Page 23 of To Touch A Silent Fury (The Bride of Eavenfold #1)

He nodded in the direction of a man wearing what could only be described as an alarming shade of yellow.

The bright shirt sat beneath a silver breastplate, as if he had just stepped away from a duel, and much more muted trousers.

“Lord Ravillin, from a minor house north of Manniston in the foothills of the Flourine Mountains. He won last span,” he supplied, to steady my confused look.

“He’s the officiant for this one and overseer of the bounty, just as this year's winner will be the officiant for the next one. I’ll get his permission to introduce you. ”

I swallowed, and glanced over at the Dragon Prince.

He was dancing again, his attention now on another lady.

I wondered if he had threatened her, too, or if he saved that cruel treatment for me.

Then I nodded back to the Thread, my resolve hardening.

“Let’s tell them what they are truly playing for. ”

His eyes creased at the edges as he gave me a small smile. “Well done.”

I ferried my plate to a small table as the Thread explained to some lord that I was overwhelmed by my first proper ball. The man asked if he could save a dance, and Thread Ersimmon distracted him with some waffle about the presence of lemon in desserts until he gave up.

Then, I watched him traverse the floor to meet with the equally lemon-clad Ravillin.

Whatever was going on, whatever the prince had meant, I knew it couldn’t be discussed here.

I ate carefully, having faith in Ersimmon’s decision to trust the food.

It did help, and I felt some of my shakiness dissipate.

I needed to be strong and aware. If there was a threat coming from the Dragon Prince, he intended it to happen tomorrow. If I could believe his word, that is.

I looked out of the window as a crack of lightning flashed across the night sky, illuminating the lake and the distant shore for a flash before it descended back to black again.

Thunder followed, drumming the night. The rain would come soon enough.

It was an odd choice, to place a tournament in the middle of the Triad’s rainiest season, but the squires must have long prepared for this.

The weather helped, too. The clattering thunder and sparks of light soothed me, reminding me of how inconsequential I truly was. I would not be cowed by a man when there were waves and mountains and lightning in this world.

I finished my plate undisturbed and settled my spirit. I watched the room, taking in each face, learning as much as I could about the people in the room. Sight was not my primary strength. I would be as careful as I could, keeping myself next to the Thread and Seth at all times.

No one was going to kill me.

The maestros stopped playing at the end of yet another jig, taking a break. Seth approached me and offered me his hand. “Are you ready?”

“Who were you talking to over there?” I asked as I placed my hand in his.

He rolled his eyes, just barely, but I saw it and smiled. “My mother. I’ll tell you about it later.”

“You better.”

He smiled. “I cannot wait to see the looks on these men’s faces when they find out the true prize of this Games.”

It was my turn to roll my eyes, then, but I saw the sincerity on his face.

Not a minute later, I stood between Seth and the Thread at the centre of the ballroom, safe in the fold of the two allies I had left in this world. My Brothers.

Behind us stood the previous victor, Lord Ravillin. He had granted our strange announcement, but he looked unsure, glancing often at Langnathin and Seth’s mother, Princess Derynallis, who both watched our gathered trio unsubtly.

Thread Ersimmon raised his hands and clapped five times.

The noise rang out across the room, and every pair of eyes in the room turned to him.

“I have a small announcement to make. Some of you may know my face, and more of you will know my garb. For those of you unaware, my name is Thread Ersimmon,” he said.

A few men on the left, including the Tastelander, Sparrospen, exchanged a whisper.

“I come here today as the mentor of a Fate Bound sister, Tanidwen.”

He gestured to me, and I nearly ran from it all as every eye studied me. This was it, my husband was looking at me, and I could not look weak. I clasped my hands loosely in front of me to stop them from shaking and kept my chin high.

“She reached her fourth span only a week ago, and her Fate was bound to my path. Marriage.”

The whispers increased. I met the eyes of each man in the room in turn, except for the Dragon Prince whom I duly ignored. Prince Brascillan watched me like a hawk, hungry and nervous.

“Let it be known here and now,” he said, his voice booming.

“It is her Fate to marry the victor of tomorrow’s events.

