Page 13

VALOR AND BETRAYAL

O nce again, bad weather delayed Helena’s journey to Mnisztwo Castle.

She and her papa arrived well after midnight and hurried to their usual suite.

By morning the worst storms seemed to be over, but the morning sky was as gray as the castle walls.

On the bright side, the clouds and a breeze kept the open arena and pavilion from being unbearably hot.

The duchy’s future knights, including Kazik, had been preparing for battle since dawn, or so she was told. Helena still hadn’t so much as glimpsed her betrothed.

Colorful flags waved from every support post, and excitement filled the air.

This melee wasn’t the first Helena had ever attended, but it marked the first time her father allowed her to sit on a raised bench in the pavilion with other young women near her age.

Shivering a little, she felt alone among her peers.

Yet she felt pretty in the new gown Papa had ordered with help from Madame Euzebia, whose royal seamstresses had worked their magic to create a lovely surprise.

Her kirtle was a deep summery blue—her favorite color—and the silky white chemise beneath showed at her throat and sleeves.

She could not have been more pleased by the way its fit and drape flattered her late-blossoming figure.

Several of the young ladies seated nearby were equally well-dressed and carried themselves with confidence, yet Helena still felt good about her appearance.

Would Kazik notice?

At last, a man shouted something jumbled, the crowd cheered anyway, and with a cacophonous blast of trumpets, twelve mounted contestants entered the field from the right, led by young pages carrying bright yellow and green pennants.

Red and black pennants preceded the team entering from the left, and one horseman in that group caught Helena’s attention.

She didn’t need to see his face; she simply knew which rider was Kazik.

The device of a gold horse and a flying bird intertwined with a red cross on his tabard, and his black steed wore a caparison with the same device—Helena recognized the horse from Kazik’s descriptions as Iga, his favorite mount.

Next, the teams scattered around the arena.

To Helena’s complete surprise, Kazik reined Iga into position directly before her, raised his visor to reveal his beautiful eyes, and extended his blunted lance toward her.

Nearby, other contestants did the same for their chosen ladies.

Helena saw Prince Czwarty—who was on the opposing team—offer his lance to Lady Kornelia, seated further along Helena’s bench.

Blushing, Helena copied what the other girls did: she drew a clean handkerchief from her bodice and knotted it on the lance’s tip.

With a glow in his eyes, Kazik nodded to her and withdrew the lance.

After untying the cloth, he held her gaze, tucked her token beneath his tabard and over his heart, then pressed his hand there.

She could hardly breathe. He looked so grown up!

Helena vividly remembered the way he’d held her hand while he slipped her betrothal ring into place last winter.

Would he hold her hand again today? The shyness flooding through her every time she looked at him .

. . she hoped it would go away quickly so they could resume their comfortable friendship.

Or maybe she wanted something more . . . She spun the slender gold band on her finger and hoped he would seek her company again once the events ended.

Kazik lowered his visor, turned Iga around, and rejoined his team as they completed their lap of the arena. Then the riders from each team maneuvered their mounts into line at even intervals, facing their opponents. Tossing heads, snorting, and stamping revealed the warhorses’ eagerness to charge.

All that time, Helena heard the other girls exclaiming about their favorites, and the few girls she knew by name teased her about her betrothed and her token.

She smiled, too shy to talk about Prince Kazimierz, but her gaze kept returning to him.

His polished armor and chainmail gleamed in the muted light.

Iga pawed the ground. The tension rose, and the riders couched their lances.

Then a trumpet blasted, and twenty-four horses hurtled forward in a thunder of pounding hoofs and battle cries, followed by a tremendous clash.

A few riders were unhorsed, and one steed staggered to its feet, leaving its rider in danger of being trampled.

Helena clapped both hands over her eyes and let out a scream .

. . in chorus with most of the other girls in her area.

The clash and boom of blows, the shrieks of frightened or angry horses, the earth-shaking rumble of stamping, charging hooves, and the young men’s battle cries and howls all terrified her. A solid blow from a lance or wooden sword or a fall from a horse could kill or maim.

Helena peeked between her fingers. She couldn’t help it!

And then she couldn’t look away. Kazik’s lance had shattered, but the fighting was in close quarters now anyway.

