Never After
Chapter 16
2
The Dashing Suitor
I had not attended the joust that whittled my suitors from more than fifty to about two dozen, because I had never enjoyed the sight of violence. But my father insisted I be on hand for the competition that would judge the contestants' courage, whatever this test entailed. So the following morning I joined all the other spectators gathering before a makeshift ring that had been set up just outside the walls that surrounded the palace. A dais had been erected in the most favorable spot to overlook the grounds; this was where the royal party would sit. More rudimentary stands had been built to accommodate everyone else and to enclose a space that resembled a small arena. Overnight, this arena had acquired chest-high walls and an overarching lattice canopy - it had, in effect, been turned into a very large cage.
I sat on the dais, awaiting my father and the rest of his guests, and surveyed the arena with misgiving. Would such a cage be used for keeping dangerous creatures in or not allowing terrified contestants out?
It was not long before the stands filled up with several hundred people of all ranks - servants, tradesmen, merchants, and nobles - including a few of my unsuccessful suitors from the previous round. The day was sunny and warm, except for a persistent chilly breeze, and the mood of the crowd was mostly cheerful. I was half excited and half fearful, since my father was an unpredictable and not very nice man, and what he dreamed up to test someone's bravery might be highly unpleasant to watch.
At last my father arrived on the scene, trailed by Gisele, a handful of guests, and five or six servants bearing food, drink, cushions, and other comforts. The audience cheered and applauded when he made his appearance - less because they were happy to see their king, I thought, and more because his arrival indicated that the entertainment would soon be under way.
There was a little fuss and confusion as he and his companions mounted the dais and disposed themselves in the waiting chairs. Like me, my father had dark hair and blue eyes, but I had a larger and more solid frame than he did; he often wore bright colors and a lot of jewelry to make up for the fact that he was not particularly tall. Today he was dressed in dark green with gold trim, and he wore a gold circlet on his head. I noted without any enthusiasm that his guests were Sir Neville and his daughter Mellicia, a pretty but rather silly blond girl close to my own age. Like Harwin's father, Sir Neville was a longtime ally of the crown and often at the palace. More than once it had occurred to me that Mellicia would make a perfect bride for Harwin. Perhaps, once I was betrothed to Darius, I would suggest her to Harwin as a substitute wife.
I had taken the seat at the very end of the row of chairs, knowing that my father would sit in the middle. I was not surprised to see Neville and Mellicia given the seats of honor on either side of him, and I was not surprised - but not particularly happy about it - when Gisele strolled down to take the chair next to mine.
"Your father asked me to look after you while he entertains his company," she said by way of greeting.
"I don't need looking after," I said.
"Good," she said, settling in. "Then I should have an easy day of it."
I glanced into the arena, where several of my father's grooms and trainers had slipped inside the cage and stationed themselves along the perimeter. Their hands were full of staffs and chains and other simple weapons, and my uneasiness increased. "Do you have any idea what he's planning for this competition?" I asked.
"Only a rather dreadful suspicion," she said. "I'm hoping I'm wrong."
Which was not reassuring in the least.
Almost on the words, a stream of men entered the arena from the left side and milled around inside the cage, waiting. I was surprised to find them all barefoot and stripped to the waist, except for a loosely knotted collar each wore around his neck. None of them bore weapons. Whatever they were to face, it seemed, they would have to fend off armed with very little except their personal courage.
I searched the crowd, looking for Darius. There. He stood perfectly still to one side of the cage, gazing around with curiosity. He had pulled his fair curls back from his face with a leather cord, which gave him the brisk air of someone prepared to do business. He did not appear particularly nervous.
Most of the other men, I thought, had started to show some apprehension. They glanced up at the latticework ceiling of their prison; they casually leaned against the half walls as if testing how easily they could be breached. One or two paused to confer with each other, casting quick glances over their shoulders in case a monster had been released while they were engaged in conversation.
I was not looking for him, but I spotted Harwin anyway. Like Darius, he was standing almost motionless, but his eyes moved as he studied his competitors, his jailors, and his terrain. I saw his features set as he came to some kind of conclusion. I guessed that he had a pretty strong inkling of what trial lay in store, and he did not like it. While I watched him, he turned his eyes toward the dais and gave my father one long, narrow-eyed appraisal.
Then, before I could look away, he turned his attention to me. For a moment we stared at each other through the wide bars of the makeshift cage. Then he dropped his eyes and offered me a deep bow, ridiculously inappropriate considering his attire and his situation. I turned my face aside before he could straighten up and try to meet my eyes again.
I was just in time to see my father rise to his feet, his arms outstretched. Despite his lack of height, he had a certain forceful charisma; all eyes invariably turned his way when he moved or spoke. "Let the second phase of the competition begin!" he called and dropped his arms.
Over the renewed cheering of the crowd, I heard a chilling sound.
"Oh, no," I said and looked at Gisele with horror in my eyes.
Her own eyes were fixed on the field. "Oh, yes," she said.
A large enclosed cart had been maneuvered toward the entrance to the grand cage, and now its rear door was opened. From the wagon into the arena streamed about fifty of my father's fighting dogs, barking and baying and baring their teeth.
It was suddenly clear why all the contestants had scarves knotted around their necks. Each scarf had been drenched with some kind of bait-scent; each pair of dogs had been primed to hunt for one of those scents.
Within seconds, each of my luckless suitors was under attack by two of the fiercest fighting dogs in the kingdom.
The action was so sudden, so brutal, and so uncho reographed that it was almost impossible to tell what was going on. At first, I was not even able to find Harwin or Darius among the whirling, slashing, howling maelstrom of bodies, both canine and human. Almost instantly, there was blood. Almost instantly, shrieks of real terror and pain. A flurry of motion on the far edge of the circle brought my attention to one desperate battle, where a man had slipped to the ground, his arms flailing. One dog had his calf in a death grip and shook his head so hard the man was scrubbed back and forth along the grass. The second dog leapt in, closing its jaws over the man's throat.
"No!" I shrieked, leaping to my feet as if I would jump from the stage and fling myself into the arena to offer aid. Gisele shot up beside me, clasping my arm to hold me in place. I shook her off, but stayed where I was, my eyes riveted to the action.
