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And suddenly, I am equal parts impressed and wary of the man who sees so much more than I gave him credit for.
“Now, it’s your turn.” Einar looks at me, and I feel my features go tight.
Is he going to kiss me in front of all these people, after all?
But he gestures to the booths around us after only a moment.
“Choose your weapon, My Lady,” he says loudly.
I narrow my eyes at him, because I know he was off-footing me intentionally, but again, I realize he is playing to the people. They look at me with more warmth in their curiosity already.
There is something refreshing in the way they take women and weaponry in stride, something that emboldens me more than it should.
Axes are out, because I could never outdo him there. I am unlikely to win in an arm-wrestling match, and my skill with a bow is mediocre, at best. That leaves knives and throwing stars. I mull over my choices for a moment before heading toward the stars.
The crowd gives us a wide berth, but they stay gathered to watch my performance.
“The stars are harder than they look,” Einar warns, but the challenge hasn’t left his gaze.
I shrug my shoulders innocently and stride over to the booth, my fingers already itching for the familiar cold steel.
“Why this?” His voice is quieter now, the question only for me.
They’re easy enough to maneuver, versatile and light enough that there is no real danger in missing. But I give him a different answer.
“They remind me of my home,” I tell him in a low tone.Or, at least whatever semblance of home I had with my sisters.
Why did I admit that?Aika loved any weapon she could throw, and she has been on my mind today, but it’s more than that. Somewhere between his challenge and his performance, a feeling of recklessness is seeping in.
I should ignore it.
But I don’t.
“The King’s Lady at the stars!” the man at the booth announces, though the horde of people around us could hardly grow any larger.
I instantly like him for saying Lady instead of Consort. The king hands over a small coin, and the man lays out three silver stars, each uniquely engraved and freshly sharpened.
I pick one up on the pretense of examining the detail, but I use the opportunity to take its measure, the weight and balance, before I aim for the target.
I throw the first one in the most basic fashion. A light, overhand toss that spins toward the middle of the target.
Applause rings out behind me.
“Beginner’s luck,” the man announces, but his smile is kind.
The crowd’s response isn’t as rowdy as it was for the king, but they are loosening up toward me.
The second one, I barely take time to aim. I throw it sideways and it hits closer to the center, just across the bullseye from the first.
This time, the reaction is more exuberant.
“Oho!” the man exclaims. “Let’s see if she can finish strong!”
I turn to look the king straight in the eye, and for a fraction of a second, I let my mask slip. I let him see the fire that burns through me in an answer to the challenges he keeps throwing out.
He raises his eyebrows, and it’s like he’s daring me. A long-hidden part of me rears up in answer.
Without breaking his gaze, without taking even a second to aim, I pluck up the last star and throw it with a flick of my wrist. Silence descends in the fraction of a moment it takes to sail toward the dead center of the target.
