Page 37 of Pippa of Lauramore (The Eldentimber #1)

I guess I’m the lucky one who gets to draw.

I rise to my feet, feeling as if there is a weight on my shoulders.

Every eye is on me, and for once in my life, I wish I could disappear.

In Father’s hand are three sticks. The bottom half of each stick is concealed in his fist. If Galinor’s stick is chosen last, Archer will only have to fight the winner of the first match.

He will be guaranteed first or second place.

“Fighting first will be—” Father gives me a gentle smile, looking as if he can sense my nerves. I pull the first stick and am flooded with relief when I see Vernow’s colors at the bottom. “Prince Lionel.”

I pull the second stick, squinting, too scared to look. When I do peek, I see Glendon’s red and yellow. I almost drop the stick.

“Prince Galinor!”

I paste a smile on my face as the crowd cheers. I take a seat next to Leonora and let her wrap her arm around me.

“He can do it.” She gives me a reassuring squeeze.

Lionel and Archer take their places. If it’s ever been obvious that it’s not Galinor under that armor, it should be now. He is easily as tall as Lionel, but Archer is not. Perhaps if someone were not looking for it, they wouldn’t notice.

My shoulder is starting to ache now.

They circle each other, sizing up their competition.

Lionel strikes first, putting his weight behind his swing.

Archer blocks the sword with his shield, and the metallic crash rings through the hushed arena.

Losing no time, Lionel attacks again and again.

Each time Archer blocks it with sword or shield .

Leonora’s hand tightens over mine as the fight lingers on.

Lionel stumbles, and Archer lunges forward. Archer raises his sword, and I suck in a breath. Regaining his balance at the last moment, Lionel swings his shield up under Archer’s jaw. Archer’s head goes back, and he stumbles backward.

I cry out and stand.

The small moment is all Lionel needs. He raises his sword and swings. I don’t know what I scream as Archer falls, but I hear my shrill cry echo through the arena.

He’s down.

He’s lost.

Just as my knees are giving out, I see Lionel raise his sword above his head.

He’s going to kill him.

I scream again. “No?—”

“Enough!” Father bellows, rising to his feet. “The victory is yours, Lionel. Lower your sword.”

No one cheers as Lionel slowly lets his sword fall. Archer draws himself up, and there is slow applause from the crowd—but it’s not for Lionel. Archer acknowledges them and then takes the long, painful walk from the arena.

I fall back to my seat, mad calculations in my head. If Rigel wins this next round, Lionel and Galinor will tie with twenty-one points. There will be one more round of hand-to-hand combat to determine the winner.

It’s not over. Archer—Galinor—could still win. I need to go to Archer and reassure him all is not lost.

“Where are you going?” Leonora asks, dabbing her eyes with the tips of her fingers. Her cheeks are overly pink.

“To find Archer.”

“It’s the last match. You have to stay for it.” Her soft brown eyes are wide. I wonder if it’s bad for the baby to have her upset this often?

I sit back down and take her hand again. “All right, I’ll stay.”

She blinks. “You will?”

I nod.

She lets out a watery sigh. “I’m so sorry, Pippa.”

“It may work out yet.”

The fight begins. Where Lionel is heavy-handed, Rigel waits, patiently blocking Lionel’s aggressive swings.

When Rigel does attack, he’s fast like a serpent.

The match goes on forever, and in his frustration, Lionel rips off his helmet and heaves it to the side, growling like the ogre he’s always reminded me of.

Rigel responds in kind, taking his own helmet and tossing it to the ground.

They circle each other again. Lionel’s hair has escaped its tail, and it’s frizzing around his head in a mass of sweaty curls.

His face is bright red, and his lips are curled back over his teeth in a snarl. He looks like he’s gone completely mad.

Rigel’s eyes are cold and calm, and if I were forced to choose, I would say his is the look that is deadlier.

With a loud battle cry, Lionel drops his shield, takes his sword in both hands, and raises it over his head, ready to attack.

Rigel looks like he’ll easily block the move, but as he raises his shield to defend himself, Lionel steps forward and knees Rigel in the groin.

Rigel doubles, most likely from shock as much as pain.

It’s a cheap, dishonorable tactic. In a few careless, but powerful, moves, Lionel has Rigel down and unarmed.

This is nothing like the horror I felt when Archer fell. There is no pain or surprise. There is only numbness.

Leonora is speaking to me, but I don’t hear her. Father announces Lionel as the winner of the tournament. It vaguely registers that he doesn’t sound happy about it, but even that I don’t really notice.

Lionel’s won, Father says. One of the closest tournaments he can recall, he says. Won by one point, he says.

One of my points—my chosen points.

Mother tells me to stand, so I do. There’s polite applause around us, but even it seems hesitant.

Lionel comes forward, and he stops in front of me, waiting for his victory kiss. He leans down so I can reach his cheek. He smells like sweat and metal. I’m glad I am numb, or I’m sure I would gag.

I stand on tiptoe, refusing to meet his eyes, and barely brush the side of his cheek. My lips tingle in that horrid, crawling way they do when you accidentally get too close to a dog and it licks your face.

I slowly lower myself. Lionel takes my hand and turns toward the audience. Instead of focusing on his wet, sticky palms, I listen to Father.

“The last festival of the tournament will be tomorrow,” he says.

“The promising ceremony will be before the feast that will follow in the evening. All are welcome. Titles to the winners of the individual events and runners up will be given during the feast as well. We encourage the competitors to take this night to rest. Once again, we thank you all for participating.”

With that, people begin to leave, slowly filing out of the arena like trails of ants. There is no more need for show, so I pull my hand away. As I do, Lionel leans down close to my face. I close my eyes so I don’t have to look at him.

“I won,” he says. “As I said I would.”