Two of the handlers had waded into the fray, using their sticks and choke collars and practiced commands to call off the attack. One of them tossed the dogs reward meat and shepherded them out of the arena; they frisked at his heels, pleased that they had pleased him. The other knelt on the bloodied ground by the fallen contestant, putting his hands up to the fighter's throat.
Another man stumbled into my line of vision, blocking my view. He had one dog fastened to his left wrist, another gnawing at his right ankle, but he was still on his feet. His face was contorted into what looked like a hysterical scream. He tripped over something on the ground and almost came to his knees - a fatal mistake - but righted himself just in time. The dog worrying his wrist opened its jaws, crouched, and sprang for the man's throat.
I turned away.
Gisele stood beside me, her dark eyes fixed unwaveringly on the scene before us. There was no expression at all on her face, unless stony stillness could be interpreted as an expression. My eyes went past her to where my father sat. He and Neville had their heads together as they watched the fighting and tracked individual contests. Mellicia had slumped back in her ornate chair and lifted a fan to shield her eyes from the gruesome scene, but I noticed that she had lowered the pretty confection of paper and lace just enough to see the action.
"What a despicable man my father is," I breathed.
Gisele nodded without glancing at me. "Yes," was all she said. We both sank into our chairs again.
I forced my attention back to the arena. I was sickened at the thought that these men were being gravely injured - some could even die - all because they wanted the chance to marry me. This whole violent nightmare was in some sense my fault, and I owed them the courtesy of watching them display their courage.
I had looked away for only a few moments, but even in that short time, the field had thinned out considerably. Some of the contestants had fled, dogs harrying their retreat, for maybe a dozen scratched, shocked, bloodied men stood shivering outside the arena. Some had fallen and been hauled outside to be tended by palace servants. Maybe ten remained in the arena, still engaged in combat. Still proving their valor.
One was Darius. With the arena now more than half empty, he was easy to pick out and, amazingly, he appeared to be completely unharmed. The bare skin of his chest was untouched, and his trousers were not even muddied. He stood calmly, his hands before him, palms out as if pressing against an invisible wall. Before him, the two dogs assigned to him crouched and snarled. One was a mottled brown, the other a matted gold, and both of them looked ferocious enough to kill a man. But they were having no luck with Darius. They growled and leapt and snapped at his feet, but they were unable to close their teeth over any part of his flesh.
Magic, I thought, with a great uprush of relief. He's protecting himself with magic. I was impressed by his fearlessness, his ability to keep his wits about him in such mayhem. He must have called up a wall of protection the instant the animals were loosed. One of the dogs leapt again, aiming for Darius's throat, and then fell back to the ground, whimpering, after encountering some hidden obstacle.
"That's magnificent," I murmured. "That's bravery."
I felt Gisele glance at me, determine what I was watching, and then shake her head. "No," she said, and pointed. "That is."
I followed the direction of her hand and I gasped.
Harwin was still standing, but it was clear he'd been involved in a vicious fight. His left arm was dripping with blood, and his bare chest was marked with dirt, blood, and one long, ugly scratch from shoulder to waist. His pants were filthy and his feet so muddy that at first I thought he was wearing shoes. I supposed he must have vanquished his own attackers, because no creatures snarled at his heels or circled his body, looking for an opening. I thought I saw, in the frenetic shadows of the arena, a few lifeless animal forms - stunned, I hoped, not dead, for I hated the idea that my father's dogs might be killed simply for obeying their training.
But even victorious in his own contest, Harwin wasn't heading for an exit. Some scream or cry had caused him to whirl around in time to see an exhausted young man being dragged to the ground by a pair of sleek attackers, one black, one brown. Harwin didn't hesitate. He charged over and fell on the brown dog from behind, forcing its lower jaw open and down toward its chest. I couldn't tell if he was using his bare hands or some weapon he had appropriated from a watching guard. The young man scrambled to his feet, the black dog still clinging grimly to his thigh. With a tremendous effort, Harwin flung the brown dog against one of the half walls, where it landed with a pained yelp, scrabbled, and lay still. Harwin snatched up something that had fallen to the ground - yes, one of the heavy wooden rods that the guards had carried - and began beating the black dog on its nose and eyes. It loosed its hold and charged at Harwin, but he fended it off while the younger man stumbled toward the exit, coughing and sobbing. Backing away, but never lifting his eyes from the dog's face, Harwin moved slowly toward the arena wall, then felt his way to the nearest door.
I thought he would turn and dash out, but he didn't. He merely kept his back to the wall and his weapon upraised until one of the handlers slipped a collar over the dog's head. Then I figured out what Harwin had obviously realized - no one who left the arena could be considered a winner in this round. He had to stay until every other contestant defeated his dogs or fled in humiliation.
I took a long, long breath and assessed the situation again. Darius was still unharmed and unmarked, standing in the center of the arena. Three other contestants appeared to have survived their encounters. One was the big, stupid man who looked so likely to win any event that required force. I didn't even want to think what might have happened to the poor animals assigned to attack him. Two others were strangers, both so covered in blood and grime that I couldn't tell much about their physical appearance.
Five. Five men still left to vie for my hand. I surveyed the carnage and thought bleakly that I was not worth this kind of effort.
Gisele spoke up, her voice low and controlled but full of rage. "I hate your father's dogs," she said.
I shook my head. "I'm afraid of them, but they break my heart," I said. "They're only doing what they've been taught to do."
Now she looked at me. Her eyes matched her voice. "Then maybe I just hate your father."
I was too weary to be shocked. "Half the lords in the kingdom keep fighting dogs, and those who don't own such animals come to watch the fights."
"Then maybe I just hate all men," she said.
Remembering that I didn't like Gisele, I gave a mocking laugh. "And yet you're the one who's been insisting I get married as quick as can be."
"I encouraged you to choose a groom carefully," she said. She swept a hand toward the arena, which was emptying out as the dog groomers took away the last of the animals and other servants escorted the five final contestants back to the palace. "Surely you could see that there was one among those suitors who was worthy of you."
"Yes!" I said. "I was amazed by Darius!"
"Who's Darius?" she asked sharply.
