“The winner of the first match in the third round is Hayle Taeme,” the Master of Ceremonies called. I bowed to the fox.
Thank you for your service today. The Third Line appreciates it.
The fox grinned at me, all teeth. She sent me an image of some cubs going through the meatlocker at the back of Zier Tarrin’s manor house while everyone was distracted by the tournament.
I laughed and lifted a finger to my lips.Your secret is safe with me.
Then I turned to Ivo. “That was way too close. Thanks for such a good match—I didn’t even hear you across the clearing,” I said as I walked up to the Heir to the Eighth Line.
He slapped me on the back. He was Zier’s nephew, and I could see the family resemblance between them: the dark hair, the golden skin from too much sun, the square jaw. “If I was going to be beaten, I was glad it was by the hunters themselves.”
We went back to the tents to wait for the other match to finish, and I made my way to the Ninth tent. I needed to hold my girlfriend.
Bach Halhed had gotten out in the second round, but he seemed to be chatting animatedly to Kyler Tarrin. They were a similar age, and from what I knew of Kyler, she was as quiet and foreboding as her brother and uncle. She never came to the Conclaves. Instead, she took care of the Eighth Line while Zier and Ivo attended. I didn’t blame them; I wouldn’t want Avalon anywhere near Fortaare and the men of the First Line—with the exception of Vox, of course. Though if I was honest, up until this year, I probably would’ve lumped Vox in with the rest of his Line.
Finally, I was close enough to reach out and grab Avalon from behind. She melted back into me, and I doubted there was any better feeling than holding her in my arms. Smiling overher shoulder at me, she brushed a chaste kiss to my cheek. “Congratulations.”
I buried my nose in her neck, breathing her in. “I haven’t won yet. When I do, will you give me a congratulatory kiss?”
“In front of all these people?” she hissed.
Grinning, I squeezed her tighter. “In front of the whole world. They’ll all know you’re mine.”
“What about your father?” she whispered.
“He knows and approves,” I reassured her, nuzzling her hair. “How could he not?”
“For fuck’s sake, Taeme, stop groping my sister,” Bach Halhed grumbled, and I smiled against her cheek.
“The winner of the second match of the third round is… Emery Abaster of the Eleventh Line.”
There was hooting and hollering from the Eleventh Line, because let’s face it, everyone loved an underdog.
But I was still going to win. I wanted that kiss.
Seventeen
Avalon
Hayle won the Hunt, to nobody’s surprise. Though Emery Abaster put up a good fight, Hayle had been raised in the woods, in the minds of the creatures he was tracking. Even without his abilities, his knowledge was invaluable.
He also made good on his word. As they declared him the winner of the Hunt, he dragged me into the ring and kissed me until I saw stars, bending me backwards until my hair brushed the sand. Everything about Hayle Taeme was consuming: his scent, his taste, the way he loved. But even as I was wrapped in the adoration of Hayle, there was something missing.
I missed Vox. There wasn’t enough space or enough people to truly hide what we were, so I spent my whole time casting longing looks in his direction, but never getting close. I was hoping that at tonight’s banquet, I could steal a moment with him.
The Hunt was the longest competition of the tournament. Tomorrow, they’d have the remaining three, which would be eliminations by points, rather than head-to-head battles like the Hunt. There’d be a knockout competition of Flint, a quick-paced table game where the players moved their pieces around the board, eliminating the other Lines until their Baron emergedvictorious. Then in the afternoon, there would be an archery competition, and finally, hand-to-hand combat. A winner would be declared, and then there would be a huge party in the middle of the Eaglehoth for everyone, Heirs and citizens alike.
The following morning, we’d all be shipped back to Boellium.
Tonight’s banquet was political. Barons and Heirs would attend, rubbing shoulders with each other, with alliances to be forged or bolstered. I wasn’t looking forward to it. I’d avoided these kinds of events for years, something my father was happy to allow. Mostly because he’d painted me as some kind of monster, as Zier had suggested.
But a dress had appeared on my bunk this morning, and as I slipped it on, I justknewit had come from Vox. How he’d managed it, I didn’t know, but it was beautiful. A deep blue fabric, but dusted with what looked like threads of moonlight. Or perhaps frost settling in those moments before dawn. It was ethereal, and I felt like an imposter wearing it.
Straightening my spine, I smoothed my hands over my hips. The back dipped low, not ending until the curve of my lower back, and was criss-crossed with fine ribbon, until it looked like a puritanical spider had tried in vain to keep my dress together. It’d been a nightmare to put on, but I had to admit, it was dramatic.
Someone whistled behind me, and I turned to see Acacia. She was wearing a traditional Twelfth Line dress in a deep purple, the drop waist hugging her hips but the skirt full and swirling. It was intricately embroidered along the edges of the hem and over the bodice.
“Your dress is a work of art,” I told her, and she smiled.
