In Which Rona Learns the Rules

July 25, 1177

If only because she didn't want to look at the arena before she absolutely had to, Rona followed her mother's gaze to the gates. It would still be a while before the competitors charged through them, no doubt, but the minutes ticked by like seconds and the seconds scarcely registered. She wasn't unfamiliar with waiting, but this wasn't the sort to which she was accustomed. Her patience had always been wasted on day-to-day lapses, like the last few minutes of rain before a ride or the gap between a mediocre supper and a promising dessert. But this? The moment those men burst into that arena would be the turning point of her life.

One of them--and she couldn't guess which, since she had scarcely met any of them--was going to be her husband. Perhaps he'd be a good man and maybe he'd even love her, but since the decision would largely be made on account of brute strength, the possibility seemed a bit too remote for her comfort. One step down would have been the winner of a drinking contest and she almost wished her brother had gone with that instead; at least then people would see this ordeal for what it was.

The old key of her mother's weighed down the fabric between her legs as she tried to make the most of her seat. Not sure how much more of this she could bear, she grabbed the attached chain and coiled it around her finger, not minding of the old metal cut her and almost hoping it would. "How much longer?"

"Maybe twenty minutes?" Lorn glanced over his shoulder at their cousin Searle, who nodded. Rona made a face. She hated Searle. "You look very nice, by the way."

"Thank you, but I'm still not going to forgive you."

"Rona!"

Their mother gasped as their stepfather rubbed her shoulder, but Lorn only sighed. "For what? The tournament, or your friend?"

Idiot. "Both."

Annoyed, her brother scuffed his boot against the boards of the crude stands. He didn't want to be here any more than she did, but that only served to fuel her fury. A respectable man with the power to do so would have called it off he felt so inclined. "I hope you won't be so disagreeable at the banquet. I know you already feel like I'm trying to unload you and no amount of reassurance will change that, but if you continue to act like this, perhaps your champion will assume the same."

"Hmph." For all she cared, he could assume that. It was no less than her brother deserved. "What does he have to do, anyway? A good trophy ought to know how she's about to be won, don't you think?"

"Rona, for the hundredth time, you are not a--oh, forget it!" Was he really just sick of her saying it, or did he actually agree with her? She didn't think she preferred either option. "All right, there are about sixty men competing. They ran a foot race last night, all of them. The top twenty finishers are seeded in the jousting round. The other forty are going to run sprints soon, ten heats with four runners apiece; the winner of each will advance, giving us thirty jousters."

Running and then jousting. Planting a kiss on a sweaty cheek was an unavoidable fate. Lovely. "And then?"

"The top ten each earn a knighthood and advance to the sword fights. Those go on until only two remain and then the winner of the final fight has the honor of being your champion."

"So I get to watch my future husband hack some poor sap's shield to bits. I can't imagine a more pleasurable form of foreplay, really." Lorn glared at her, but it was a pity for him that she didn't care. Her energy was better spent lining the key against her thumb and binding them together with the chain. Probably took a lot less of it too. "Who won a berth in the jousting? Anyone I'd know? Because I should hope whoever I have to sit next to at supper at least had a chance to bathe after running."

"Mainly unknowns--assorted gentlefolk, foreign spare sons, that sort of thing." He slouched back against the step and surveyed the length of the arena, a few eyes on the other side flickering his way. "You might know a few, though. Sir Bernardo's brother Casimiro placed third; you said you liked him."

"I said he was tolerable." Although in all fairness, that was probably the closest to 'like' any of these men were going to get. "Anyone else?"

"Ellona and Catherelle's brother squeaked by, but I know you didn't care for him." Lorn's fingers twitched, as if eager to fiddle with the length of his belt, but they ceased as he seemed to remember something else. "Oh, and get this: some fellow named Torgleid."

"Torgleid?" Rona's head whipped back to the gate with such speed that her neck ached, though in truth she barely noticed. "That's Aspen's surname."

Lorn sniffed. "Would it have stuck out if I hadn't remembered? Must be some distant relation."

"Maybe," she compromised. That was what her head would have believed, at least, but her heart wouldn't have been racing if it hadn't hoped for something better. Aspen had sparred with Rona's brothers on several occasions... what if she'd passed herself off as a boy and had entered the tournament herself? What if she showed all these moneygrubbers and title-chasers what was what and put on some show at the end, revealing herself to the spectators, screaming for all to hear that this had been a terrible idea and Lorn and Searle ought to be ashamed of themselves, demanding that Rona's husband win her notice by means of a proper courtship? Oh, and insisting on her job back, of course. That part was not negotiable.

Then again... what if there really was a distant relative? Oh, but what if there wasn't? "She never mentioned any family..."

Her brother shrugged. "Some people have no mentionable family."

He'd left her quite the opening for a rather cruel insult against him, but she opted to let it go. For the first time in months, her spirits had been lifted. "Mother, would you mind if I went for a cup of water quickly? I'm quite thirsty."

Lorn opened his mouth as she stood, no doubt about to warn her to be back before the first batch of runners came out, but their mother silenced him with a nod. "Go right ahead, dear."

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