had assured Fox was dull, since the point was to get a “kill” strike or to take away the opponent’s blade, not actually kill them. The matches were set up so that the competitors had been rated ahead of time, in events that must have been held privately among the knights in the preceding days, so that no one new to the tournament or only beginning to learn that martial skill would face off against someone far above their level.

Conall went out near the end, and Fox knew it was him even before he heard the name called by someone on the field because everyone in the king’s box seemed to hold their breath. They did that each time Conall entered the ring, which he did several more times. The people around Fox tensed and jumped so many times it left Fox ill. Their cheering afterward did not do much to alleviate that.

No one seemed to be seriously injured from that event, but as the hours passed, Fox saw more than one knight limping or being assisted to a tent full of healers.

Conall would be pleased that he won, though he didn’t get much time to enjoy his victory. He bowed his head to the king and those in the king’s box as all those competitors still standing did when their events were over, then hurried on to judge something else.

Fox left the box despite the glare of the sun and walked on shaky limbs until he could pretend to be fine, although he wasn’t sure he’d fooled anyone when he returned with wine he had no intention of drinking.

He couldn’t have anyway. The seat beside Domvoda was empty, the knight who had been there off speaking to someone he hadn’t seen in decades, and one look from Domvoda told Fox that he was expected to fill the space.

“I can’t believe it,” one of the remaining knights told him. “They whisper that you’re vicious but look at you, sick over nothing at all.”

Nothing at all. Fox nearly snarled it back at him. Instead, he shoved the wine at the smug knight, then, half a second from crossing his arms over his chest, looked carefully at Domvoda on his other side.

As if he’d expected that, Domvoda was watching him.

“Here he is again, your Dragonslayer,” he told Fox, so pleasantly that Fox was surprised into meeting his stare before quickly turning toward the field. Conall was not far away, in an incomplete set of armor that was not what he and the others would wear tomorrow for the mock-battle. He was shining with sweat, as many knights were by now, and turned to the king’s box while he waited for his event to begin. His eyes might have met Fox’s or Fox might have only wished they did.

“So worried for them all, aren’t you?” Domvoda’s tone was almost too friendly. Fox cut him a wary glance and Domvoda darted another look to Fox’s hair. “Allow me to ease your mind,” he offered, and took Fox’s hand to pull Fox up with him when he stood to signal for the event to start.

“Wave, my Fox,” he instructed gently. “How else will your knights know you care for them?”

Fox looked out over the field, skin prickling with the silence in the box and the stillness from those in the crowd of byr who had noticed. The knights waiting to compete turned to him. Fox couldn’t read Conall’s gaze but he could feel it, and forced a smile on his face before giving the knights he recognized a graceful wave.

They cheered, startling Fox into a small laugh and making Domvoda release his hand.

Fox did everything he could to sit in his seat instead of collapse into it. Before Domvoda was back down, Fox glanced over to the people who should have been at Domvoda’s side for that. The three Potentials turned away from him at the same moment.

“You should do better by them,” Fox insisted without looking at the king, hardly knowing if he meant the knights or the Potentials.

“Soft for everyone,” Domvoda murmured in return, “but me.”

“Why would anyone expect softness without giving any?” Fox demanded in a whisper, then the clash of metal from the field made him flinch and stare at the floor. Except for the sounds from the field and the occasional boo or cheer from the spectators, the box was silent.

Domvoda should have ordered Fox from the box or humiliated him with a cool remark as he had done to so many others. Fox realized, far too late to do anything about it, that his tail was in his lap, which anyone in the box could clearly see.

Domvoda exhaled slowly. “Do you want me to tell you how the matches go to spare you having to watch?”

Fox wanted him to make sense. He wanted Domvoda to explain himself just once or actually listen when Fox spoke. Domvoda kept Fox around for a reason. Fox would like to know what it was, if it was more than teasing him with public cruelty and then private gentleness.

He swung his tail to the side and let it fall. “You should discuss the matches with the fertiles beside you who want to know you better.”

Domvoda raised his head, then said nothing. Fox saw him gesture out of the corner of his eye. A few moments after that, someone handed the king a cup of wine, which Domvoda then pushed toward Fox.

“Thank you,” Fox said without thinking, then frowned but had a sip. “Maybe it will settle my stomach.”

Domvoda sighed as if exasperated.

“If you don’t mind,” Byr Din’s timid voice made Fox and Domvoda turn to look at him. Byr Din, no longer wearing a flower in his hair, froze, then seemed to force himself to continue. “Wildpea and sweetmint tea is useful for the settling of stomachs. I don’t have any with me, of course, but I imagine the healers here will.”

“Thank you,” Fox told him with far more warmth than he’d given Domvoda, adding a small smile to show his appreciation even if Byr Din had shared the knowledge solely to please the king. Then he faced forward as though he intended to watch the rest of the events and ignored Domvoda by contemplating his wine.