Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

T hey stood in a face-off, each rider on the far end of their own side, where they waited for the trumpet to announce the start of round one. During a normal joust there were four rounds, the winning knight the one who'd thrown his opponent off from his horse.

Not here at the academy.

This was a friendly match, and they'd do three rounds. It wouldn't stop Astor from showing off his skills, position and victory. From claiming his prize.

"What's he doing?" he wondered. The Damaryan rider had yet to put up his helmet. Without his white, furry cloak, he looked remarkably lithe, slender even. They were too far from each other, but Astor swore he could feel it nevertheless—the stranger's molten jade glare—and it caused a thrill.

A stable boy came running, fumbling with the spear in hand as he nearly fell over the long, pointy weapon and moss green shield.

"Kyrios!" He called out, voice shrill with unfiltered panic. "Your shield, Kyrios." Stable boys were responsible for what happened in the stables, and though Astor wasn't sure if that included a knight forgetting his armour, he understood the boy's shiver. He understood why he had used the formal greeting of a lord, despite the fact that the Damaryan was barely older than he was.

The diverge was enough for the already agitated crowd to burst out laughing. They showed their impatience by shouting at the riders, and it didn't help when the Damaryan's horse hinnied and kicked up his feet. Rather than panicking, the rider swirled them both around in one smooth movement so that they faced the stable boy, who held up the missing gear. Astor rolled his eyes theatrically at the Novarian students, making them snigger.

The Damaryan, Illias Mothvora, finally put the helmet over his head, masking the golden strands that seemed to be a trademark for his people. With one flick he closed his visor, then took hold of the shield. The green shield, Astor realized once it was held up straight in front of a rider's chest, portrayed a sun and its rays, cascading them where they transformed into hands.

The trumpet played the high brassy notes they had heard so often during times of war.

There was no war now. Only the herald, who raised the white and red chequered flag with a dramatic gesture and kept it there, as if waiting for the audience to turn quiet once more —as if if toying with time as it dragged on, painfully slowly and delicately melting into that moment they'd all been waiting for.

The flag came down. "Knights, begin!"

The crowd exploded and Astor's horse whinnied loudly, raising its feet as he once more threw his lance toward the sky and let out a battle cry. A dramatic gesture, even he knew it, but Novarians enjoyed a good show.

"Go and bring me back my prize, Lyssipos ," Cosmo howled over the crowd, but Astor ignored him as he rode by, steering his mare further down the roped-off enclosure. Adrenaline rushed through his ears, dimming the external sounds coming from the arena as he clicked his tongue and held out his lance in a pointing accusation toward the Damaryan rider who copied the gesture as he too clacked his tongue, making his horse leap forward. They rode fast, the only sound the clopping sound of the foot heels. Still, the approach felt as if in slow-motion, the jerky movements like sluggish bumps as he stared at his opponent, unblinking, and tried to block out his treacherous curiosity when the lance came into view, and with it those swirling, immaculate drawings into the blade.

Focus.

Determination.

Confidence.

" They're a fascinating people ," was all he mused instead. And then they were there, crossing each other in a fleeting climax of metal as they stabbed and steered, shielded and shouted. Astor cried out one more time as he howled their battle cry, the words ancient and no longer used in contemporary Astorian. Though everyone knew what they meant:

Péthane gia ména, o polemistí.

Die for me, oh warrior.

His lance hit the shield and Illias steered his horse to the side, avoiding further impact without losing speed. They passed each other in a flurry of wind, the moment gone before they could draw another breath. It wasn't until he returned to the end of his line, that Astor realized the Damaryan hadn't attacked him.

Guiding their horses back, they were once more in position on their far end. Only this time, the Damaryan held Astor's gaze. His face was obscured by the silver mask, the metal gracefully drawn into the lines of his long, slender neck.

To have those green eyes fixated on him was something else. It made Astor feel heavy and featherlight at the same time.

Then the trumpet blazed and the flag which had been raised flung back. "Round two!"

The horses ran, the rhythmic thud of their approach sending a chill through the air.

As he approached, Astor noticed how the Damaryan's shield was too far to the left, exposing too much of those firm shapes of his shoulders. It left him vulnerable. Such little protection.

Beautiful. So beautiful.

"No!" Astor cried out. I won't be distracted. He couldn't be. He was the future Leopard of the Novarian army.

With more force than he should have intended, Astor's lance clashed with Illias's, causing the Damaryan to lose his balance. His white mare staggered to the side as Illias avoided more direct contact. By doing so he lost his focus, and the heavy shield clattered to the ground.

Around them, the crowd smelled victory and they yelled their words of support, which was a combination of love for the gods and love for the Prianos family.

Taking in the compliments like a waft of air, Astor followed the roped-off enclosure until he reached his far end once more. Whirling Kallisto around, he saw how the Damaryan slid over his horse's back to gracefully pick up his shield, before straightening his back and riding off to his side of the far end.

