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Juliana muttered something cross under her breath, sensing she’d get no more out of her. What did it matter, anyway, as long as she could track him?
She tugged on Hawthorn’s arm and pushed him out of the marketplace, now heaving with life and sound, highlighting the silence growing between the two of them.
“Why did you do that?” Juliana asked as they walked home.
“You are going to have to be more specific.”
“Why give her some of your lifeforce?”
“Six months of your life is a good chunk of it,” he replied, not meeting her gaze. “I have almost forever to play with. And the charm was for me, not you. It made sense.”
He didn’t want to be in her debt, either. It made sense. There was no need to thank him.
There would never be a need to thank him.
Therestofthenight before the tournament passed in a beautiful, hazy blur. She danced and chatted with Dillon and Aoife and a dozen other old friends, about old times and adventures in Autumn. She gorged herself on honey cakes and sweet wine and blue-veined cheeses, slivers of red meat she hadn’t butchered herself, thick, warm, crusty bread, sugar apples and dates. She danced and laughed and talked till her feet ached, her sides hurt and her mouth went dry, until colours smudged together in a dark rainbow and music swam in her veins.
If it was magic, it was of a different kind.
Finally, blissfully, she crawled back to her cot, and sank into a dark, delicious slumber.
She woke late morning to her father standing over. He did not look best pleased.
“Make rather merry last night did we, daughter?”
Juliana chanced a grin. “I did, rather.” She climbed out of bed, forcing a spring in her step. “Didn’t drink too much though. Honest. Just enough to make itlooklike I did.”
He patted her head. “Good girl. Others were not so smart.” He picked a leaf out of her hair. “You should have gone to bed sooner, though.”
Juliana ran her fingers through her tangles, picking out other leaves and bits of twigs. She’d strolled into the gardens at one point and lain down in the downy grass with her friends, like moonlight was a thing they could absorb. “I was enjoying myself.”
“Clearly.” Markham placed both hands on her shoulders. “No distractions.”
“No distractions.”
“Good. Inspect your kit. Training starts in an hour.”
The tournament set to begin after midday, most of the competitors would spend the morning in the training ring. Most kept to simple warm-ups, others used the chance to show off their prowess to intimidate their competitors. Juliana’s tactic was to appear mediocre, to show off nothing but minimal skills, and to learn as much as possible about every other participant.
Her father joined her after an hour. “What have you learned?”
Taking care that no one was watching, Juliana rattled off a list. There were a lot of young would-be knights, eager to test their metal, but only a few of any note. A merrow from the Summer Court, built like Neptune himself; a fox-faced rogue from Autumn, quick as a sharp breeze; Ser Miriam, if she decided to participate; and a hardy knight from Spring, rumoured to be part ogre.
Markham did not seem daunted by any of them, even though at least three were older and more experienced.
Juliana knew she was a fine warrior, but she had nowhere near his level of confidence.
I will destroy half the competition here,she thought.But the other half may well destroy me.
Before long, the trumpets were blazing, the drums beckoning all to the fayre. Ignoring the fire-tamers and the jugglers and the mermaids dancing with water, Juliana made her way to the competitor’s tent.
There was no fighting fair in Faerie. The smallest squire could find themselves facing an ogre in round one where the only rule was that magic not be employed… at least not in the first few rounds. Everything else was fair game, even if it was like fighting a claymore with a twig.
Once they were registered, the competitors drew lots from enchanted marbles at the next station and queued up to take their places.
A ring in the garden outside had been set up with hay bales and barrels, a few stone shelters. Not that it did the gangly-squire any good in the first round against a werewolf. Although they typically only shifted during the night of the full moon, most could tap into their strength any day of the month.
And this one did. He almost took his arm off.
