“Look at that, everyone! Even though our archers had never shot Mantled arrows before, every one of them hit the target. How’s that for Tond’s guards?”
The crowd roared, and King Forex looked pleased. Pel looked intently focused, like he was already filtering out all extraneous noise.
This time, each arrow hit, but one was several inches away from the bullseye, so that archer was eliminated. She looked disappointed but proud that she’d made it this far.
They moved the targets back again, and then again, until once again, an archer missed the target and was eliminated.
Now there were only three archers left. They were all going to place, but in what order?
The targets were shifted back three more times until finally, Pel’s arrow was the only one to bury itself in the dead center of the target.
Tor had to squint just to see the target clearly, and he was hugely impressed that the archers had been able to hit it, never mind accurately while going through Larexa’s shield. Tor could Mantle a thousand arrows, but he would never have been able to do that.
The crowd exploded in cheers and screams in appreciation of Pel’s efforts. He withstood it all a little stoically, not seeming to know what to do with all the people who’d poured out of the seating and were pumping his hand, slapping him on the back, and telling him how amazing he was.
There was a lot of good-natured laughing and more applause and raucous celebration until the King finally called everyone to order so the prizes could be awarded. They all went to stand on the field, Pel in the company of the pale redheaded woman who’d placed second and the dark black-haired man who’d placed third.
Larexa gave each of them a medal stamped with the crest of the United Realms. Each was on a lovely silken ribbon that proclaimed their place in the competition in neat stitching.
Tor wondered if they actually had these sorts of things lying around—and then wondered if they did at home, too. When was the last time they’d had a competition like this in Nexa? Just letting people come and watch was enough to improve the mood of an entire area.
The second and third place winners were both given gold, and Pel said he’d like his winnings to be split amongst everyone else who’d competed. It wouldn’t mean very much per person, but the gesture of goodwill was met with extreme jubilation.
The fact that Larexa had small coins to pass out meant that Pel must have thought about this beforehand, in case he won. It made Tor like him even more.
King Forex thanked everyone for coming and told them that they were welcome to the food and drink that had been set up in the banquet hall. Everyone cheered and then streamed chaotically into the castle to take the King up on his offer. The King’s children had a lot more to do with this generosity, but at least it had happened.
The field was finally empty, but Tor realized that in addition to those servants who had stayed behind to finish collecting arrows, Pel had gone to pull the arrow out of his last target.
Tor had lost sight of him for a few moments in the throng of people headed into the castle. He made his way over, wondering if the crowds were maybe a little bit much for him.
Pel yanked the arrow out so hard that he ripped out a huge chunk of straw at the same time. That was when Tor realized that the other man was bristling with tension.
“What’s the matter?” Tor asked.
Pel whirled on him. His jaw was clenched, his eyes were bright, and his chest was heaving. “I know everything is better with magic, all right? You needn’t belabor the point!”
Tor stared at him for a long moment, not comprehending, and then his utter foolishness struck him—rather like one of Pel’s deadly accurate arrows.
“Oh, Pel, I’m so sorry,” Tor said wretchedly. “That’s not what I meant at all. I didn’t realize that’s what you’d think.”
Pel scoffed. He looked furious, more angry than Tor had ever seen him—apart from when he thought Tor had been going around sleeping with servants against their will.
“No?” he snarled, voice mean. “You didn’t think this was the perfect opportunity to take back the victory after you lost before?”
That stung. “Of course not!”
“You know what?” Pel sounded disgusted. “I don’t want to hear it! I don’t really care.”
“Pel—!” Tor protested.
Ignoring him, Pel stalked away. Tor wanted to run after him, wanted toexplain, but Pel clearly wasn’t in the mood to hear Tor’s excuses. If Tor left it alone, was it possible the man would enjoy the rest of the day?
Tor was genuinely horrified that it hadn’t occurred to him how the inclusion of magic would look to Pel, how he’d see not his moment of triumph but him being sidelined by the magic instead. Tor wished the man would have a little more faith in him, but clearly, Tor was a terrible friend who didn’t listen very well when Pel talked to him. He’dknownhow Pel felt about magic, and it hadn’t occurred to him how the inclusion of magic would make him feel.
Tor was such a fool.
He kicked at the target, and when that didn’t make him feel any better, he punched it with what was perilously close to the full force of his magic behind the blow.
