Annoyance flashes within me, but then it withers and dies. Mabon sounds so earnest, so heartfelt. And he is assuming that Tristan is going to win. I don’t think he is taking Llywelyn’s side. He simply has a big heart and feels sorry for the obnoxious shithead.
Tristan bristles. “Dyfri is the youngest. He is our baby brother.”
Mabon’s fingers do not pause in their neat weaving. “And look how we let him down.”
Tristan sucks in a breath. “We were barely adults.”
“And he had just come of age the day before,” Mabon replies mildly.
A heavy silence coils around the brothers until Mabon breaks it. “Being a good big brother would be a lovely thing.”
Tristan says nothing. I bite my tongue. Part of me wants to yell that Llywelyn started this, so it is all his fault. But that’s a child’s view. Overly simplistic. Goodies and baddies, whereas reality is always shades of grey.
“Perfect,” declares Mabon brightly as he finishes Tristan’s elaborate hair. “Blessings for the duel, Brother dearest,” he says, and then he waltzes away.
Tristan stands up and turns to face me. He looks incredible. Magnificent. Every inch a prince.
“What happens to you if you lose?” I blurt suddenly. I thought I didn’t want to know, but maybe not knowing is worse.
“Banishment or Shame,” he says calmly. Far too calmly.
Shame? I swallow dryly. “Like…that rhocyn stuff?”
Tristan flinches ever so slightly. “More likely it will be resyn.”
More likely? So, his own brother…doing that to him is not impossible? Oh stars, I think I’m going to faint.
“Resyn?” I ask, mostly in an effort not to pass out.
Tristan nods slowly. “Someone is made a resyn if they lose a duel and instead of having their hair unbound… it is cut off.” He makes a face as if the words are leaving a bad taste in his mouth. “A resyn is a shadow. A ghost. Disgraced and shunned. Nobody talks to them or even acknowledges their presence.”
That doesn’t sound too bad. Though that might be because I’ve been an outcast all my life, so it sounds pretty standard to me. But there is a very real look of genuine horror in Tristan’s eyes.
I try to swallow again, but my throat is too tight. If Tristan is made a resyn, I’ll still talk to him. Damn the stupid fey rules. I mean, it will be tricky, because I’ll belong to Llywelyn, but I will still talk to Tristan every chance I get.
“Resyn’s are rare. It is considered old-fashioned and usually reserved for when family members duel. Some say it is worse than being a rhocyn.”
Tristan’s eyes are huge now. Wide and dark. He really fucking hates the idea of being a resyn. It is scaring the shit out of him. He is facing his worst nightmare, all because of me. This is all my fault. I insulted his brother, and now Tristan is being subjected to a duel and possibly a terrible fate.
“Better not fucking lose then!” I snap as all my anger comes rushing back. I’m not going to try to fight it. I’mnot going to attempt calm. I need the strength that anger gives me.
Tristan blinks at me and then smiles. “I’ll do my best.”
I scowl at him. “Your best would be using all the information you have and not being a knobhead about it.”
“Is that so?” he grins.
“Yes! Because a cheat equals a cheat! It is perfectly fair!”
His grin turns into a smirk. “Look at you, Little Nisny, getting all grumpy again.”
I glare up at him. His head lowers. My eyes widen and I step back.
“Don’t you dare fucking try to kiss… ” I start to rant, but then stop abruptly. “Fuck it,” I say instead and I reach up, grab his horns, yank him down to me and smash my lips against his.
He grunts in surprise, and then again in pleasure. He takes control of the kiss and I surrender gladly. The kiss is heat and fire and need. It is a plea and a promise.
All too soon, he escapes my hold. He straightens up and stares down at me with gleaming eyes.
