Page 159 of Shadows in Bloom

Astor didn’t reply, lips pursed into a fine line. How he hated them.

“Ready?” Cosmo approached on his stallion, a beautiful black hothead that matched his owner’s character.

“You already done for today?” Oreon pointed at his clothing. Oreon had already changed his fighting suit for the traditional Novarian warrior gear. His bare chest glimmered in the light, as did the golden brooch that kept the sides together on his right shoulder. His hair was a dark wave of curls, brushed back and tied in lint, and his eyes flashed mischievously. “I’ve come to watch the show. I heard it’s going to be a good one.”

Astor snorted, but it was Oreon asked, “What do you mean?”

Cosmo shrugged, but the mischievous glint in his eyes gave him away when he said, “I’ve heard that Akotan won’t joust.”

“They won’t?” Astor pinched his eyes in confusion. Around them, the audience got more cheerful and louder, a clear result of impatience infused by alcohol. He suddenly realized that the games were being delayed, that the gentle breeze and the change of colour in the sky were both an indication that it was getting late. They should have started by now.

“If Akotan doesn’t joust, then who does?” Across from them, the barbarians had dismounted their horses, and as they used wet cloths to wash their sweaty heads and faces, their stable boys tended to the horses. They were clearly done for the day. Astor grimaced at the sight, huffing out a grumble when Cosmo let out a laugh.

“They’re disgusting,” he groaned, yet somehow he couldn’t take his eyes off of them. Couldn’t understand how on earth this nation had been able to draw their swords against Novar and had managed to cause such grief.

“Astor—” Oreon began, but it was Cosmo who finished the phrase.

“Remember how I did you a favour by bedding Astrid when you were too…busy with other things?”

Oreon snorted, but Astor’s gaze turned sharp. He remembered. “Yes?”

“I am asking you that favour in return today.”

Astor noticed how his friend’s lips were pressed tight and his eyes narrowed. He looked nervous. “Which is?”

“The Nomos Doulos.”

“The…” Astor halted, puzzled. “Why?”

Cosmo swung his head around, curls bouncing across his square jaw until his eyes landed on Melas, who stood against the stone wall with cast-down eyes, his transparent, light garment a stark contrast to the darkened wall of the arena.

“It’s only your own fault that your own father wouldn’t allow you to bring your pleasure slave here,” Oreon chuckled. “You practically broke the poor guy. Now you want Astor’s?”

Cosmo ignored him, his pleading puppy eyes on Astor. It was difficult not to laugh. They were best friends, Astor would do anything for him, and Cosmo knew it. Still, Astor felt like he had missed something here. When no unspoken questions were answered, he shrugged.

Cosmo’s smile turned wider. “Is that a yes? Please say it’s a yes. It’s not Melas I want.”

“Who is it that you want then?” Astor asked, but when Cosmo begged him with those puppy eyes, he huffed out a laugh. “D’acc. I win, and you do the claiming. And I will get to ask you countless favours this year.” He wiggled his brows at Oreon, who snorted.

“Choose wisely, because Astor’s father made this happen and his honour is on the line with all the noble families present today,” Oreon added with his usual serious tone. “Oh, and—” He grabbed Cosmo’s shoulder before he could ride away. “For the love of Medea, bring them back in one piece. We have a reputation to uphold here.”

“Si.” Cosmo gave him his boyish smile, making Astor grumble, as his horse Foniás bristled and scraped one of his legs into the sand with that similar, unmistakable arrogance before they trotted toward their side of the arena.

“We will now start with our final and most important game,” said the herald at last, and he took out their flag. “Of House Novar, we present Astor Prianos, our current champion both on and off the battlefield!” The statement was met with loud applause as, once more, Novarians raised like an unfurling palm leaf, blood-red and fluttering in the tensening air.

“Good luck, champion,” Oreon called out, but Astor ignored him. It was time. Closing his eyes, he inhaled sharply, feeling his chest expand. Surrounding noises dimmed as his own awareness grew. Despite the growing inner peace, his stomach coiled with anticipation, an unfamiliar sensation he both cherished and loathed.

Focus.

Determination.

Confidence.

He could practically hear his father bark the words.

He brushed Kallisto’s head, and mumbled, “Let’s do this, baby girl.” Pressing his knees into the flanks of the mare, they came prancing forward. They made their way toward the center of the arena, where a stable boy passed him his golden helmet. Astor put it on, clicking the visor shut before taking hold of the shield that was blood-red with gold. The sound resonated through his thudding heart, and he could feel the puff of his breath within the restrained metal space, together with the steady pace of his chest. His fist gripped tightly around the lance and he let the mare move to an elegant piaffe. Standing in one place, she raised her front legs high, a sight cast in perfect harmony when Astor raised his own hand and pointed his lance toward the sky.

“Iteres Novares!” House Novar cheered for their champion—an amazing feeling, though gone too fast, replaced by a silence that turned expectant the longer it drew out. Something was missing. They were in their finest clothes, were seated in the arena, had their refreshments, their champion. But there was no one there to fight him.

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