It took skill to pull off a trick like that, Astor thought. Which meant that Illias was a lot better with horses than he led on. Then why didn't he fight?

They had one final round. He would probably win like this, since the other boy hadn't even tried to throw his lance into his board. But it was uneventful. Not quite the way he'd hoped to start the official festivities, or gaining his title of champion.

Cosmo would still get his prize though.

Focus.

Determination.

Confidence.

Their glares met once more, molton jade between thick curly lashes.

"Final round!" The herald called. "Two points for House Novar to zero points for House Damaryan. Will our champion extend his reputation of golden boy?"

The crowd cheered and Astor called out in a wild cry, his lance high in the air.

"Come on, baby girl, one last round then you can rest," he muttered to the horse, rubbing her cheek, before clacking his usual command to advance. Fast. They rode as if being caught in a whirlwind, advancing in a flash, and Astor's ears rushed with the sound of waves—with the sound of the thrill. His lance struck forward only to be met with Illias's shield for the very first time. The audience erupted as the horses lowered their speed and Astor pulled back swiftly, only to attack again. He held out his shield, eyes widening in surprise as he felt the tip of the lance bouncing off against his wooden armour. So the Damaryan had finally shown his teeth.

"Oh, you really are looking for entertainment then, are you?" He growled, amusement replaced by annoyance in a snap as he realized that he was about to lose face in front of the entire nobility.

Illias said nothing, his lips tightly pressed together as he kept his eyes on the lance he had collided with Astor's shield. The tip stuck in the wood. He had attacked at last, but now it was stuck and unable to retrieve it since Astor forced his horse closer to the enclosure, shrinking their distance. From this close, he could see the terror in the Damarayan's green eyes—he must have known what was about to happen, and Astor smiled while showing off the irony, the amusement in the situation.

Too bad the pretty thing was no match to him.

Holding up his lance, Astor kept his gaze fixed on Illias. "In case it wasn't clear," he rasped, smirking at the way the Damaryan frantically tried to pull his lance free. It was useless. "I will make your life hell." Then he struck his lance against the boy's shield, the blow enough to make the board clatter out of the boy's hand and onto the ground. Then, just because he could, he tapped both shoulders of his opponent—who was still yanking on the lance, plush lips pursed into a fine line of concentration—enjoying the ringing sound of victory.

"We have a winner!" Called out the herald, and the people cheered. They raised their glasses, requesting more—always requesting more—because they were noble and so they would. Around them horses galloped, Novarian novitiates calling out a battle cry.

Péthane gia ména, o polemistí.

In the heart of the arena, by the roped-off enclosure, Astor and Illias were still caught staring at each other, Illias's lance stuck in Astor's shield.

The Damaryan glared at him, fear having been replaced by hatred, his lips pinched and his cheeks flushed as he finally managed to pull the tip free.

"The games have come to an end," the herald declared. "It's now time for all our contestants to come out and receive the massive applause they deserve. We'll hand out prizes and then, ladies and gentlemen, Nethyr wishes to invite you all to the celebrations the Academy has organized to officially open the new school year."

Everywhere around them, people applauded. Astor looked up, searched, then found his brother. But Fabiano wasn't looking at him. No, his eyes were focused on the tunnel behind him, on the approaching riders in their effortless formation of two. They wore that same green and metallic warrior gear Illias did, every inch of skin covered from their necks down to their ankles. As they entered the arena they split up and formed a single, tight circle around Basil, effectively enclosing him beneath their presence.

"Aww, how noble of you to come out and protect your friend," Cosmo taunted as he rode by on his black mare. "And you, Lyssipos , are a true friend."

Astor grimaced absentmindedly. He was tired. And fascinated, he couldn't help it. He stared at the Damaryan's lances that had those similar unreadable curls imprinted in steel. He listened to their silence, because they hadn't uttered a single word ever since they made their appearance today. He admired their serene beauty, those lush, golden sweeps of hair as they now lined up following the example of the other novitiates, and their strange courage despite them not having partaken at the games. The girl was clearly shaken, her chest was heaving and her face was flushed with shed tears.

Cosmo looked victorious, his dark eyes shining with devilish delight.

You can't pick my rider , it rang through Astor. "You can't—" He shook his head. The words were stuck in his throat, held down by pride. Still, he regretted having given away the honour of the Nomos Doulos, even if it was to his best friend.

Oreon led the Novarians as they made their round on horseback and, standing on their stirrups, and waved at the crowd.

Around them, flowers were thrown at their feet, and the dynamic rhythm of drum rolls made their appearance, bringing the party directly to the elated crowd.

Astor lifted his hand when he caught Cosmo's eyes. "Sisto," he said. "We line up like the others, show them the respect they deserve."

For a good show was all about traditions.

Lined up in a straight line of matching colours, accompanied by their nation's flag, stood the representatives of all five nations, 52 novitiates in total.

