The ball. He'd gone, but barely. Stayed at the edges. Skulked around until it was time to go home. To take Gwenna home. I don't say anything. I wait for him to fill the silence.
"She's too skinny," he says at last, his voice low.
"Who?"
"The Queen of fucking England.” He rolls his eyes. "Gwenna," he says, then adds, “dumbass."
I want to look back at her, but I don't need to, because Kai is right. I could feel it when we danced.
"I don't think we're taking very good care of her," Kai mutters.
My fist tenses involuntarily.
"Nothing has happened to her since she got here," I point out. "She's been kept perfectly safe."
“Yeah, and I didn’t say she wasn’t safe,” Kai says. Now he looks me in the eye. "I said we weren't taking good care of her. Those aren't the same thing."
I can trust you without forgiving you.
I swallow hard, and stare, unseeing, at the fencers a few strips away.
"Yeah," I say at last. "Go take a breather. Outside. Get some fresh air. Jt reset your head."
"Why?" Kai says. "What's the point? I'm stricken off this tournament. I'm out for the rest of the season, King. Do you forget what a black card does?"
"Did I say it was about winning the season?" I look at him sharply. "You can't insist on taking care of someone else and not yourself."
He stares at me.
"We'll pull you back up," I say slowly. "That's why there's four of us. Not everything has to rest onyourshoulders, you know."
Kai doesn't say anything. But he gets up, unzips his jacket a little, and stalks off.
When he's gone, I take his place on the bench, staring into space, trying to reorient my head for my bout that's coming up in a few minutes. Out of habit, I pick up his saber, just to keep things tidy, and as I do, as it rotates just barely in my hand, I see the gleam on the foible near the safety tip. Oil, from the Prior at Arms. But it looks…
I pick up my own weapon. Compare them. Mine's got that sheen there too, but barely. A fingerprint's worth. Not enough to stop anything. But Kai’s…the oil from the Prior's anointing is thick, almost paste-like, clogging the tip.
My blood runs cold.
I glance toward the VIP box. The Prior at Arms sits motionless, hands folded. Watching.
He did this on purpose.
To test Kai. To see if he'd keep his composure even when cheated.
And Kai failed.
I glance at the timetable. Shelton’s warming up on the strip, but I have time. With Kai's saber in my left hand and my foil in my right, I stride purposefully over to the box.
I feel my father's stare settle on me as I approach. I nod to him, nod deeper to the prior at arms, who sits blankly to his right.
"Father," I say. "Your…grace."
I look down at the two weapons in my hand. What was I even going to say? That they'd made a mistake? There's absolutely no way. Prior at Arms, despite his white habit and retiring outward demeanor, is an expert swordsman, an Olympic qualifier, or so the rumor goes. No one knows. He wouldn't have done something so stupid as an accident, but that means he must have.
I meet my father's gaze, and it's full of fire.
"A shame," he grits out, "about your brother."