While she watched with her hands pressed to her cheeks, ready to cover her eyes at any moment, Kazik blocked a blow from an opponent’s sword, unhorsed him with a shove of his shield, then wheeled his mount to fight another.

Kazik was strong and quick, and even Helena could tell that he knew how to use his weapons.

He and two teammates worked together, escorting their fallen or surrendered opponents to their team’s corner of the field, where two younger boys, serving as the team’s squires, held them under guard.

When Kazik rejoined the conflict, fewer than ten combatants were still on the field.

Six wore red-and-black armbands, yet the battle was not yet won, and one member of the green-and-yellow team was particularly effective at disarming his opponents.

When Kazik closed in to fight that worthy opponent, the action became terribly difficult to follow, and Helena couldn’t understand their shouts and orders amid the grunts and squeals from the horses and the clash of weapons. It looked like utter chaos!

She saw a wooden sword swing at Kazik’s head and cried out, clapping both hands to her cheeks.

But Kazik blocked the attack with his sword while simultaneously unhorsing his enemy, who lost his helmet in the fall.

Just as she shouted in relief and triumph, she realized that the “enemy” he’d just unhorsed was Prince Czwarty.

To the audible relief of many ladies in the stands—especially Lady Kornelia—the imposing young heir to a principality was soon back on his feet and crossing swords with another unhorsed combatant.

Both young men looked too exhausted to seriously harm each other.

Helena had never particularly cared for either Czwarty or Kornelia, but the prince was Kazik’s friend, and she didn’t want him seriously hurt.

The melee ended soon afterward, and Kazik’s team was declared triumphant. Still in her seat, with people chattering all around, Helena briefly overheard a man seated behind her say, “It seems the grand duke’s son is a force to reckon with, competent and clever.”

Pride in her betrothed seemed to fill Helena’s chest. Simultaneously, she felt limp, relieved that Kazik appeared to be uninjured but all too aware that another time he might easily sustain broken bones, a concussion, a dislocation, or worse. Even the lucky ones had nasty bruises and abrasions.

She knew she would never understand the appeal of watching war games, and real war had to be vastly worse. Yet she was proud of her betrothed’s skill and courage.

A brief award ceremony followed. Many people were leaving the pavilions, but Helena remained in her seat where she could watch Kazik lead his exhausted horse forward with the others to accept his prize, which might have been a jewel—she couldn’t quite tell.

Instead of remounting like the other boys did, Kazik walked beside his mare, patting and praising her.

Helena couldn’t hear his voice amid the cacophony of whinnies, shouts, and band music, let alone the crowd noise all around, but she could easily imagine his calming tone.

She loved his deep voice, and apparently so did Iga.

His eyes gleamed in his dirt-caked face as he scanned the crowds. Several people shouted congratulations and waved to him. He waved back, too exhausted to smile. He seemed almost disoriented. Was he searching for her?

When he passed her pavilion, she stood up and called his name. His head turned, their eyes met, and his dirty face brightened. Helena read her name on his lips as he approached the platform, and she knelt on the dirty footrest to reach down to him. Their fingertips touched.

“I must tend my horse and clean up, but then I will find you.” He looked even worse at close range. Sweat blended with dirt, and blood crusted his face. Helena glimpsed worry—or was it anger?—in his eyes. “We must talk,” he said, his voice deeper than she remembered. “In private.”

Foreboding flooded through her. “What’s wrong?”

He glanced to either side, then set his jaw and shook his head. “After I clean up, I will find you. My father is plotting to?—”

“Kazimierz, you must make haste.”

Helena recognized the grand duke’s voice, deep like his son’s.

Anger flashed in Kazik’s eyes, but he bottled it up. “Yes, sir.”

Then he turned back to hold her gaze. His lips didn’t move, but she heard his voice inside her head. “Find Geoffroi behind the castle, past the gardens. He’ll keep you safe. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can. It’s important.” A chill of apprehension washed through her as he hurried away.

Without once pausing to think of her father, Helena left the crowded field, craving peace after so much noise and conflict. Kazik would find her, but why did he seem so angry? She’d been happy when he requested her token, but now . . . A dark cloud seemed to hang over her. Or was it magic?