"The Novarian Leopard officially requested to respect the Nomos Doulos," the herald said. He stood in front of the empty flag poles with the leaders of each nation at his back. "And the board has granted that request. The claiming will be valid for 48 hours, until classes officially start." He gestured for Astor to come forward. "May the champion choose carefully."

Someone whispered softly, but aside from that, it was quiet. This was, without a doubt, the part everyone feared the most. It was the first proof of human cruelty that was waiting for them at the Academiae Scientia, mostly because of its misinterpretation by the families that stood around and watched.

Originally used as punishment in the ancient days, the Nomos Doulos had been meant to acknowledge—and correct. Today, it was meant to disgrace those who had not come for help in times of need.

Astor slowly made his way past the row of novitiates, taking his time to look each and every one of them in the eye. Each nation seemed to defend their position with a different expression. Their neighbours in the west, House Akotan, had nothing to fear, and they knew it. There was calm wariness, accompanied with trust. When the barbarians had come, they had fought a similar battle. Their warriors had proven to uphold relentless determination, and had used their strong fleet to their advantage.

House Staljord. Astor faced their hero, Agmundr, who scowled at him, and his lips ticked up in amusement. Oh, he remembered.

"It would be so easy to choose you as my dog," Astor's voice was barely a whisper, but Agmundr's hand shot up in reflex and he let out a growl, only to be reassured in their own northern tongue by his right-hand, Agnar.

"Yes, that's right. Keep him on a leash," Astor taunted, then, without sparing them another glance, he walked on.

Those next in line were not even worth looking at, Gaetans' unbalanced facial features a thorn in Astor's eye. He looked back at his fellow Novarians and rolled his eyes dramatically, making the first years chuckle. "I have no further comment," he taunted. It was true. They'd deal with the Gaetans in the fighting pit.

Passing them slowly, his heart started pounding and that was all wrong.

Damaryans. There were only four of them, although their small army of green and metal uniforms stood behind them. For some reason that had been allowed by the board, although even this close, they looked harmless like this. There were three boys and one girl. Refusing his gaze, just like they had done when they'd made their entrance only hours ago, they stared stubbornly at something far away from him.

The Damaryans were taller than Astor had expected, the boys reaching his forehead, the girl coming up toward his shoulders. Astor was one of the tallest fighters Novar had, carrying the same height as his father.

"Well, well, well," he mused, eyes raking their formidable features. They were an attractive people, even he had to admit it. Fascinating with their old ways, but beautiful. "I have to say, you've come a little late to the party. Five years, to be precise, though we're happy you could make it. Lyssipos ." Cosmo touched his temples with both his fingertips, then left the line and swaggered his way forward. His cape flapped in the wind, exposing his clean-shaven, oiled chest. "Who would you like me to choose?" He took a step toward one of the Damaryan boys, who pinched his lips as he kept his gaze steady. Astor reached out for his chin, only to keep his finger lingering in the air, close enough for the boy to imagine feeling his touch. It was enough to make him flinch.

Cosmo chuckled.

The girl's eyes were shiny with abiding tears, making them glitter like green stones. She didn't flinch when Astor's finger ghost-touched her skin, but he caught her trembling lip.

"This one?" He asked, knowing that his friend preferred boys.

"Hmm. What about that one?" Cosmo stopped a little further.

The rider.

He…his gaze found Illias. From this close, he looked younger than Astor had expected. The smooth skin of his face still had traces of a flush, though it did nothing to hide the freckles around his nose and cheek bone. Everything, from his golden mane to his liquid emerald eyes that curved slightly up on the edges, to the dark bushes of eyebrows and eyelashes that swirled around his eyes, meant otherworldly.

Beautiful. So beautiful.

He smelled different too. Leaning in, Astor made a show of sniffing him, pressing his nose onto the tiniest sliver of exposed skin, buried in the guy's neck. The rest was all covered in green and metal. There was the definite hint of flower in his scent, a whisper of earth and honey with a hint of green and citrus. Taking in a sharp inhale, Astor let his mind scramble as he admired the boy's pointy ears.

They definitely were an intriguing nation. Nothing like he had expected.

"Perhaps my friend should choose you?" Astor mumbled privately, a breathy chuckle escaping when he felt the guy tense.

"This one. I want this one," Cosmo said and he pointed at the other guy.

Pulling back, Astor gave his friend a wide grin, then looked at the other boy, whose eyes had widened in shock as he kept his unwavering gaze focused on the horizon.

"So you shall have him." Turning his back to the other three Damaryans, he touched both temples with his fingertips, ignoring the ridiculous relief that flooded through his veins. He wouldn't have been able to refuse his friend, had he chosen Illias. Gazing at the shocked Damaryan, he grinned. "Welcome to House Novar." Then he clasped a hand around Cosmo's shoulder. "My friend here will take good care of you."