” The room descended into chatter even as the Thread continued.

“The winner will not only receive the bounty of Laithcart, but a powerful bride. One who will bring her talents and the prestige of the Brotherhood to your lands.”

It was as if I were a bird in Lavendell’s market, the way these men appraised my value, determining if they wanted me enough. I did not move nor speak, only keeping my head high. I would not embarrass my future husband.

Prince Brascillan’s expression had shifted. His focus kept returning to Langnathin, and I saw several others in the room looking at the Sightlands’ heir with thinly veiled suspicion.

Lord Ravillin cleared his throat and stepped up beside us.

Now he was closer, I realised just how young he was.

He must have been barely more than a boy when he won this thing.

He looked strong enough but also well-fed and docile.

The last few years of sitting on the Triad’s bounty had certainly done him no harm.

“I will confer with Prince Cratollan tomorrow to check he sees no issue with it, but for now, it seems this span’s events have an extra prize to their bounty, my lords. ”

An older man huffed, the one Brascillan had defeated in the bout today. Kilmorrin, I remembered. “What if we are already married?”

I hadn’t even thought of that. How stupid of me, to not consider that my Fated husband might be otherwise engaged. I slid a look to Ersimmon, but he hadn’t even blinked.

A younger man from the Scentlands piped up. “Then clearly you are not Fated to win, Lord Kilmorrin.”

The men around him laughed, slapping him on the back.

Lord Kilmorrin folded his arms and grumbled. “Close your trap, Dranislan.”

The Scentlands youth, Lord Dranislan, grinned. “You can make me tomorrow.”

Each man took in the news with differing degrees of subtlety.

One spoke from the back of the room. “I would not choose a silvered bride.”

A very tall man, wiry and thin. He had competed near the end of the day and won his bout against a man double his size. He was a few spans older than me, but he moved like water itself. By his bout, the Thread had been deep in his cups, and as such, I knew nothing of him.

I glanced at the Thread, just as he whispered in my ear. “Count Fordonne, he manages a large estate in the west of the Scentlands. He is not well liked, but he is wealthy and has influence.”

I kept my eyes on the count, and he stared back at me .

Another portly man grumbled his agreement. “Nox-cursed,” he spat. “The lot of them are up to something.”

He had not competed today, from my recollection.

“Baron Feltsheaf,” Thread Ersimmon volunteered under his breath. “His influence dwindles as quickly as his coffers. He will not win tomorrow.”

Baron Feltsheaf folded his arms, unaware of the casual appraisal of his irrelevance. “What happens if we refuse her?”

I tensed. This was it, this was the moment they all declared how much they didn’t want me. I was ready for this, I had expected it, and yet it still filled me with an emptiness that felt like a blow.

“If anyone would prefer not to participate tomorrow knowing they may win Tanidwen as their bride, that is for each man to decide.” Thread Ersimmon commanded the room once more.

How changed he was, from the jovial but sleepy man in the Ceremony Hall.

“Though, I would ask that they retire their challenge tonight and not risk Breaking a valuable Moontouched for no good reason.”

Sparrospen, who’d pulled me around in a merry jig an hour ago, now laughed. “As if you would refuse her, Feltsheaf. She is far more beautiful than anyone within twenty miles of Cajim.”

“I didn’t say she weren’t a beauty, boy,” the baron grumbled, nodding to me with a passing interest. “No offence to you, my lady.”

I only nodded. Now seemed the optimal time to use the Thread’s gracious advice. If in doubt, do not speak.

“She is a treasure, for certain,” another said.

It was Lord Stalligin. Good looking, with pale blonde hair unusual for the Sightlands and a wicked smile.

He had won his bout handily, and now he looked at me as if I were but another thing to topple before him.

“I look forward to children with bouncing white curls. ”

I blushed, the brazenness of the statement far from rolling over me. I unfolded and refolded my hands, glancing down to recover my dignity. I raised my head as the chatter continued, and it was then that I accidentally met the Dragon Prince’s eyes.

He watched me with such focus it made me feel faint.

I struggled to pull my eyes away, keen to discover what he was thinking, but his face was a mask again, and the intensity did not give away the emotion causing it.

