box. I made Myklas promise he'd sit with me for a while…he's playing later today for Baen-Tar against Isfayen, his friend Master Serys invited him.”
“He's been playing for Baen-Tar province with Serys for the past four days,” Damon told her.
“Well, I didn't know, okay?” Sofy pouted. “I've had other things to do. Anyhow, Myklas said he'd explain the rules to me.”
“Rules, Your Highness?” Jaryd asked with a mischievous glint.
“Oh, Master Jaryd!” Sofy scolded. “Noblemen are such savages!”
“And noblewomen find it so distressing,” said Jaryd, with a glance toward the clustered, whispering girls nearby.
Sofy looked amused. “Best that you tighten your belt, Heir of Tyree. I'd hate to see a young man lose his pants before such an admiring crowd.” She gave Sasha and Damon each a kiss on the cheek and departed in a swirl of skirts. A pair of Royal Guardsmen followed and the crowd parted before them.
“Am I mistaken,” Jaryd said uncertainly, “or was the princess flirting with me just now?”
“A princess of Lenayin does not flirt,” said Damon. “Everyone knows that.”
“I've heard it said that a princess of Lenayin does not fart, either,” Sasha said cheerfully, pulling on her heavy gloves. “But I happen to know differently.”
“Master Jaryd!” came a new, angry voice. Damon turned to find Pyter Pelyn pushing past the jostle of horses. “This is Danyth's replacement?” He pointed his lagand hook at Sasha.
“You have a problem with that?” Jaryd asked.
“You insult me, and you insult my family's honour! I'll not ride with this…”
“Half the Falcon Guard know what truly happened to your cousin!” Jaryd retorted. “If you'd ask them, you'd discover the truth, but no, you insist on preferring my father's lies because it suits your purposes!”
“My father also says that Sashandra Lenayin killed cousin Reynan!” Pyter snarled. “Do you call him a liar too?”
“Your father was not there! Neither was mine. I killed your cousin, Pyter. I killed him with my own blade as he attempted to kill Sashandra from behind like a coward! Sergeant Garys was there, he can vouch it true!”
He pointed to the sergeant, a short, thick-built man with a bushy beard and tattoos on his forehead. Sergeant Garys looked at the ground. “Aye,” he said reluctantly. “On my honour, you killed him, Master Jaryd. And it was well done.”
“It's a conspiracy!” Pyter fumed. There were friends at his back, now—fellow nobles all. The Falcon Guardsmen, Damon noted, gathered more to Jaryd's side. “Family Nyvar have never liked Family Pelyn, you fear us a threat to the great lordship!”
“I'd have more fear of a sick goat,” said Jaryd.
“Enough!” Damon shouted, stepping between them. “This is the grandest tournament of the year! Tyree's honour is at stake. The team is chosen and we shall compete! This bickering achieves nothing.”
Pyter glared at him, as if weighing the consequences of an insult to a prince's face. Then he spat and stalked back to his horse, his friends following.
Damon turned on Jaryd. “What's got into you today?” he demanded. “Are you determined to start a fight? We're at more risk now from those fools on the field than we are from the Banneryd.”
Jaryd snorted and turned back to his horse, unanswering. “No matter, Your Highness,” said Sergeant Garys, watching Pyter's departure with a dark stare, “we'll watch that one for you. He'll not cause any accidents without befalling one himself, I'll promise that.” Several guardsmen growled agreement. The Falcon Guard were mostly not nobility. Even the Verenthanes among them were not overly fond of the likes of Pyter Pelyn. They had, however, appeared to come to a liking for Jaryd Nyvar.
Damon turned to Sasha. She appeared not at all perturbed by the argument, stretching her arms behind her back, gloved fingers interlaced. “It's going to get rough out there,” Damon ventured.
“Good,” said Sasha.
“Look, matters would be vastly improved if you just declined to take part…”
“Give in to those lying thieves, you mean?”
All the rationalisations, all the possible defences for Tyree's nobility flew through Damon's mind. But it was all manure and he knew it. “Yes,” he said instead, with mounting exasperation. “Give in, Sasha. Just this once.”
“No,” said Sasha. “That's where it starts.”
“Where what starts?”
“If you don't know that,” Sasha snorted, “then you're the biggest fool here.” And she also attended to her horse.
Taneryn scored a winning goal and paraded around the field in ferocious, fist-waving celebration. Then a herald on a white horse galloped onto the field and announced the next two sides. Damon put heels to his horse and the Team of