Page 36 of Pippa of Lauramore (The Eldentimber #1)

G alinor looks much better this morning. His tan cheeks are flushed pink, and the dark shadows under his eyes are almost gone. Women swoon and giggle as he takes his place in the arena. He graciously acknowledges their cheers. Beside me, Marigold sighs.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

I haven’t been able to sneak away to see him today, but Leonora tells me Archer is ready and waiting in Galinor’s tent. After the competition begins, they will switch places. Percival has forbidden me from visiting Archer. He says it’s too dangerous after the spectacle Lionel made last night.

I’m not sure I care anymore.

Even when I think I do the right thing, everything goes wrong—Galinor gets poisoned, Archer gets accused of treason. Who knows what will happen next?

I barely slept at all last night. I couldn’t get comfortable, and I couldn’t stop thinking. I kept waiting for that blissful moment that comes right before sleep where everything is comfortable, warm, and distant. That moment never came. Now a headache is lurking, and I’m feeling sulky.

Trumpets blare. Father will finally begin his speech, and we can get this whole wretched ordeal over with. He stands. “Welcome to the final competition of the tournament!”

The crowd roars, and I resist the urge to cringe at the noise. I sit with a fake smile pasted on my face as Father lists where the competitors stand. Galinor is in first, Lionel in second, Rigel in third, and so on and so forth. Father wishes them all luck, and the competition begins.

In a way, I’m relieved the tournament is almost over. Even if I end up with Lionel, at least there will be no more wondering.

Or hope.

Rigel and Lord Kellerby are the first to compete. Unlike the other competitors in full armor or mail, along with a helmet, Rigel wears only a chain mail shirt over his tunic.

“Is that allowed?” I ask Leonora, speaking of his lack of armor.

She nods. “The rules state the competitors must wear a helmet and mail shirt at the minimum.”

I shrug. If he wishes to forego safety for range of movement, I suppose that’s up to him.

The men circle each other, swords and shields at the ready.

Kellerby strikes first, but Rigel easily blocks the attack with his shield.

Kellerby swings once—twice more, but both times the dark lord blocks him.

Kellerby loses his footing after the third swing, stumbling slightly.

Rigel strikes, pushing him back, making him block a feinted swing that leaves him open for the actual attack.

Kellerby stumbles backward and falls to the ground.

Rigel stands over him, sword carefully resting against his neck.

After Rigel’s win is announced, he holds his hand out to Kellerby. The man hesitates but then accepts it. Leonora raises her eyebrows at me. It’s the second time we’ve seen him act honorably after a win. Perhaps, in light of last night, I might have to admit he’s a decent human being.

Perhaps. I don’t want to jump to conclusions.

Rigel takes off his helmet, and as if he can sense my thoughts, he gives me a wry smile and exits the arena to await the next round. I watch several more competitors go against each other, and it doesn’t seem much different than watching my brothers and Archer practice with the knights. I’m bored.

Lionel wins his match, but I didn’t expect him to lose the first round.

Bran puts up a good fight against Peter of Coppel, but in the end, he loses his footing and goes to the ground. Peter moves on, and Bran does not.

Irving and his uncle sit on the other side of Marigold, and Anna has squeezed in between Marigold and me.

Normally she sits under the shade canopy with Mother, and I am surprised to see her in the sunshine.

She must think I’m terrible company for our guests because she’s taken to asking Marigold questions about Primewood between matches.

I listen idly, waiting for Archer’s turn, which is next.

Yesterday’s storm has moved out. The sun is warm today, but the moisture in the air has made the afternoon sticky. My shoulder itches under the bandage, and though Yuven has assured me the unpleasant sensation means the wound is healing, it’s driving me mad.

“Stop fidgeting, child,” Anna hisses quietly, leaning over.

I’m about to answer, but Archer strides into the arena. Even with the chain mail and helmet, I can tell it’s him. It’s not just his slightly shorter build, or his lean, muscular frame—his gait is different, as is the way he carries himself. He’s confident where Galinor sometimes hesitates.

This match will be difficult to sway the crowd to his side. He’s against our own Lord Gregor. Though there is no chance Gregor can win the tournament at this point, the audience still hopes to see their man do well.

Archer has one distinct advantage over Gregor—he’s practiced with him before, and he knows the way the man moves. Lord Gregor, if he knew it was Archer in the armor, would have that advantage as well, but since he doesn’t know who he’s fighting, he does not.

