Page 7 of Thorns and Echoes

The man began to move. Both curved swords unsheathed in a fluid motion, and he was dancing, rising and falling like the sea. Dancing was a more apt term than any combat forms Castien had seen in the military wing or with the Escorts, but he was no expert. Steel sang as the prince leaped and swung. The man was certainly agile.

Castien commented quietly, “He fights well. Showy but elegant and effortless.”

Balak ended his display with a flourish, bowing deeply as he sheathed his swords. While the nobles clapped, Anais murmured, “The Akerami fighting style is lovely but impractical. He left so many holes in his defenses, I could have skewered him in a dozen places before he knew he was hit.”

“Beauty over violence doesn't sound so terrible for a culture.”

The prince grinned and bowed again to both sides of the crowd.

Anais maintained a faintly amused smile. “Oh, yes, they love their art. It's the artists they don't care for. I'm sure you’ve entertained plenty of Aker merchants.”

He had. “They were always pleasant and appreciative. I've had no complaints.”

“Because you are the art. Step out of your role and see how much they appreciate you then.”

The room quieted. The Queen tapped her claws on his arm. Silence stretched as her cold assessment passed from the prince to his people and back again.

“A pretty prance, pirate,” she said. “If I need a jester, I'll think of you.”

The prince’s eyes flashed. Oh, he was a proud one. Within the span of a blink, anger smoothed into laughter. “I'd be glad to provide entertainment anytime, your highness – particularly in private.” Winking, he spared Castien a dismissive glance, then moved to the side with his attendants.

The other herald’s booming voice announced, “Commander Aurora Kilik of Shoni’i, the general of her majesty Queen Eolani Kilik’s armies. Her attendants…”

The Commander marched into the hall. Her leathers were practical as well as formal, tailored, and well-made. She cut a stern figure in unnatural dark red armor reinforced with steel spaulders.

A precise bow of four heartbeats, and she straightened. Her entourage of similarly outfitted men and women stood at attention.

The Queen and Commander stared at each other. Her claws had stopped stroking him. “Welcome, Commander. I remember our last spar ten years ago. You must have improved significantly to be promoted so highly.”

That was almost a compliment. Castien examined the woman closer.

“Your majesty. Queen Eolani sends her regards.” The lady snapped her fingers. Two men behind her moved forward. She continued, “When I prevail in your tournament, my Queen’s cousins will be pleased to service you. Either or both, per your majesty’s preference.”

The two males bowed, then retreated to the sides of the hall along with the other attendants. Castien frowned slightly. By the lady’s wording, she was competing for the Consort title. But Queen and Consort could both use the males for breeding purposes. Clever, if Shoni’i intended to claim the throne entirely for their bloodline.

Her hand resting on the pommel of her sword was the only request for permission that the Commander made. At Anais’ small nod, Aurora drew her weapon.

The Commander's movements weren't elegant. She was militaristic. Fast and light on her feet, yet firm and confident with every thrust and slice that looked like a drill she had practiced every day of her life.

She completed her display with another perfect bow. The nobles’ clapping sounded lackluster. They liked a show.

Castien murmured, “Hmm. Well, the lady seems very efficient and quick. Almost as fast as you.”

“Yes.” Her claws resumed stroking, slower.

“She could even be a challenge for you, don't you think?”

“Perhaps.”

His curiosity was piqued. She was very distracted by this woman. Ten years. They knew each other from before Anais was Queen. He wondered how well.

Aurora stepped aside without acknowledging Castien.

Next were the representatives from Delia. Their classic, long, white robes swept into the hall like holy ghosts, if one believed in such things. The heralds announced High Priestess Nyridia. Afew nobles bowed their heads. The Queen’s broad glance noted them.

Anais picked up her cup of wine, sipping as the woman at the head of the procession bowed to the throne. A drop of red trailed down her chin. She set the cup down and wiped the spilled wine. As the High Priestess of Delia straightened, the Queen flicked her finger, sending a wisp of red toward the display of white.

It fell short, unfortunately.