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Cassia strove to ignore the reminder of the king’s power and focused on how proud Callen had been the first time he had donned his ceremonial attire.
Callen’s gaze lingered on Perita. “Those are the blue ribbons you wore in your hair on tournament day back home.”
“So they are.” Perita patted Callen’s breastplate.
By the looks on their faces, Cassia suspected those were the ribbons Callen had taken out of Perita’s hair after the tournament, the night when she had promised to marry him.
Out in the corridor, Eudias cleared his throat. “Begging your pardon, Basilis, but the Hesperine escort is already waiting outside the New Guest House.”
Cassia joined Eudias in the hall with Knight marching in his procession gait at her side, and Callen and Perita followed arm in arm.
At his usual post in the gallery, Benedict joined them and took Cassia’s arm. He offered no comment on her Segetian colors. He must be distracted, indeed.
“You look well in your chain mail and Segetian tabard,” Cassia said.
Benedict’s troubled expression did not change. “I see little purpose in the Hesperines’ invitation to attire ourselves as if we were attending one of our own tournaments.”
“I think they are trying to show their respect for our traditions.”
“Whatever their motivation, we must not leave our honor at the door. Even when it comes to Hesperines.” Benedict frowned. “Especially when it comes to them.”
“You have been deep in thought since the week we visited Hypatia’s library,” Cassia murmured, “and even more preoccupied since our voyage aboard Kassandra’s ship.”
“I can identify his malady, Basilis.” Eudias answered in a mordant tone she had never heard from him before. “Tenebrans in general suffer from a lack of knowledge, while apprentices such as myself suffer from too much. Sir Benedict has now met with my affliction. One glimpse inside a scroll, and we cannot unsee what we have beheld.”
“Aithourians who disobey Anthros,” Benedict muttered. “Hesperines who defend Aithourians. What’s a man to make of it?”
“Perhaps,” Cassia replied, “our time with the Stand tonight will shed further light on Steward Lysandros and his Grace, Steward Telemakhos.”
On the docks in front of the New Guest House, Mak and Lyros waited on a pair of perfectly matched black warhorses. Their mounts sported no reins or saddles, only black accoutrements emblazoned with the constellation Aegis, which also appeared on their Stand regalia. Behind them, the docks were crowded with Hesperines and decorated with banners that matched the horses’ barding.
Lord Severin gazed upon the equines with appreciation and envy in his eyes. “Those are the largest chargers I’ve ever seen, but they’re as elegant as parade horses.”
Mak patted his mount’s shoulder. “Orthros Warmbloods, my mother’s craft. No other horses like them in the world. She bred them from Imperial stock and her familiar, the mare she brought with her out of Tenebra sixteen hundred years ago.”
At the mention of familiars, some of the lords stepped back. Benedict surprised Cassia by circling Mak to get a good look at the horse. Lord Severin was brave enough to get permission from Lyros to examine his mount more closely. Lord Severin and the Warmblood were soon blowing in one another’s nostrils.
“I did not know the Stand uses mounts,” Cassia said.
Mak leaned down over his horse’s shoulders and grinned at her. “We know how to fight on foot or on horseback, in the snow or in a sandstorm, in Stand regalia or formal robes, with our eyes closed or our hands bound.”
“But always without weapons,” she observed.
Lyros gave one of his subtle smiles and lifted a hand. “The Goddess gave us the only weapons we need.”
Lord Adrogan tried to examine the teeth of Mak’s horse and nearly lost a finger. The Tenebran laughed. “I don’t suppose your honorable mother trades these beauties?”
“She has been known to,” Mak answered. “She breeds foals upon request—for the right buyer. Her chief requirement is a true appreciation for the animal.”
“No one loves horses the way the men of Tenebra do,” Lord Adrogan boasted.
“Then you’ll enjoy the procession,” Lyros promised.
Mak and Lyros escorted the embassy along the docks, past cheering crowds. Lio’s Trial brothers kept their Warmbloods at a gentle walk, setting an easy pace for Cassia and the other mortals who followed on foot. Their procession left the harbor, and they made their way through Selas, where more enthusiasts lined the streets. Black pennants blew in the wind at every arch and on all the wrought-iron lampposts.
“It looks more like a funeral than a tournament parade,” Callen muttered.
Lord Gaius studied the decorations with narrowed eyes. “Whose funeral?”
