father. No doubt she thought Smit too lowly to address… most people were, in her opinion.
“I’m surprised you girls decided to attend the celebration tonight,” he said, scanning the banquet hall.
I followed his gaze to where his sister sat speaking to an old man. Near her, Islanders threw bones to the dogs beneath the table, bellowing with laughter as the beasts fought over the scraps. Branda, Lord Croswell’s sister, could hardly hide her disgust that the animals were allowed in the great hall.
“We’re hardly girls. You’re only two years older than me, after all.”
He grinned, winking at me. “So you wanted to celebrate tonight?”
I raised my gaze to meet his. “Of course.”
This time he laughed. “My sister told me of your plans to hide out in your room.”
“So what?” I challenged, glaring at him. “This night’s already taking a dark turn!”
His smile, that seemed a permanent fixture of his, faltered. “I guess I’ve been so focused on the fun and freedom of the feast, I hadn’t thought much about all the superstitions your people have about it.” A seriousness flashed in his eyes. “You know we’re leaving soon…”
It was as if a fist squeezed my heart. That was one subject I didn’t want to discuss.
My gaze turned back to Krell, who sat glaring at the man across the dance floor. There would be a fight between these two men, I knew it without question. “Can your Lord Bagley really take him?”
Smit took a long moment to answer. “Your men might be built like oxen, but our men know a thing or two about swordplay.”
I crossed my arms. My new dress strained a bit at the shoulders, and again, I silently cursed my father for begging me to wear the uptight fashions of Tarak. And myself for caving to his wishes. Would any man really choose me just because of my clothes?
Not a man I’d want.
Looking at Smit, with his dark hair and chiseled jaw, I wondered if he cared about dresses. “So you think he’ll win?”
Smit reached out and caught a curly lock of my copper-colored hair. He rubbed it between his thumb and finger, as if lost in thought. “How about we make a wager of it?”
I nibbled my bottom lip, surprised by his boldness. This young lord from Tarak had something that drew me to him, something unexplainable. It wasn’t just his looks that bordered on beautiful. He kept me on my toes and never seemed to take anything seriously. And yet, he looked at me as little more than his sister’s friend. What had suddenly snagged his attention tonight? Perhaps it was the dress.
“What kind of wager?” I challenged, snatching my hair from his grasp.
He leaned in, looking both ways as if he told a great secret. “If a Tarakian lord wins…”
I held my breath. “Yes?”
He lowered his voice, forcing me to lean even closer. “I get a kiss.”
I jerked away from him, eyes wide. “Don’t your people consider such a bet inappropriate?”
“Terribly so.” He laughed, light twinkling in his soft brown eyes. “But your people seem to think a woman should be allowed to kiss anyone she wishes.”
My attention swung back to the giant and his opponent. A smile curved my lips. The little man had no chance. Men from Tarak were born to sunny skies and green fields. They lacked the strength built from a lifetime spent carving out an existence in the cold and rocky lands of The Bloody Isles.
“And if I win,” I drew out the words, trying to hide my confidence. “You’ll wear one of these miserable gowns in the garden tomorrow.”
His smile faltered.
Mine grew. “Afraid?”
He straightened, towering over my small frame. “It’s agreed.”
Smit lead me closer to the edge of the dance floor where Lord Fergen had grown a ghastly shade of white. A brief warning sang through my blood. Not tonight. It’d bring a curse on us all, but I pushed the thought away.
Krell leapt to his feet. “I challenge him!”
The crowd erupted in cheers, the noise almost deafening.
“Enough!” the king shouted.
The room grew silent. All eyes turned to the king, waiting.
Tension built in my shoulders. What would King Guadius do now?
“Does Lord Bagley accept Krell the Killer’s challenge?” The king asked, his deep timbered voice sliding through the silent room like a shark slicing through waves.
The pounding of my heart filled my ears as anxiety and anticipation fought within me. My hand stroked the hilt of my dagger. I usually loved the moment right before a battle, whether I was fighting or watching. Judging an opponent and calculating his or her moves was an art. A pleasure that was hard to resist.
But why tonight!
Lord Bagley swayed on his feet. “Perhaps I could appoint a champion?”
