Page 25 of Stardust Child

“That’s where I’d place my own bet,” Remin replied, sitting forward as the two knights on the field moved into position for their final contest.

So, they were just going to pretend that no one had said anything about her guards fighting for the privilege. Ophele was torn. She couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to, unless there were some other significant incentives, and if there were…Remin was planning to fightallof them?

She was so distracted, she almost missed the end of the joust. Her head jerked up at the pounding of hooves, closing the distance so fast, and Ophele felt the breathless instant when the knights hung in the air, almost seeming to fly, braced up in their stirrups as they turned to drive their lances home. Distantly, she heard Remin and Sir Miche shouting, almost drowned out by the screaming of the crowd.

Helmets turned, finding their targets. And since both Sir Miche and Remin were betting on Sir Auber, Ophele was watching as his body swiveled, the point of his lance circling to thrust Sir Bertin’s lance out and away and slamming into his shoulder to nearly knock him from the saddle.

The horses’ hooves struck the earth in ringing silence.

Sir Auber threw his broken lance down.

The field exploded with cheers. Ophele didn’t even realize she was on her feet, clapping and shouting, bouncing on her heels and applauding until her hands stung.

“He parried it!” she exclaimed, looking up at Remin with glowing eyes. “Didn’t he? As if it was a sword!”

“Yes, exactly.” His big hand squeezed her shoulder in his excitement. “Did you like it, wife?”

“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “I wish we could give them both prizes, they were so good!”

“You can tell them that,” he said, gesturing to the approaching knights. “Bertin will appreciate it. Tell them they both fought hard.”

“They did,” she agreed, and she did tell them as they came to kneel before the dais, battered and dusty and disheveled, but pleased. This was a side to the mild Sir Auber she had never imagined, and she was so glad for him that his family was here to see it, hugging each other rapturously a short distance away.

“Thank you both,” she said, so impressed with them that she forgot all about the watching crowd. “It was such a close match, I’m so glad this was the first joust I ever saw. Oh, the prize,” she remembered, turning to take it from Sir Miche. “Sir Auber. Congratulations on your victory.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Bowing, he accepted the plain golden cup.

“It’s also the valley’s first tournament,” she added impulsively, glancing at Sir Edemir behind them. “The first tournament in the duchy, ever. And all of you were the first to compete in it. His Grace’s first champions.”

“We will record it,” Sir Edemir agreed, meeting her eyes with surprise and appreciation.

It was something to think about. This might be a humble beginning compared to tourneys she had read about in books, with hundreds of combatants from dozens of noble houses, and prizes that were masterpieces of gold and gems, enough to make the fortune of a family. But one day House Andelin would be anything but humble. She knew it because she knew Remin, and Remin built on bedrock.

Though she had a few misgivings about the next event.

“You’re really going to fight all of them?” she asked him a little faintly as a line of armored men took the field, anonymous in their helmets and formidable-looking. “By yourself?”

“They’ll just get in each other’s way,” he assured her cheerfully, and brushed her fingers with his hand. “Don’t worry, wife, it’ll be all right.”

Vaulting onto the field, he strode toward the waiting combatants, to make his own little bit of history.

Chapter 3 – A Lamb’s Tale

“He’s been looking forward to this all week,” said Sir Miche as they watched Remin approach the line of knights. He sounded resigned. “We tried to talk him out of it.”

“Yes, why can’t they just fight each other?” Ophele asked unhappily. “There are so many of them, how is it a test—”

“No, the numbers are about right.” Sir Miche stretched his legs and waved a dismissive hand. “The hallow part, that’s what we tried to get him to reconsider. Hasn’t been fashionable in centuries, and I willnotbe the one trying to explain it in the capital.”

“H-Hallows?” Ophele’s tongue flatly refused to produce the word. “Hallow knights?”

“Soul-sworn knights,” he said helpfully, as if she had never read a history book.Ancienthistory, harking back to the Age of Heroes, as if Remin thought himself one of those legends. And maybehewas, but it was ludicrous to think of herself in such company.

“I’ve heard of them,” she said, feeling very insignificant and foolish as she looked at the line of men on the field. Her face burned at the thought that all this fuss was for her. “Why? Even the Empress only has regular knights.”

“Rem seems to think if he dies, we’ll leave you in a box by the side of the road,” Sir Miche replied, with some amusement. “If he had his way, he’d make them take an oath to be buried alive with you if you die, like a Yezi war chieftain.”

Ophele did not find this funny. She was fighting the urge to bury her face in her hands as she counted the armored combatants. Fourteen of them. If they were going to fight for her—why?Why?Why would anyonedothat?—then she owed it to them to at leastcountthem. She felt an overpowering urge to leap to her feet and shout that this was all a mistake, she wasn’t a princess, she was a bastard, a blot on the Emperor’s sacred lineage. She didn’t deserve to have grown men, honorable men, competing to bind their lives to hers, forsaking all their own hopes, dreams, and relations. She felt like she was telling an enormous, unforgivable lie just by sitting silent while this happened.

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