"The blond man. The one who kept the dogs at bay through magic. He was not harmed, but neither were they."
"Magic," she repeated. "That's a dangerous sort of toy."
I tossed my head. People still talked about the wizard my grandfather had kept as part of his household, a powerful and unscrupulous man who had sometimes used sorcery to enforce the king's less popular decrees. There had been some suspicion that my grandmother's first husband had not died a natural death, freeing the lovely young widow to accept the king's offer of marriage. But most of the magicians in Kallenore had relatively limited and benign power, and they were generally welcomed wherever they traveled. The ones I had encountered had been rare, itinerant, and cheerful. Well, wouldn't you be cheerful if you possessed the power to heal people or change objects or create illusions? I think I would be.
I think I would be happy if I had any kind of power at all, whether or not it was magical.
"Maybe magic is just the toy I need," I said.
"Listen, Olivia," she said. "I know you dislike me.
But you should believe what I say. Your father plans to marry you off with all speed, and he won't be overnice in his requirements. Please make it possible for him to choose a generous man, a thoughtful man, a man who will care for you."
I sneered. "And were those the qualities you were looking for when you chose to marry the king?"
"I didn't choose," she said evenly.
I turned away with a flounce. The others were already climbing from the dais, my father solicitously holding Mellicia's hand to guide her down the temporary steps. "I hardly think, no matter who I marry, I shall fare worse than you," I said. Just to be contrary, I didn't bother with the stairs at all. Instead I dropped to the floor, flattened my hand against the wood, and vaulted down to land lightly in the grass. I was sure any spectators got a nice flash of my ankles and underskirts, but I didn't care.
I barely heard Gisele's reply. "But don't you wish you could do better?"
* * *
After the intensity of the middle round, the third trial my would be suitors faced couldn't help but be anti-climactic. It was not even interesting to watch. My father had hired three of the most famous scholars of the kingdom to create a long list of questions about mathematics, history, and the natural sciences, and a series of these tests were administered the next day. Whoever had the lowest score on the first exam was eliminated first. Whoever scored most poorly on the second test was eliminated next. And so on. Each suitor was quizzed separately in a sequestered room, attended by a scholar and two witnesses. Those of us who cared about the outcome hovered anxiously in the hallways, watching as the scholars emerged to compare scores.
I was relieved, but not surprised, when the large brutish man was the first to fail. He burst out of the room where he had been questioned, slammed the door behind him, shoved aside the folks who clustered in the corridor, and stomped on down the hall. I was glad to see him go, but still nervous. Who would be the next contestant eliminated? Surely Darius was clever enough to pass this final test - if not honestly, then artfully, by bedazzling his judges into believing his answers were correct. I sighed in monstrous relief when the next two fallen contestants proved to be strangers. Only belatedly did it occur to me that Harwin was not among the losers, either.
The crowd in the hall had grown to sizable proportions by the time we were down to the last two suitors. By late afternoon, even my father had stopped by to see how the competition was progressing. Neville and Mellicia trailed after him.
"How many are left?" he asked Gisele. The queen had waited with me all day, not that I had wanted her company.
"Two," she replied. "I believe we will have results soon."
My father looked intrigued. "Well, then, perhaps I shall linger a few minutes," he said. His eyes sought me out and he gave me his wolf's grin. "So that I can learn who shall have the honor of wedding my beloved daughter."
Coming close enough to put his arm around my shoulders, he whispered in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, "So you'll be married soon, won't you? My little girl! A wife before the end of the day. Maybe a mother before the year is out."
He squeezed me so tightly that words I hadn't planned to say came tumbling out of my mouth. "But, Father, I do not want to rush so hastily into marriage with any man," I said breathlessly. "Especially if he's a stranger. May I have an engagement period to get to know my groom?"
His face grew stormy. "What's this? An engagement period?"
"Marry her off right away, that's my advice," Sir Neville boomed out.
My father uncoiled his arm and practically shoved me aside. "What a troublesome girl you are!" he exclaimed. "First you won't marry the man of my choosing, and now you turn all nervous and shy. There's no dealing with you at all!"
I had stumbled a little when he pushed me, but now I straightened myself and smoothed down my skirts. I had not forgotten, if he had, that a couple dozen people were crowded into the hallway, avidly watching this entire scene. After spending a lifetime balking at my father's orders, I was very good at outmaneuvering him, especially if I had an audience.
"I do not think I have been so unreasonable, Father," I said, my voice low and hurt. I half turned to make sure old Sir Norbert could catch every word. Norbert was a fat, choleric, irascible old bore, but he was powerful, and he had always been my father's most outspoken critic. "All I'm asking for is time to accustom myself to my new life."
"An excellent notion," Norbert said in his loud, raspy voice. "My own daughter's betrothal period was six months, and she needed every day."
My father's eyes were icy. "You may have a month, if you require it," he said through gritted teeth.
I wasn't sure if that would be enough time, but I had no attention left to spare for quarreling. The doors to the final two exam rooms were opening - in minutes I would know who had won the right to marry me. My heart started pounding so hard it was actually painful to breathe. The two scholars whispered together, both of them growing slightly heated, and then whispered some more.
"Well?" my father demanded. "Who has passed all my tests and proved himself worthy of my daughter's hand?"
One of the scholars cleared his throat. He looked to be a hundred and eighty years old, all crepy white skin and wispy white hair. I had to think he had forgotten at least half of the facts he had ever managed to learn. "My liege," he said. "There is no clear winner. Both men have answered all of our questions correctly."
There was a slight murmur of approval from the onlookers, a few desultory rounds of applause. My father scowled. "Well, she cannot marry two men," he said. "Ask another question."
"We have asked them all," said the second scholar, whom I belatedly realized was a woman. She was as fragile as a creature made out of dried leaves and corn husks, a notion reinforced by her papery skin and overall brownness of coloring.
My father's expression became even more thunderous. "Then think up another one!" he shouted.
Norbert pushed himself forward. "You say there are only two suitors left?" he said. "Let them stand before the princess so she can choose which one she will wed."
"Yes!" I exclaimed. The generally approving reaction of the crowd drowned out Gisele's gasp of, "No! My liege! You can't!"
