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You could also tell a lot about a person from how they treated animals. Balefire was stabled down below, currently munching away on the top board of his box stall. I grinned fondly. Bale would certainly try a person's patience and test the limits of their kindness.
Last night I observed Bear team. They did okay, although it was fairly obvious that the men didn't know each other well outside the competition. Their interactions were stiff and awkward, and their leader didn't seem all that comfortable giving orders. But they were generally kind and attentive to the various animals as they cleaned stalls, groomed the beasts, and fed them all.
They did much better than Peacock team the night before them—one of whom left the barn in a rage, bleeding from a griffon bite ten minutes into their shift.
Tonight, it was Raven team's turn, and I was surprised at how eager I was for them to prove themselves. Apparently, I was a sucker for blue eyes and men who looked out for awkward teen squires and considered their team a family. I was still feeling sentimental after my night with Ward. Which was just ridiculous at this point. The fate of Larkwood was far more important than my runaway libido. But my body didn't seem to get the message.
Soft male voices rumbled as the barn door opened, and I sat up straighter, glad my guards were outside and unable to see me blush as that little zing of awareness flickered through me, the way it always did when this team was near.
Bach came in through the door laughing, his arm thrown around the shoulders of the stoic silver-haired archery contestant, Adder. The tall, but slightly less bulky male shook his head at some joke and poked the big warrior in the ribs with an elbow, shoving him off. Their other two teammates followed them in, and they all stood there for a moment, getting their bearings and sizing up their job for the evening.
"Nice layout," a man with messy auburn waves, light red-brown skin, and warm golden eyes commented, planting his hands on his hips as he looked around the building. That was Mirri. The reason they had all entered the contest. I didn't know much about him, really—aside from what Bach had told me the other day. His file was notably lacking in anything interesting. He hadn't placed well in the combat challenge. Which wasn't surprising, really, if you were just judging by looks. He wasn't a small man, but he didn't seem as overly muscular and hard as the others. He was softer looking than your typical fae warrior type.
Not that I didn't know the pitfalls of judging a book by its cover. But sometimes appearances really did tell you the whole story. And Mirri looked like he would be more at home doing things that made people smile, like baking or gardening, rather than fighting. He had a bit of padding that said he’d rather curl up with a good book and a plate of honey cakes than spend his time in physical training. He always wore a short cloak over his shoulders every time I'd seen him so far. It disguised some of his bulk, but I imagined he hadn't been a laborer or a fighter before this. His file said he helped his parents with their barony and didn't have any other formal employment, aside from his own academic pursuits.
Most highborn fae had some animal features, but from what I could see of Mirri's body, he had more than his fair share. A lion-like tail twitched behind him, and he had small, mismatched antlers. Red, brown, and gold feathers peeked out amid his tumble of auburn hair. And I assumed the cloak hid even more animal features. Otherwise, it was an odd accessory to wear constantly everywhere he went.
Not that his animal features were anything to be ashamed of. But all the same, I was pretty sure the cloak didn't hide a warrior's physique, but something far more interesting.
Mirri was currently studying the stables as if he was judging every detail of the architecture. If I recalled correctly from the stacks of reports I had skimmed before the tournament began, this man was a scholar of some sort in his spare time. It was the kind of thing that stuck out in my mind, because that sort of vocation was rare among the tournament contestants, who all tended to be guards, or strongmen, or titled nobles who had hired tutors to help them win the physical parts of the competition.
It was interesting to witness Mirri's avid curiosity toward his surroundings. I entertained the random idea of what it would be like to have a bonded partner who would enjoy having deep discussions about the workings of the world around him. Maybe someone who could share his knowledge and use it for the good of Larkwood.
The man beside Mirri nodded agreement at his statement. "Reminds me of the stables back home," he said in a stunningly musical voice. This was the man who had won the knife-throwing competition. Fife. The one whose mother had endorsed the idea of the four friends entering the tournament for the chance to stay together and protect Mirri.
I hadn't met him before because he had been ill right after the weapons competition. But he certainly looked well now, with clear opal skin, raven black curls, and light, crystal green eyes that seemed to sparkle in the low light. I saw what Currant meant when the guard had described him the other day. And why people had bet against him in the tournament. If Mirri the scholar wasn't quite like the other tough-guy competitors, then this man was the complete antithesis of a champion.
For starters, he was tiny compared to the other hulking males, all compact, slender grace. And he was shockingly beautiful. There was no other word to describe him. The type of delicate, artful beauty one would only expect from the most beloved of the highborn court. I understood why he and his mother might have a reputation for always getting their way. It had been a long time since I'd seen her in person, and my memory was a bit foggy. But if she looked anything like her son, that would explain her success at cajoling people into doing as she wished.
I leaned forward to get a better look, still completely hidden by my spell. I froze when the gorgeous, knife-throwing champion looked right at me.
"You're right," Bach said with a fond smile. "This place resembles your mother's stables, Fife, and your family has the best horse master in the kingdom. Good to see the royals respect their beasts." Not a single complaint about their duties so far.
"Mmm," the raven-haired Fife said distractedly, still looking up at the loft where I sat.
"What is it?" Mirri asked curiously, following his friend's gaze to where I was hidden.
I stared back, disgruntled, thinking the charm I'd purchased must have failed somehow. But Mirri and the others didn't react. They didn’t seem to see me. Right. My disguise spell was strong. I knew it was. It must just be a coincidence. But the way Fife had looked my way was disconcerting.
The pretty guy glanced away and shrugged. "It’s nothing," he said easily. "I sensed magic, but it seems harmless."
Bach nodded and reached out to let an inquisitive kelpie sniff his hand. "The royals wouldn't let just anyone waltz in here and tend to these lovely creatures. It's probably just a safety measure, or a way to monitor who comes and goes." He shrugged. "Maybe a means of making sure we show up for our assigned shift?"
They moved further into the barn and started talking about what needed to be done. I frowned when Fife flicked one last perceptive green glance my way. He couldn't see me. There was no way. He must be able to sense the magic in my invisibility spell, that was all. I settled in again as the men got to work.
It was obvious they knew each other well. The files provided by the royal secretary's office said the men lived in the same area, that they were acquaintances. But the way they interacted proved they were just as close as Bach claimed. They joked and chatted while they worked, but still did a thorough job of their chores, not getting so distracted that they slacked off. And they were smart enough to give each unique animal the respect and attention it deserved.
While they listed Bach on their paperwork as the team's official leader, he didn't give orders. Instead, they all just talked about what needed to be done and who would take what task, then got to work. No one argued. No one got sullen or tried to prove something by taking charge. They all just helped wherever they were needed.
And when my pooka turned from a horse into a black-finned swamp squirrel, Mirri didn't bat an eye. He just brought an extra bucket of water. Then he and Adder said they were going to pop around to the kitchens to see if they had any snails. No one ended up wounded, and all the animals were content and cared for.
When they were finished, they washed up at the big sink on the far side of the barn. Fife hung back from the others, wiping his hands on an old towel but not looking up at the loft where I sat, thankfully. "You guys go on," he said evenly. "I want to stay here a for a bit."
Bach immediately shook his head. "I'll stay with you. We're not splitting up and leaving you here alone. You know the rules."
Fife rolled his eyes. "I'm not some delicate flower, Bach. I can walk from here to the camp by myself."
But the others were having none of it. "Fife," the silver-haired one, Adder, said seriously. "Don't be stupid."
