“There’s a helmet she ought to be wearing that matches the rest of the armor,” Hal said wistfully. “With a thin circlet of copper about the top to imply her title. Though she always was recognizable.”
“You know why she isn’t wearing it.” Hotspur leaned beside Hal, letting their shoulders touch inasmuch as it was possible, with both of them in mail and gambesons. She glanced at the prince, who smiled back without her lips, only with those impossibly bright brown eyes, asking Hotspur for something she did not yet know how to give. But she wanted to. “You should have better armor,” Hotspur said, judging the worn chest plate that clung to Hal’s mail shirt. “Is that …” Hotspur lifted Hal’s arm to goggle at the rigged extra buckle fitting the plate in place. “Surely you can afford armor that fits you, Prince!”
Hal shrugged and took Hotspur’s hand, tugging their arms down. “I lent my armor to my squire Nova; she’s looking to impress today, and I’m not. This is about my mother.”
The skin of Hotspur’s palm tingled against Hal’s, and she felt it in other places, too, places extremely unsuited for public. She jutted out her chin. “Is this modesty false or true?”
“Which would charm you better?”
Hotspur’s lips parted. “The truth,” she murmured.
“Both, then,” Hal said. “It’s true, in that all my actions today should prop up my mother, and false in that I am still playing a game, for to be seen as modest and humble will add to my reputation.”
Pulling her hand free, Hotspur rolled her eyes and turned to watch Lady Ter Melia unseat Sir Gevrus. The two went a round on their feet with swords, and Gevrus fell again. Then Banna Mora mounted against a knight Hotspur did not know and gloriously defeated him with a single strike.
All the Lady Knights and the queen moved on to round two. Hal winked at Hotspur. “Think we’ll face each other before the end?”
Hotspur hoped so, but she shrugged. “I’ll win against whomever I face.”
But the lottery put Prince Hal against her mother in the second round.
The queen and Hal walked out in near unison, but then Hal broke it by waving wildly to the crowd. Purple and orange flags snapped as the people flailed and cheered—this was exactly the sort of match they wished to see.
Celeda seemed everything a queen should be in her dark orange-and-silver armor, and with her naked sword blade-down against her chest she bowed very slightly to her daughter. Hal grinned, red lips parted over her teeth. She said something that made her mother laugh, then Celeda nodded her chin at Hal’s disheveled state. Black hair spilled in messy loops out of the mail hood the prince wore, despite most being caught back in a linen cap to keep it from tangling in the chain mail. That rigged chest plate barely shone in the sunlight. But then Hal lifted her sword—it was a plain soldier’s blade, not the Heir’s Score—and swung around to declare to the crowd, “My sword the strength of Aremoria!”
Hotspur could not look away.
She hardly noticed the call to begin; Celeda and Hal circled each other, then suddenly Hal charged, engaging with a great clash of metal.
While the crowd cheered, Hotspur felt locked into the intensity of their combat: the give and take, shoving and striking steel. Celeda was clearly technically superior, and without a turn of bad luck would win eventually. But Hal’s methods were so enthusiastic it was difficult not to admire her. She smiled brilliantly the whole time, making faces of shock or determination when they were called for, and sometimes her mouth moved. At least once Celeda obviously choked back a laugh. The teasing or jokes or whatever it was Hal threw at her mother did not distract the queen, though.
The bout lasted only a few minutes, but it was longer than most. Celeda got through Hal’s slowing defense and slammed the edge of her shield into the vulnerable crease between Hal’s too-small chest plate and pauldron—where a rondel might’ve protected her. If Celeda had used the blade, it might’ve been a killing stroke. Hal swayed, turning to use the momentum, but her mother was ready for that, too, and used her heavily armored boot to shove Hal to her knees.
Hal dropped her sword and raised her hands in a flourish of surrender. She called out something to the queen, voice hoarse, and the queen laughed. The lord judge yelled the end