My father was nodding vigorously. "Very well," he said. "Bring them both to the throne room in half an hour. We will see Olivia engaged before the day is out."
* * *
What do you wear to the announcement of your own betrothal? When you have only thirty minutes to prepare, you don the nicest gown you own that matches the accessories you're already wearing. My maids stuffed me into a dark yellow dress with lace foaming over the decolletage and quickly brushed and repinned my hair. The topaz necklace and eardrops stayed in place, and soon I was hurrying back down the long hallways to the throne room.
As you'd expect, it was a large domed chamber made gloomier than necessary by imposing carved pillars, lugubrious murals, and a complete lack of windows, so all the lighting had to be supplied by candles and oil lamps. When I arrived, my father and Gisele were already seated on the great carved, painted, and bejew eled chairs that were set up on a low stage in the center of the chamber. About two hundred other people were milling about the room, restless and excited. I wove between them on my way to the dais, then climbed up to take my place in the more delicate chair situated at my father's right hand.
"Let the contestants be brought forward!" my father commanded.
The crowd parted and the two scholars led Darius and Harwin deep into the room. Darius and I stared at each other, each drinking in details. In this much better lighting, he was much better-looking. His blond curls had been freshly washed and combed; he was wearing a silky blue shirt over black trousers and boots, and he looked young and hopeful and sparkly with possibility. I know men aren't sparkly, but he was, somehow. He seemed to be on the verge of breaking into laughter or bursting into song or flinging up his hands to call forth rainbows.
I hoped that, this close up, I looked as good to him as he did to me.
Harwin, by contrast, was much the worse for yesterday's escapades and today's deep cogitation. The first thing I noticed was that he walked awkwardly, employing a cane and favoring his left foot. I had not seen him fend off the first set of attack dogs yesterday; clearly one of them had chewed on his leg or ankle. As he got closer, I saw that his face was almost haggard, perhaps with pain, perhaps with accumulated weariness. His eyes were fixed on my face, and his expression was dismal.
Only three people in the room knew whom I would choose, and two of them weren't at all happy about it. I saw Gisele lean forward and bend in my direction, but I would not look at her. I kept my gaze on the approaching men and tried to maintain a serious expression.
Harwin and Darius halted in front of the thrones and executed deep bows. "Well done, both of you!" my father declared. "Each of you has demonstrated his strength, his valor, and his wit - each has proved himself worthy of my daughter. Yet only one of you can marry the princess. Now is the time for her to choose which of you she will call husband."
My father rose to his feet and gestured for me to follow suit. Gisele and I both stood up. "Introduce yourselves," my father said grandly and pointed at Harwin. "First you."
Harwin stepped closer to the stage, his gaze still leveled on me. "I am Sir Harwin Brenley, twenty-eight years old, a man of property and my father's sole heir. If you choose me as your husband, I will treat you gently, love you fondly, share all my material goods with you, and consider myself a fortunate man."
A soft sigh ran through the room, produced, no doubt, by the women in attendance. I blinked at Harwin, for that was certainly the most romantic string of sentences I had ever heard him put together. But it was still Harwin staring back up at me, tall, brown, steady, dull. I didn't know how to answer him, so I merely nodded, thanked him, and turned my attention to Darius.
The magician stepped forward and dropped into a bow so low that his curls brushed the floor. When he straightened, he was holding a bouquet of enormous white blossoms that gave off a rich and heady scent.
"I am Darius Kent, son of a landowner and also my father's heir. I am possessed of a sunny temperament, a wealth of fantastical stories, and the ability to do small magics. If you marry me, your life will be filled with laughter and decorated with enchantments, and both of those serve to lighten even the dourest days." He flung the flowers into the air and they were transformed into white butterflies that danced and fluttered around my head before winging their way up into the painted dome. I clapped my hands together like a child, and all the women in the audience cooed and applauded along with me.
My father turned toward me. "Daughter, can you choose between them?"
"Darius," I said with what might have been unbecoming haste. "The magician. I will marry Darius Kent."
The reaction from the crowd was so loud that I couldn't hear what my father or Gisele might have said in response. But Darius flung his head back and laughed, then spread his arms wide in invitation. "Come to me, then!" he called, and I didn't even hesitate before jumping off the stage into his arms. He caught me deftly and twirled me around until I was as dizzy as one of those butterflies.
"We shall plan the wedding immediately!" My father's declaration rose above the excited chatter of the crowd. "Everyone shall be invited!"
That caused the noise to intensify even more, but somehow Gisele's cool voice cut across the clamor. "Not for another month," my stepmother said. "You promised Olivia her period of betrothal."
Still in Darius's arms, my feet ten inches off the ground, my eyes locked on the smiling face of my chosen fiance, I desperately wished I had not negotiated such a concession from my father. But before I could recant, Norbert's loud voice came from somewhere among the watchers.
"The lad must take the princess to meet his family," the old lord said. "It would be unseemly for her to marry him without such an introduction."
"I shall take you to meet my grandmother," Darius said. Although everyone in the hall could hear him, he seemed to be speaking only to me. "Will you like that?"
"Indeed, I think I will like anything you have to show me," I replied breathlessly.
"Excellent," my father said. "You can leave in the morning."
I was delighted at the notion of wandering off in Darius's company, so I was greatly displeased when Gisele's voice once again made itself heard above the din. "She cannot travel alone through the kingdom with a man she has just met," the queen said coldly. "The possibilities abound for misfortunes and errors in judgment."
"She is to marry him," my father said. "There could be no scandal attached to any of their intimacies."
The very word made me blush and suddenly wish Darius would put me on my feet. As if he could read my mind, he set me down gently, but kept my hand in his, and planted a light kiss on my knuckles.
"I think you are too sanguine," Gisele said. "There must be a chaperone."
There was a movement in the crowd behind us, and a young woman stepped up beside me. I remembered her from the firelit circle two nights ago. "I will guarantee the groom's good behavior," she said. "I am Dannette Kent, and he is my brother. I will travel with the princess on this journey."
My father spread his hands. "There! All problems solved!" he said. "Let us retreat to the dining hall for a grand meal to commemorate this occasion."