I wished then that I had been born in the Sightlands, that I had the ability to perceive the tiny touches of his face more readily.

There were tells there, if I had the comprehension to see them.

But my powers were locked behind touch, and after his threats there was no good reason to let him touch me again.

Prince Brascillan stepped forwards, and I met his conflicted study. “I, too, am gladdened by the news of this lady’s Fate. This is the greatest prize the Games have ever seen. I would compete solely to win this bride and no other boon.”

A few murmurs rose, but I realised they were murmurs of agreement, and not mirth.

I swallowed, unused to this feeling. These men wanted me for their wife.

Not all, but many. Both Brascillan and Stalligin were interested in my hand, and they held some of the best chances of victory.

This was really happening: I could unlock my Fate.

Brascillan raised his hand, and the men fell silent. “Though, I find it odd to hear this announcement on the same day we hear of Prince Langnathin’s arrival.”

I blinked, surprised by the deftness of Brascillan’s allegation as most of the eyes in the room turned to Langnathin. I let out a breath as the pressure of the constant assessment faded. I noted that Princess Derynallis never took her eyes from me, not for a moment.

I heard the young Lord Dranislan lean into one of his companions. “Did he know of her Fate? ”

More boldly, Sparrospen stepped forwards. “Is this why you have come? To compete yourself and take her from us?”

At that, the room erupted into conversation. Still, I noticed the caution. No one else was quite so bold to accuse him; there was fear even as they suspected the Dragon Prince of foul play.

Langnathin finally held his hand up. Indifference painted his face. “Men, let us not quarrel,” he said. “I confess I knew the girl’s Fate. I visited Eavenfold as their patron and witnessed her Ceremony.”

Two men who’d lost their bouts grumbled. “Your family never competes, and now you stand to win the only white sister?”

The other yelled into the room, his voice cracking. “It is not fair. He must know her power.”

Silence followed.

The Dragon Prince stared at him, and I saw the man take a step back, visibly cowed. After a hideous pause, Langnathin finally sighed. “I will only say this once, so listen and keep your mouths shut.”

No one spoke, and for a moment it felt as if no one breathed. I certainly didn’t. I watched him along with the rest of the room, not knowing what he might say, but seeing him study each man, seeing his eyes glaze as if he was thinking hard.

“First, I have no intention to compete,” he said. Immediately, I felt the room relax, and the coiled spring in my stomach loosened by a fraction. “And second, I would like every man in this room to make a sworn agreement.”

Still, no one spoke, following his implied threat. But looks were exchanged.

“Each and every one of you who means to take part in the Laithcart Games must hereby swear upon their oaths to the Triad to respect tomorrow’s outcome.

” He commanded the room too easily; the ever-present threat of his status as the Sighted Heir and the promise of his red eyes was enough to strike fear into even the bravest man.

“You will pledge your support to the victor, and the wife they will gain thereafter. None will wage war, no matter how tomorrow plays out, no matter who wins and who loses.” He glanced at me for a second, and dread filled me as he finished his speech. “No matter who dies.”

The room was quiet for a moment, and then the chorus of support began. A cheer rang out, and then another. Princess Derynallis wore a smile, the first one to touch her eyes that night, and it chilled me more than even the prince could.

I did not move, and I did not cheer. I forced a smile onto my face as the first man pledged to respect tomorrow’s events, no matter how they played out.

They believed they were coming to a gentleman’s agreement.

They believed he meant to ensure peace between all nations, and a fostering of good will that no man here would wage wrongs upon another by his marrying of me.

Of course, the only people they believed would die tomorrow would be at sword point in the mud of the rain-soaked arena.

They had not seen what I had seen in Langnathin’s eyes when he spoke those final words.

The Dragon Prince accepted oath after oath, and I stood frozen like the perfect smiling doll trapped in Sollie’s music box. A ghost girl again, so far removed from my own body I could hardly remember to stand and breathe.

One by one, each man in the room agreed to stand by whatever happened tomorrow. One by one, each man agreed not to argue when the Dragon Prince hatched his plan tomorrow and murdered me.