Though the bold Aremore orange did not suit her pale coloring, the girl’s gambeson was pitch black and drew drama to her square features. She bowed, hand over her heart, and said, “My honor to serve a prince of such a glorious house as Bolinbroke.”
“We welcome your sacrifice,” she replied, a teasing smile on her lips.
Catrin said, “I will destroy my brother.”
Hal laughed and turned to Belavias. “First is ax: that’s you, Belavias. And then horsemanship, then a break to change the field for archery, strength, and lance. Magic next, and finishing with sword for me. And after that, we celebrate our championship.” Hal grinned again. “Keep drinking water, even though it’s cold, and eat in tiny amounts until after your bout. Then, I don’t care if you stuff yourself enough to vomit.”
Horns bellowed low, dangerous sounds that hit Hal in the gut instead of higher in her chest like Aremore hunting horns. She turned as the drumming began, fast and expectant.
Queen Solas led a procession out from the queen’s tower to the corner of the field. With her came her sister, Ryrie, and niece, Vae, both in the regal dark blue of Innis Lear.
Banna Mora wore red, her hand on the elbow of Rory Errigal for escort.
Young girls and boys dashed past the queen to toss dried petals across the combat field. They spun in circles so their coats and capes flared, joined hands to stomp-dance along with the staccato drums. Then, at a low horn call, they fled, laughing.
Solas lifted a hand and in a strong voice summoned the champions.
Hal strode forward immediately, chin up. A brisk wind fluttered the wisps of hair already loose at her temples, and she smiled. She stopped before the queen and waited for Hotspur.
It was only a moment before Hotspur appeared. The sun caught on her chain mail, dazzling Hal’s eyes. The prince’s smile stretched so wide, Hal was certain it would tear free of her face and grow and grow until it filled the sky.
Hotspur did not smile. Her expression held the intensity of war, but that flush of excitement high on her cheekbones gave her away.
These two had not spoken alone again since the tournament was declared, as Hotspur continued to avoid her. This was the only chance Hal had. If she could defeat Hotspur, there would be a window to convince the knight to Hal’s side. But if Hal lost, Hotspur was lost, too, as Mora would use it as proof of her own sovereignty.
“Welcome, champions,” Solas said. “The stars and roots of Innis Lear await your blessed combat, your battle of strength and strategy. We salute you and offer our favors.” She nodded to Banna Mora.
Mora took a blue-and-white ribbon from a nearby girl and walked to Hotspur. “My champion, Lady Hotspur of Aremoria, who holds my own honor in her hand to fight on my behalf.” She tied the ribbon to Hotspur’s arm.
Hotspur bowed and said, “I will do so with all the power of arms at my command, and strength in my heart.”
Then the queen said, “And to the Aremore champion, a gift.”
Vae Lear stepped forward, chin down shyly, but looking at Hal with her pale brown eyes. Her long hair was wound with blue and orange ribbons. In one hand she held a ribbon of orange, elaborately embroidered with stars.
Hal bowed to her and held still as the young princess tied the favor onto her arm.
“I would stand for your side, in friendship,” Vae murmured.
“Aremoria welcomes your support,” Hal said softly back.
And then Queen Solas cleared her throat and Hal leaned away. Solas said, “To further bless this day of combat, the winner will be gifted by our hand this gilded dagger.”
Ryrie Lear accepted a thin black pillow from a girl beside her and lifted it, tilted just slightly to display a beautifully wrought dagger, the hilt wrapped in deep red leather and dotted at the crosspiece with small pink rubies.
“Lovely,” Hal said, bowing, and Hotspur leaned forward for a better look, nodding her admiration for the prize. Hal raised her voice. “Though I compete for Aremoria’s honor, I dedicate the strength of my team and our winnings to our cousin and friend Banna Mora, in celebration of the half-year mark of her wedding to Prince Rowan Lear. A unity between Aremoria and Innis Lear always should be celebrated.”
Mora pursed her lips, irritated, but nodded. Rowan said, “We welcome Aremoria’s blessing on our union, and the strength you have to give us.”