The Dashing Suitor
I had not attended the joust that whittled my suitors from more than fifty to about two dozen, because I had never enjoyed the sight of violence. But my father insisted I be on hand for the competition that would judge the contestants' courage, whatever this test entailed. So the following morning I joined all the other spectators gathering before a makeshift ring that had been set up just outside the walls that surrounded the palace. A dais had been erected in the most favorable spot to overlook the grounds; this was where the royal party would sit. More rudimentary stands had been built to accommodate everyone else and to enclose a space that resembled a small arena. Overnight, this arena had acquired chest-high walls and an overarching lattice canopy - it had, in effect, been turned into a very large cage.
I sat on the dais, awaiting my father and the rest of his guests, and surveyed the arena with misgiving. Would such a cage be used for keeping dangerous creatures in or not allowing terrified contestants out?
It was not long before the stands filled up with several hundred people of all ranks - servants, tradesmen, merchants, and nobles - including a few of my unsuccessful suitors from the previous round. The day was sunny and warm, except for a persistent chilly breeze, and the mood of the crowd was mostly cheerful. I was half excited and half fearful, since my father was an unpredictable and not very nice man, and what he dreamed up to test someone's bravery might be highly unpleasant to watch.
At last my father arrived on the scene, trailed by Gisele, a handful of guests, and five or six servants bearing food, drink, cushions, and other comforts. The audience cheered and applauded when he made his appearance - less because they were happy to see their king, I thought, and more because his arrival indicated that the entertainment would soon be under way.
There was a little fuss and confusion as he and his companions mounted the dais and disposed themselves in the waiting chairs. Like me, my father had dark hair and blue eyes, but I had a larger and more solid frame than he did; he often wore bright colors and a lot of jewelry to make up for the fact that he was not particularly tall. Today he was dressed in dark green with gold trim, and he wore a gold circlet on his head. I noted without any enthusiasm that his guests were Sir Neville and his daughter Mellicia, a pretty but rather silly blond girl close to my own age. Like Harwin's father, Sir Neville was a longtime ally of the crown and often at the palace. More than once it had occurred to me that Mellicia would make a perfect bride for Harwin. Perhaps, once I was betrothed to Darius, I would suggest her to Harwin as a substitute wife.
I had taken the seat at the very end of the row of chairs, knowing that my father would sit in the middle. I was not surprised to see Neville and Mellicia given the seats of honor on either side of him, and I was not surprised - but not particularly happy about it - when Gisele strolled down to take the chair next to mine.
"Your father asked me to look after you while he entertains his company," she said by way of greeting.
"I don't need looking after," I said.
"Good," she said, settling in. "Then I should have an easy day of it."
I glanced into the arena, where several of my father's grooms and trainers had slipped inside the cage and stationed themselves along the perimeter. Their hands were full of staffs and chains and other simple weapons, and my uneasiness increased. "Do you have any idea what he's planning for this competition?" I asked.
"Only a rather dreadful suspicion," she said. "I'm hoping I'm wrong."
Which was not reassuring in the least.
Almost on the words, a stream of men entered the arena from the left side and milled around inside the cage, waiting. I was surprised to find them all barefoot and stripped to the waist, except for a loosely knotted collar each wore around his neck. None of them bore weapons. Whatever they were to face, it seemed, they would have to fend off armed with very little except their personal courage.
I searched the crowd, looking for Darius. There. He stood perfectly still to one side of the cage, gazing around with curiosity. He had pulled his fair curls back from his face with a leather cord, which gave him the brisk air of someone prepared to do business. He did not appear particularly nervous.
Most of the other men, I thought, had started to show some apprehension. They glanced up at the latticework ceiling of their prison; they casually leaned against the half walls as if testing how easily they could be breached. One or two paused to confer with each other, casting quick glances over their shoulders in case a monster had been released while they were engaged in conversation.
I was not looking for him, but I spotted Harwin anyway. Like Darius, he was standing almost motionless, but his eyes moved as he studied his competitors, his jailors, and his terrain. I saw his features set as he came to some kind of conclusion. I guessed that he had a pretty strong inkling of what trial lay in store, and he did not like it. While I watched him, he turned his eyes toward the dais and gave my father one long, narrow-eyed appraisal.
Then, before I could look away, he turned his attention to me. For a moment we stared at each other through the wide bars of the makeshift cage. Then he dropped his eyes and offered me a deep bow, ridiculously inappropriate considering his attire and his situation. I turned my face aside before he could straighten up and try to meet my eyes again.
I was just in time to see my father rise to his feet, his arms outstretched. Despite his lack of height, he had a certain forceful charisma; all eyes invariably turned his way when he moved or spoke. "Let the second phase of the competition begin!" he called and dropped his arms.
Over the renewed cheering of the crowd, I heard a chilling sound.
"Oh, no," I said and looked at Gisele with horror in my eyes.
Her own eyes were fixed on the field. "Oh, yes," she said.
A large enclosed cart had been maneuvered toward the entrance to the grand cage, and now its rear door was opened. From the wagon into the arena streamed about fifty of my father's fighting dogs, barking and baying and baring their teeth.
It was suddenly clear why all the contestants had scarves knotted around their necks. Each scarf had been drenched with some kind of bait-scent; each pair of dogs had been primed to hunt for one of those scents.
Within seconds, each of my luckless suitors was under attack by two of the fiercest fighting dogs in the kingdom.
The action was so sudden, so brutal, and so uncho reographed that it was almost impossible to tell what was going on. At first, I was not even able to find Harwin or Darius among the whirling, slashing, howling maelstrom of bodies, both canine and human. Almost instantly, there was blood. Almost instantly, shrieks of real terror and pain. A flurry of motion on the far edge of the circle brought my attention to one desperate battle, where a man had slipped to the ground, his arms flailing. One dog had his calf in a death grip and shook his head so hard the man was scrubbed back and forth along the grass. The second dog leapt in, closing its jaws over the man's throat.
"No!" I shrieked, leaping to my feet as if I would jump from the stage and fling myself into the arena to offer aid. Gisele shot up beside me, clasping my arm to hold me in place. I shook her off, but stayed where I was, my eyes riveted to the action.