If Archer feels bad about this advantage, it doesn’t show. He strikes first, taking Gregor by surprise. Lord Gregor blocks the move and pushes him back. They circle each other, and Gregor strikes, a move Archer easily blocks with his shield.

I have no doubt who will win, but I can’t help but be nervous as I wait. I chew on my lip, willing the match to end quickly.

Seeing an opening, Archer disarms Gregor, and the lord’s sword falls out of reach. He blocks the attacks with his shield while trying to reach his sword, but Archer unbalances him, and he falls. I breathe out a relieved breath. One fight closer to the win.

“Where are you going?” Anna asks when I stand.

“I need to stretch my legs.”

She frowns, but she doesn’t try to stop me.

I walk through the crowds, avoiding familiar faces who might wish to chat, and push through Galinor’s tent. Alexander is at the entry, but he moves to let me in.

Archer has taken his helmet off, and he wipes sweat from his brow with a rag. He looks as tired as I feel. I want to go to him, but I can’t—not with Alexander and Galinor here.

“How are you feeling?” I ask Galinor. Like Archer, he’s in chain mail, and I’m sure it’s just in case someone unexpected drops by the tent.

Galinor winces, but then he smiles. “Better. I would fight, but Yuven forbids me.”

“He’s worried the bleeding will begin again,” Alexander explains, and I cringe, remembering yesterday with more detail than I would like.

I speak with them for a few more minutes, and then I know I must leave. There’s more chance Archer will be discovered if I linger. When I arrive back in my seat, I’m relieved to learn that five more have been eliminated. Rigel and Lionel have both fought and won again.

Irving’s uncle has left. It seems Anna has wandered away as well, and Leonora has moved to sit under the sun canopy with my parents.

Irving scoots over when I come closer, making room for me between him and Marigold.

He grimaces at the movement, though the look only crosses his face for a moment.

He’s wearing his ridiculous hat again, just like he did on the day of the archery tournament.

“You look like a pirate.” I flick the feather.

He grins, an ornery look on his handsome face. “We could be pirates together. There’s still time to run away with me.”

I laugh. “I don’t think you’re going to be running anywhere anytime soon.”

“You wound me.” He winks at me.

“Besides,” I say, motioning to his hat. “Wherever would you find another feather that large for my hat? What kind of bird did you rob that from anyway?”

Our banter is interrupted by Archer entering the arena. I can barely watch the match. The tournament is getting too close to the end, and the stakes are too high.

It’s an easy win for Archer, and I breathe out a sigh of relief.

Irving continues to tease me, to distract me, as we watch the last few matches. I feel sick as Lionel bests Lord Orick and makes it to the final three. Rigel wins his spot as well. Soon Archer is preparing to fight Peter of Coppel for the last spot.

“I bet he wins in five swings or less.” Irving leans close.

I groan, ignoring him.

Marigold leans over me, looking at her brother. “Four.”

“Deal.”

I want to laugh, but at the same time, I think I might cry. I’m a wreck.

“One, two,” Irving counts as the match progresses. “ Three,” he says. “And…done. Three! I won’t lie—that’s impressive.”

He’s done it. He made the final three.

I lay my head back, look up at the sky, and take several gulps of air. Marigold pulls me to my feet to join the audience cheering around me.

Archer turns in my direction, and even though the visor is still down, I know he’s looking at me. He holds up a fist to acknowledge his win, and my embroidered handkerchief is in his hand.

I laugh, but it’s almost a sob. I kiss my palm and hold it up to him. No one around me notices, but he sees, and that’s all that matters.

Lionel and Rigel join Archer in the arena. There is no way for Rigel to win now, not with Lionel and Galinor guaranteed a minimum of four points. It’s between Lionel and Galinor.

My future rests in Archer’s hands.

“Congratulations to the final three,” Father says. “Not only have you placed in the top three for the hand-to-hand, but you are the top three competitors in the tournament. These last two matches will not only decide the winner of today’s competition, but the winner of my daughter’s hand.”

I shiver. My stomach is in knots, and I know if I had eaten today—which I have not—I would lose it all right now.

“As you know, in this final round of the tournament, the order is decided by the luck of the draw. Pippa, would you join me?”