Our king’s bushy brows drew together. “A champion?”
“Yes,” Lord Bagley squeaked. “Someone to fight in my place.”
“Fight in your place?” The king tilted his head, studying the smaller man. “You insulted Krell’s sister. Why would someone fight in your place?”
Princess Gaudius crossed her legs, drawing attention to the flowing layers of her golden gown. “How will the goddess determine who’s in the right if someone fights for you?”
“It’s a custom in Tarak,” Smit answered, his confident voice drawing the eyes of everyone in the room. “And if it pleases the king and his princess, I would fight in this man’s place.”
My breath caught in my throat. No, not Smit. The image of Krell swinging his massive blade came uninvited to my mind and waves of panic shook through my body.
“Lord Croswell,” I whispered, but could say no more. If I tried to talk him out of it, people would question our relationship. But what was worse, they’d question my faith in his ability as a fighter.
Such a thing was a terrible insult.
King Guadius studied Smit, his gaze thoughtful. “If it’s the custom of your people… well, I shall allow it.”
Krell roared, pointing his blade above his head. “But the tiny man insulted my Claribel.”
“I only refused her kiss…” Lord Bagley whispered.
Rage snapped over the giant’s face.
The king slammed his goblet nosily against the arm of his chair. “Lord Croswell will fight as his champion, but,” the king rose to his feet. The long leather coat he wore was trimmed with rare black fur and made the large man even more formidable. “It’s a fight to first blood, not death.”
“First blood?” Krell’s question boomed through the room.
My king’s eyes narrowed. “First man to draw blood wins. Understood?”
The giant lowered his furious gaze and bowed. “Of course, my king.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Bloodshed tonight was dangerous, but at least there wouldn’t be death. At least not yet.
Smit winked at me and headed to the center of the dance floor. He patted the shoulder of the man he fought for, then gently pushed him into the crowd. “I’ve got it from here, old man.”
It took a long minute for the blood pounding in my ears to subside enough to really see Smit standing next to his opponent, a man who was twice as wide as him and a foot taller. It took even longer to comprehend that he’d really volunteered to fight in another man’s place.
But why? What possessed him to be so reckless tonight?
I closed my eyes. It was this night. When the seas ran blood red, and the moon wore her own bloody garments, a lust for violence swept through our people. Perhaps it affected Smit too.
Opening my eyes, I looked across the room to the king. Somehow, my father had come to stand silently beside his closest friend.
My eyes narrowed. Was he worried? If he was, I should be too.
Running my gaze over him, I tried to find some evidence of his true feelings, even though he was good at hiding them. At first glance, he held all the emotion of a statue. But when I looked beyond his tough exterior, I saw the
flicker of doubt in his ice blue eyes, the same color as my own. And was there more gray and white weaved into his copper-colored hair?
Something squeezed my heart. The worry lines around his mouth made him look older too. When had this happened? I hoped it was just this cursed night, and not something more.
He turned to me. Our gazes locked, and a shudder ran through me as I thought of the second part of my grandmother’s prophecy. Should any Quinn draw blood this night, they will be punished by the goddess herself.
I touched the dagger at my hip. My father touched his sword.
My father loved this night, but with the prophecy hanging between us, I knew this was the one Feast of Darkness where my father would stay far from violence. He would act as an old man, sitting back and watching as the others celebrated, but keeping a firm hold of his control, no matter how the night tempted him.
I would too.
“Are both fighters ready?” the king asked, sloshing wine out of his goblet and onto the floor.
Krell roared.
Smit withdrew a smooth, silver blade from his sheath and gave a low bow.
A flicker of appreciation raced through me. I’d seen that blade, studied the fine craftsmanship. I’d thought no sword could compete with the fine one my father had made for me on the day I’d beaten my brother in swordplay. But that blade… it was perfectly balanced, and made with Tarakian steel. The pale metal gave a strength and weightlessness to the sword that few weapons could compete with. At least in The Bloody Isles. And certainly not Krell’s sword.
Smit just might have a chance.
“Begin!” King Guadius shouted.
The crowd erupted into sound.
Krell swung his massive blade.
Time