Two of the handlers had waded into the fray, using their sticks and choke collars and practiced commands to call off the attack. One of them tossed the dogs reward meat and shepherded them out of the arena; they frisked at his heels, pleased that they had pleased him. The other knelt on the bloodied ground by the fallen contestant, putting his hands up to the fighter's throat.
Another man stumbled into my line of vision, blocking my view. He had one dog fastened to his left wrist, another gnawing at his right ankle, but he was still on his feet. His face was contorted into what looked like a hysterical scream. He tripped over something on the ground and almost came to his knees - a fatal mistake - but righted himself just in time. The dog worrying his wrist opened its jaws, crouched, and sprang for the man's throat.
I turned away.
Gisele stood beside me, her dark eyes fixed unwaveringly on the scene before us. There was no expression at all on her face, unless stony stillness could be interpreted as an expression. My eyes went past her to where my father sat. He and Neville had their heads together as they watched the fighting and tracked individual contests. Mellicia had slumped back in her ornate chair and lifted a fan to shield her eyes from the gruesome scene, but I noticed that she had lowered the pretty confection of paper and lace just enough to see the action.
"What a despicable man my father is," I breathed.
Gisele nodded without glancing at me. "Yes," was all she said. We both sank into our chairs again.
I forced my attention back to the arena. I was sickened at the thought that these men were being gravely injured - some could even die - all because they wanted the chance to marry me. This whole violent nightmare was in some sense my fault, and I owed them the courtesy of watching them display their courage.
I had looked away for only a few moments, but even in that short time, the field had thinned out considerably. Some of the contestants had fled, dogs harrying their retreat, for maybe a dozen scratched, shocked, bloodied men stood shivering outside the arena. Some had fallen and been hauled outside to be tended by palace servants. Maybe ten remained in the arena, still engaged in combat. Still proving their valor.
One was Darius. With the arena now more than half empty, he was easy to pick out and, amazingly, he appeared to be completely unharmed. The bare skin of his chest was untouched, and his trousers were not even muddied. He stood calmly, his hands before him, palms out as if pressing against an invisible wall. Before him, the two dogs assigned to him crouched and snarled. One was a mottled brown, the other a matted gold, and both of them looked ferocious enough to kill a man. But they were having no luck with Darius. They growled and leapt and snapped at his feet, but they were unable to close their teeth over any part of his flesh.
Magic, I thought, with a great uprush of relief. He's protecting himself with magic. I was impressed by his fearlessness, his ability to keep his wits about him in such mayhem. He must have called up a wall of protection the instant the animals were loosed. One of the dogs leapt again, aiming for Darius's throat, and then fell back to the ground, whimpering, after encountering some hidden obstacle.
"That's magnificent," I murmured. "That's bravery."
I felt Gisele glance at me, determine what I was watching, and then shake her head. "No," she said, and pointed. "That is."
I followed the direction of her hand and I gasped.
Harwin was still standing, but it was clear he'd been involved in a vicious fight. His left arm was dripping with blood, and his bare chest was marked with dirt, blood, and one long, ugly scratch from shoulder to waist. His pants were filthy and his feet so muddy that at first I thought he was wearing shoes. I supposed he must have vanquished his own attackers, because no creatures snarled at his heels or circled his body, looking for an opening. I thought I saw, in the frenetic shadows of the arena, a few lifeless animal forms - stunned, I hoped, not dead, for I hated the idea that my father's dogs might be killed simply for obeying their training.
But even victorious in his own contest, Harwin wasn't heading for an exit. Some scream or cry had caused him to whirl around in time to see an exhausted young man being dragged to the ground by a pair of sleek attackers, one black, one brown. Harwin didn't hesitate. He charged over and fell on the brown dog from behind, forcing its lower jaw open and down toward its chest. I couldn't tell if he was using his bare hands or some weapon he had appropriated from a watching guard. The young man scrambled to his feet, the black dog still clinging grimly to his thigh. With a tremendous effort, Harwin flung the brown dog against one of the half walls, where it landed with a pained yelp, scrabbled, and lay still. Harwin snatched up something that had fallen to the ground - yes, one of the heavy wooden rods that the guards had carried - and began beating the black dog on its nose and eyes. It loosed its hold and charged at Harwin, but he fended it off while the younger man stumbled toward the exit, coughing and sobbing. Backing away, but never lifting his eyes from the dog's face, Harwin moved slowly toward the arena wall, then felt his way to the nearest door.
I thought he would turn and dash out, but he didn't. He merely kept his back to the wall and his weapon upraised until one of the handlers slipped a collar over the dog's head. Then I figured out what Harwin had obviously realized - no one who left the arena could be considered a winner in this round. He had to stay until every other contestant defeated his dogs or fled in humiliation.
I took a long, long breath and assessed the situation again. Darius was still unharmed and unmarked, standing in the center of the arena. Three other contestants appeared to have survived their encounters. One was the big, stupid man who looked so likely to win any event that required force. I didn't even want to think what might have happened to the poor animals assigned to attack him. Two others were strangers, both so covered in blood and grime that I couldn't tell much about their physical appearance.
Five. Five men still left to vie for my hand. I surveyed the carnage and thought bleakly that I was not worth this kind of effort.
Gisele spoke up, her voice low and controlled but full of rage. "I hate your father's dogs," she said.
I shook my head. "I'm afraid of them, but they break my heart," I said. "They're only doing what they've been taught to do."
Now she looked at me. Her eyes matched her voice. "Then maybe I just hate your father."
I was too weary to be shocked. "Half the lords in the kingdom keep fighting dogs, and those who don't own such animals come to watch the fights."
"Then maybe I just hate all men," she said.
Remembering that I didn't like Gisele, I gave a mocking laugh. "And yet you're the one who's been insisting I get married as quick as can be."
"I encouraged you to choose a groom carefully," she said. She swept a hand toward the arena, which was emptying out as the dog groomers took away the last of the animals and other servants escorted the five final contestants back to the palace. "Surely you could see that there was one among those suitors who was worthy of you."
"Yes!" I said. "I was amazed by Darius!"
"Who's Darius?" she asked sharply.
