Page 160 of Shadows in Bloom

Astor looked around, and his mare was becoming restless, most certainly catching on to his own agitation that radiated out.

The bright blue sky had been replaced by a darker shade, and though it was far from sunset, they had passed the bright afternoon light.

There. Finally, there was movement. And a sound, warm and rusty, like a horn that was blown, the notes not exactly hit. It was brief, but caused people to stop in their tracks and lean in, curiosity peaked.

Through the tunnel came a lonely rider, dressed in green and metal. His horse was white, the reins a smooth caramel colour that matched the insignias that were carved into the shiny material around the rider’s throat. He was too far for Astor to read what they said. Still, he astonished himself by wanting to catch sight of it in the first place.

Around the rider’s slender shoulders waved a white, furred cloak that reached to his knees, smoothly blending in with the white colour of the horse.

When he reached the stable boy, the rider shimmied out of the garment with a graceful shrug and exchanged it for the golden helmet.

With a single click, the visor shut. He didn’t put it on. Instead, he grabbed the lance, approaching in a lazy stride, until he reached the centre of the arena.

Astor swallowed. His rattling heart confirmed what he’d thought. It was the boy from before. The one who’d stood in the middle during their introduction. The one he’d locked eyes with.

Something thundered inside him at the sight of that glorious, golden sweep of hair and that intangible face.

Beautiful, he was so beautiful.

“Frater,” came his nickname from the stands. Voice clear as a bell, an appearance that matched that purity, and he looked up to his baby brother.

Angelus est Albus.

I’ll fight for you all, he thought. I’ll win the fight we should have won five long years ago.

Astor cleared his throat, his mind swiftly back to that spot of mindfulness his father had so carefully drilled into his younger self.

Focus.

Determination.

Confidence.

This was a show to expose supremacy. To show their entire world who would rule again, never ever to falter again, in the future.

“Fighting for House Damayar, is Illias Mothvora.” The silence that followed was so thick that even the wind couldn’t blow it away. It lasted for two, three seconds. Then he added, “Right now, gentlemen, the stage is yours. You have three rounds. May the best knight win.”

The crowd erupted.

Astor tipped his chin to the crowd, dipping his metal gaze in acknowledgment when the daughters of the regent threw more flowers his way.

At your service.

“The crowd wants some real entertainment!” Someone called out, the shout followed by more cheers. Cosmo, that fucker.

Kallisto whinnied in reply and Astor pulled the reins, lifting his lance one last time in a visible challenge toward his opponent. Taken by the rush of the moment, he tilted his head and eyed the clear sky. “Let’s show this crowd some real entertainment!”

CHAPTER 4

They stood in a face-off, each rider on the far end of their own side, where they waited for the trumpet to announce the start of round one. During a normal joust there were four rounds, the winning knight the one who’d thrown his opponent off from his horse.

Not here at the academy.

This was a friendly match, and they’d do three rounds. It wouldn’t stop Astor from showing off his skills, position and victory. From claiming his prize.

“What’s he doing?” he wondered. The Damaryan rider had yet to put up his helmet. Without his white, furry cloak, he looked remarkably lithe, slender even. They were too far from each other, but Astor swore he could feel it nevertheless—the stranger’s molten jade glare—and it caused a thrill.

A stable boy came running, fumbling with the spear in hand as he nearly fell over the long, pointy weapon and moss green shield.

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