Page 24 of Stardust Child

But her hopes were swiftly dashed. Twice in rapid succession, Sir Auber smashed his lance into Sir Miche’s shoulder, and Remin shook his head.

“He’s just playing with him,” he said, as Ophele looked at him quizzically. “He turned his head at the last second?”

“Did he? Why?” Ophele asked, disappointed.

“He doesn’t want to spoil his record,” Remin replied, and booed loudly as Sir Miche took off his helmet and offered Sir Auber a bow without the slightest sign of pique. “He does love to be underestimated, though he’ll say he was just protecting his pretty face. Don’t applaud him, he doesn’t deserve it!”

There was a little more good-natured heckling from the other Knights of the Brede, and Ophele resolved to ask Sir Miche about it later and then promptly forgot as Sir Edemir and Sir Osinot rode forward.

Since Remin had said Sir Edemir was particularly skilled, Ophele tried to watch closely, but this match was over even faster than Sir Miche’s. It began the same as they surged toward each other on their horses, lances lifted, seeking the mark. But this time Sir Edemir’s lance struck squarely and Sir Osinot was smashed backward off his horse as if he had crashed into a wall. The thud as he struck the earth resounded all the way through her own bones.

“Oh!” she cried involuntarily, rising to her feet, and Remin caught her wrist.

“He’s all right,” he said reassuringly. “Just winded. Edemir knows where to strike.”

“You’re sure?” She looked back at the field, but it seemed to be true. Sir Osinot was already climbing back to his feet, but it looked painful. “He doesn’t have to go again, does he?”

“If this were a real tournament, yes, but not today.”

“So that leaves Sir Edemir, Sir Auber, and Sir Bertin,” she said, sitting back down as Sir Osinot made his way off the field. “Will they all fight each other?”

“Yes, with total points to determine the winner.”

“Who do you think will win?”

“I’m not telling,” he said, glancing at her with a glint of humor. “Are you enjoying your first tourney?”

“Yes,” she said fervently, flicking out her fan and feeling as if she rather needed it. It was the most exciting thing she had ever seen.

Until Sir Bertin and Sir Auber rode against each other.

Really, that was the closest contest of the day. Ophele had no gauge at all for jousting and no idea whether she was watching something ordinary or extraordinary, but Remin certainly seemed impressed as the men swayed out of the path of the lances again and again, doubly remarkable in heavy armor. It was meant to be the best of three passes, but neither struck a blow, and then both did at once, wooden splinters flying every which way.

“They both have to be steady to land a strike,” Remin explained, his face intent on the pair. “They’re good. They have a moment to see the other one squaring up and aim, a split second where they’re steady enough to be a target. They’re very good.”

“Better than you?” she asked curiously.

“They might take a few points from me,” he said, with a gleam in his eyes that was really no answer at all.

Six rounds later, the score remained resolutely tied as the two knights shattered lance after lance, so evenly matched that every clash was more nerve-wracking than the last. Finally, Sir Miche appeared, his damp golden hair darkened to the color of honey, and swept his usual extravagant bow to Ophele.

“Lovely lady,” he said, and cut his hazel eyes over to Remin. “Honored lord. Bram sends me to say we are almost out of lances. Edemir says he doesn’t mind conceding the field.”

“If it’s a draw, it’s a draw,” Remin said with a shrug. “Let them have a last try. Tell them to make it count.”

Miche nodded and turned, signaling to Sir Bram on the far side of the field with a single finger, and then sliced the finger over his own throat in a gesture that likely meanttell them to finish itbut Ophele fancied could also be the old Imperial signal forfight to the death.The blond knight flopped into the lower chair on the dais with an exaggerated sigh.

“That was exhausting,” he said to the world in general. “Are you still determined to have your test, Rem?”

“Of course.”

“He thinks there will be soldiers willing to go through Remin Grimjaw to be your guard, my lady.” Sir Miche turned toward her to confide this information in an exaggerated whisper, as if Remin weren’t sitting right there listening. “I told him they’d sooner head to Hara Vos for another dragon expedition.”

“You’re making my guards fight you?” Ophele badly wanted to ask about the dragon expedition, but first things first. Remin had hinted that there was some selection process underway, but she had imagined something more…administrative.

“Your prospective guards,” Remin corrected. “I’ll take your bet, Miche, if you want to put money on it.”

“Only a fool bets with the participants,” the knight said, waving negligently. “Though I will put money on Auber for the last pass, if you’re set on wagering.”

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