"The blond man. The one who kept the dogs at bay through magic. He was not harmed, but neither were they."
"Magic," she repeated. "That's a dangerous sort of toy."
I tossed my head. People still talked about the wizard my grandfather had kept as part of his household, a powerful and unscrupulous man who had sometimes used sorcery to enforce the king's less popular decrees. There had been some suspicion that my grandmother's first husband had not died a natural death, freeing the lovely young widow to accept the king's offer of marriage. But most of the magicians in Kallenore had relatively limited and benign power, and they were generally welcomed wherever they traveled. The ones I had encountered had been rare, itinerant, and cheerful. Well, wouldn't you be cheerful if you possessed the power to heal people or change objects or create illusions? I think I would be.
I think I would be happy if I had any kind of power at all, whether or not it was magical.
"Maybe magic is just the toy I need," I said.
"Listen, Olivia," she said. "I know you dislike me.
But you should believe what I say. Your father plans to marry you off with all speed, and he won't be overnice in his requirements. Please make it possible for him to choose a generous man, a thoughtful man, a man who will care for you."
I sneered. "And were those the qualities you were looking for when you chose to marry the king?"
"I didn't choose," she said evenly.
I turned away with a flounce. The others were already climbing from the dais, my father solicitously holding Mellicia's hand to guide her down the temporary steps. "I hardly think, no matter who I marry, I shall fare worse than you," I said. Just to be contrary, I didn't bother with the stairs at all. Instead I dropped to the floor, flattened my hand against the wood, and vaulted down to land lightly in the grass. I was sure any spectators got a nice flash of my ankles and underskirts, but I didn't care.
I barely heard Gisele's reply. "But don't you wish you could do better?"
* * *
After the intensity of the middle round, the third trial my would be suitors faced couldn't help but be anti-climactic. It was not even interesting to watch. My father had hired three of the most famous scholars of the kingdom to create a long list of questions about mathematics, history, and the natural sciences, and a series of these tests were administered the next day. Whoever had the lowest score on the first exam was eliminated first. Whoever scored most poorly on the second test was eliminated next. And so on. Each suitor was quizzed separately in a sequestered room, attended by a scholar and two witnesses. Those of us who cared about the outcome hovered anxiously in the hallways, watching as the scholars emerged to compare scores.
I was relieved, but not surprised, when the large brutish man was the first to fail. He burst out of the room where he had been questioned, slammed the door behind him, shoved aside the folks who clustered in the corridor, and stomped on down the hall. I was glad to see him go, but still nervous. Who would be the next contestant eliminated? Surely Darius was clever enough to pass this final test - if not honestly, then artfully, by bedazzling his judges into believing his answers were correct. I sighed in monstrous relief when the next two fallen contestants proved to be strangers. Only belatedly did it occur to me that Harwin was not among the losers, either.
The crowd in the hall had grown to sizable proportions by the time we were down to the last two suitors. By late afternoon, even my father had stopped by to see how the competition was progressing. Neville and Mellicia trailed after him.
"How many are left?" he asked Gisele. The queen had waited with me all day, not that I had wanted her company.
"Two," she replied. "I believe we will have results soon."
My father looked intrigued. "Well, then, perhaps I shall linger a few minutes," he said. His eyes sought me out and he gave me his wolf's grin. "So that I can learn who shall have the honor of wedding my beloved daughter."
Coming close enough to put his arm around my shoulders, he whispered in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, "So you'll be married soon, won't you? My little girl! A wife before the end of the day. Maybe a mother before the year is out."
He squeezed me so tightly that words I hadn't planned to say came tumbling out of my mouth. "But, Father, I do not want to rush so hastily into marriage with any man," I said breathlessly. "Especially if he's a stranger. May I have an engagement period to get to know my groom?"
His face grew stormy. "What's this? An engagement period?"
"Marry her off right away, that's my advice," Sir Neville boomed out.
My father uncoiled his arm and practically shoved me aside. "What a troublesome girl you are!" he exclaimed. "First you won't marry the man of my choosing, and now you turn all nervous and shy. There's no dealing with you at all!"
I had stumbled a little when he pushed me, but now I straightened myself and smoothed down my skirts. I had not forgotten, if he had, that a couple dozen people were crowded into the hallway, avidly watching this entire scene. After spending a lifetime balking at my father's orders, I was very good at outmaneuvering him, especially if I had an audience.
"I do not think I have been so unreasonable, Father," I said, my voice low and hurt. I half turned to make sure old Sir Norbert could catch every word. Norbert was a fat, choleric, irascible old bore, but he was powerful, and he had always been my father's most outspoken critic. "All I'm asking for is time to accustom myself to my new life."
"An excellent notion," Norbert said in his loud, raspy voice. "My own daughter's betrothal period was six months, and she needed every day."
My father's eyes were icy. "You may have a month, if you require it," he said through gritted teeth.
I wasn't sure if that would be enough time, but I had no attention left to spare for quarreling. The doors to the final two exam rooms were opening - in minutes I would know who had won the right to marry me. My heart started pounding so hard it was actually painful to breathe. The two scholars whispered together, both of them growing slightly heated, and then whispered some more.
"Well?" my father demanded. "Who has passed all my tests and proved himself worthy of my daughter's hand?"
One of the scholars cleared his throat. He looked to be a hundred and eighty years old, all crepy white skin and wispy white hair. I had to think he had forgotten at least half of the facts he had ever managed to learn. "My liege," he said. "There is no clear winner. Both men have answered all of our questions correctly."
There was a slight murmur of approval from the onlookers, a few desultory rounds of applause. My father scowled. "Well, she cannot marry two men," he said. "Ask another question."
"We have asked them all," said the second scholar, whom I belatedly realized was a woman. She was as fragile as a creature made out of dried leaves and corn husks, a notion reinforced by her papery skin and overall brownness of coloring.
My father's expression became even more thunderous. "Then think up another one!" he shouted.
Norbert pushed himself forward. "You say there are only two suitors left?" he said. "Let them stand before the princess so she can choose which one she will wed."
"Yes!" I exclaimed. The generally approving reaction of the crowd drowned out Gisele's gasp of, "No! My liege! You can't!"
