Page 65 of A War of Crowns

The corner of Aldric’s lips twitched upward in reply.

He was planning on it.

“Bring me my helmet,” Aldric called out to Calix, and his second-in-command hurried to comply.

But no sooner had Calix passed the piece of armor into his hands than he threw back his head and sang thatblastedsong of his again. “Oh, the Crow and his mutts, even down on their luck—”

Rakon picked up the tune and joined in with, “—can still bring a man low.”

Aldric thinned his lips and shoved his helmet onto his head. He ignored the lot of them and moved off toward the pitch, his practice glaive already through the harness across his back.

But the ridiculous song followed.

“So kiss your women and hide your children, becausehere comes the Crow.”

If Aldric had originally known Calix spent most of his life working as a bard and pickpocket down in the Violet District of Falwood, he never would have let the man join the Twelve Sons in the first place.

The pickpocketing, he didn’t mind. It was a useful enough skill.

But bards were just a different breed of creature altogether.

The moment Aldric stepped into the arena, a chorus of boos and laughter greeted him. He let both roll off him like raindrops from a roof’s eaves.

The boos were to be expected. And the laughter? Something he was painfully familiar with.

Everyone loved to laugh at the little man with the big polearm.

Right until the moment he speared them with it.

The sun was hot. The breeze was lacking. Overheard, the usuri chirped in the midst of their play.

Unharnessing his glaive, Aldric braced its butt against the ground and waited for the Master of Ceremonies to find him some lesser opponents to fight for the benefit of the crowd. He just assumed the queen’s champion would need to catch his breath after the joust.

When he spied the fresh-faced lad himself jogging toward him sooner than expected, though, and without so much as a helmet or weapon to his name, Aldric tilted his head to the side and watched the young knight’s approach with his one good eye.

The Elmorian side of the stands erupted with cheers at their champion’s arrival, and the knight flashed them a pretty smile in reply.Sir Dacre, this boy was called.

Not a terribly bright lad, if he expected to fight him without a helm.

“Your Highness,” the knight greeted him with a polite dip of his head. “Pardon me, but I just came to inform you our match will not be proceeding.”

Behind his own helm, Aldric indulged in a slow blink. “What?”

The younger man lifted his voice and repeated his words at a louder volume. “I said our match will not be proceeding—”

“I heard you the first time, boy,” Aldric snarled. “This is the queen’s doing?”

He sliced a fresh glare toward the woman in question.

There she sat, frowning at him as ever.

Sir Dacre offered a smile that was no doubt supposed to be apologetic and swiftly glanced away. Only then did Aldric realizewhat was truly happening, now the stench of the knight’s discomfort sought to smother him right then and there.

Here was an able-bodied man afraid to fight someone borndifferent.

The foolish boy pitied him.

Finally, the knight confirmed Aldric’s suspicions with a quiet, “Well,no, Your Highness. Her Majesty wants the match to proceed as planned. But I fear I’m just not comfortable fighting a…a, well…you know.” The coward couldn’t even bring himself to say it. “It just wouldn’t be sporting.”

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