My father was nodding vigorously. "Very well," he said. "Bring them both to the throne room in half an hour. We will see Olivia engaged before the day is out."
* * *
What do you wear to the announcement of your own betrothal? When you have only thirty minutes to prepare, you don the nicest gown you own that matches the accessories you're already wearing. My maids stuffed me into a dark yellow dress with lace foaming over the decolletage and quickly brushed and repinned my hair. The topaz necklace and eardrops stayed in place, and soon I was hurrying back down the long hallways to the throne room.
As you'd expect, it was a large domed chamber made gloomier than necessary by imposing carved pillars, lugubrious murals, and a complete lack of windows, so all the lighting had to be supplied by candles and oil lamps. When I arrived, my father and Gisele were already seated on the great carved, painted, and bejew eled chairs that were set up on a low stage in the center of the chamber. About two hundred other people were milling about the room, restless and excited. I wove between them on my way to the dais, then climbed up to take my place in the more delicate chair situated at my father's right hand.
"Let the contestants be brought forward!" my father commanded.
The crowd parted and the two scholars led Darius and Harwin deep into the room. Darius and I stared at each other, each drinking in details. In this much better lighting, he was much better-looking. His blond curls had been freshly washed and combed; he was wearing a silky blue shirt over black trousers and boots, and he looked young and hopeful and sparkly with possibility. I know men aren't sparkly, but he was, somehow. He seemed to be on the verge of breaking into laughter or bursting into song or flinging up his hands to call forth rainbows.
I hoped that, this close up, I looked as good to him as he did to me.
Harwin, by contrast, was much the worse for yesterday's escapades and today's deep cogitation. The first thing I noticed was that he walked awkwardly, employing a cane and favoring his left foot. I had not seen him fend off the first set of attack dogs yesterday; clearly one of them had chewed on his leg or ankle. As he got closer, I saw that his face was almost haggard, perhaps with pain, perhaps with accumulated weariness. His eyes were fixed on my face, and his expression was dismal.
Only three people in the room knew whom I would choose, and two of them weren't at all happy about it. I saw Gisele lean forward and bend in my direction, but I would not look at her. I kept my gaze on the approaching men and tried to maintain a serious expression.
Harwin and Darius halted in front of the thrones and executed deep bows. "Well done, both of you!" my father declared. "Each of you has demonstrated his strength, his valor, and his wit - each has proved himself worthy of my daughter. Yet only one of you can marry the princess. Now is the time for her to choose which of you she will call husband."
My father rose to his feet and gestured for me to follow suit. Gisele and I both stood up. "Introduce yourselves," my father said grandly and pointed at Harwin. "First you."
Harwin stepped closer to the stage, his gaze still leveled on me. "I am Sir Harwin Brenley, twenty-eight years old, a man of property and my father's sole heir. If you choose me as your husband, I will treat you gently, love you fondly, share all my material goods with you, and consider myself a fortunate man."
A soft sigh ran through the room, produced, no doubt, by the women in attendance. I blinked at Harwin, for that was certainly the most romantic string of sentences I had ever heard him put together. But it was still Harwin staring back up at me, tall, brown, steady, dull. I didn't know how to answer him, so I merely nodded, thanked him, and turned my attention to Darius.
The magician stepped forward and dropped into a bow so low that his curls brushed the floor. When he straightened, he was holding a bouquet of enormous white blossoms that gave off a rich and heady scent.
"I am Darius Kent, son of a landowner and also my father's heir. I am possessed of a sunny temperament, a wealth of fantastical stories, and the ability to do small magics. If you marry me, your life will be filled with laughter and decorated with enchantments, and both of those serve to lighten even the dourest days." He flung the flowers into the air and they were transformed into white butterflies that danced and fluttered around my head before winging their way up into the painted dome. I clapped my hands together like a child, and all the women in the audience cooed and applauded along with me.
My father turned toward me. "Daughter, can you choose between them?"
"Darius," I said with what might have been unbecoming haste. "The magician. I will marry Darius Kent."
The reaction from the crowd was so loud that I couldn't hear what my father or Gisele might have said in response. But Darius flung his head back and laughed, then spread his arms wide in invitation. "Come to me, then!" he called, and I didn't even hesitate before jumping off the stage into his arms. He caught me deftly and twirled me around until I was as dizzy as one of those butterflies.
"We shall plan the wedding immediately!" My father's declaration rose above the excited chatter of the crowd. "Everyone shall be invited!"
That caused the noise to intensify even more, but somehow Gisele's cool voice cut across the clamor. "Not for another month," my stepmother said. "You promised Olivia her period of betrothal."
Still in Darius's arms, my feet ten inches off the ground, my eyes locked on the smiling face of my chosen fiance, I desperately wished I had not negotiated such a concession from my father. But before I could recant, Norbert's loud voice came from somewhere among the watchers.
"The lad must take the princess to meet his family," the old lord said. "It would be unseemly for her to marry him without such an introduction."
"I shall take you to meet my grandmother," Darius said. Although everyone in the hall could hear him, he seemed to be speaking only to me. "Will you like that?"
"Indeed, I think I will like anything you have to show me," I replied breathlessly.
"Excellent," my father said. "You can leave in the morning."
I was delighted at the notion of wandering off in Darius's company, so I was greatly displeased when Gisele's voice once again made itself heard above the din. "She cannot travel alone through the kingdom with a man she has just met," the queen said coldly. "The possibilities abound for misfortunes and errors in judgment."
"She is to marry him," my father said. "There could be no scandal attached to any of their intimacies."
The very word made me blush and suddenly wish Darius would put me on my feet. As if he could read my mind, he set me down gently, but kept my hand in his, and planted a light kiss on my knuckles.
"I think you are too sanguine," Gisele said. "There must be a chaperone."
There was a movement in the crowd behind us, and a young woman stepped up beside me. I remembered her from the firelit circle two nights ago. "I will guarantee the groom's good behavior," she said. "I am Dannette Kent, and he is my brother. I will travel with the princess on this journey."
My father spread his hands. "There! All problems solved!" he said. "Let us retreat to the dining hall for a grand meal to commemorate this occasion."
