The target exploded, and Tor was left standing there covered in straw, which was now scattered multiple feet in every direction.
Shit.
Glancing around, Tor saw that, thankfully, everyone else had left already—or made themselves scarce when they’d seen him having a temper tantrum. Ruefully, he brushed straw off his clothes and out of his hair. He’d intended to go change before the revelry inside, intended to put his best tunic on, instead of the one he’d just rolled around on the ground in. But wouldn’t that just be him showing off again?
Not to mention, if he went up to his room, Tor was pretty sure he wouldn’t come down again. The last thing he wanted to do was circulate and try to look like he hadn’t just messed up everything. But he couldn’t risk that anyone would see that as a slight.
It was just like Tor, really, to have planned an event just for Pel to show off, and then to completely ruin it at the last minute.
He couldn’t believe he’d been so foolish.
Chapter Eighteen
Pel
By the time he got inside, Pel had managed to calm down sufficiently, so that despite the fact that he still wanted to punch Tor—Torex!—in the face, he didn’t think the desire would be obvious. A large part of Pel wanted to head up to his room and not emerge for a week.
But that wasn’t what today was about. There was no way Pel was going to leave the field to all the Illustrious and Extraordinary winners—or very sore losers. Pel was going to show up, and Torex was just going to have to deal with the fact that he was sharing the attention with Unremarkable Pel.
Pel huffed out a breath as he made his way to the banquet hall. All right, maybe Torex hadn’t done it because he was upset about losing to Pel in the first round. He certainly hadn’tseemedupset. He’d been weirdly cheerful about getting hit, in fact.
But Pel wasn’t sure that it was much better that the other man couldn’t envision a competition that didn’t have magic in it, that he couldn’t just let it be about pure artistry and skill where absolutely anyone could choose to compete.
And he’d looked sostunnedwhen Pel had brought it up, like it hadn’t even occurred to him that Pel might be annoyed by needing magical help to be able to participate. Pel scowled. He was the worst!
As he crossed the threshold of the banquet hall, a cheer went up. He forced a smile onto his face as he became aware of just how many people were watching. He accepted the drink that someone shoved into his hand and took a gulp of it.
No one else seemed to find it the least bit strange that magic had been involved in every aspect of the competition.
His smile was slipping, Pel realized, and so he firmed it up again and took another sip of his ale and looked around the crowded, raucous room. All the chandeliers and crystal lights were lit, making the room bright and welcoming, and musicians gave the event an even more festive air.
Pel had to give his father credit. Although the idea had not been his, he’d gone all in. Yes, he’d likely done so in the hopes that Torex would report back to his brother how he’d been celebrated in such style and how King Forex treated his subjects so well, but regardless, there were huge mounds of food and countless barrels of ale, enough even for the great number of people who’d come to watch the competition, and who were no doubt delighted by the showing of magic.
It was just… Pel sighed. He’d thought the first demonstration was more than enough to illustrate how effective magic was. That had been theplan, and then there’d been the non-magical competition. Tor hadn’t told him about the change beforehand, and that made it feel a lot like he’d been set up.
But even as angry as he was, part of Pel just couldn’t believe Tor would do that, not after all the time they’d spent together. He’d never mocked Pel about his magic—or lack thereof—and an entire competition designed to put Pel in his place didn’t seem his style at all.
But was blissful disregard for Pel’s point of view any better?
There was another swell of noise, and Pel turned without thinking. It was Torex arriving, of course, getting his own array of cheering and back-slapping, a loud roar that made it impossible to decipher individual words, which was probably just as well, because if it was jumbled enough, then Pel didn’t have to hear the man be lauded as the most magnificent wielder of magic who had ever existed.
Pel had already known that. He hadn’t thought it necessary to emphasize it yet again.
He realized his hands were clenched white-knuckled around his mug, and he made a conscious effort to relax his grip as he made his way over to the other winners. Hoping his smile came across as genuine, he lauded them once again for their efforts, thanking them for putting up such fierce competition.
With forced cheerfulness, he made his way through the entire banquet hall, circulating so that everyone who desired to speak to him could do so. He managed, mostly, to stay out of Torex’s way.
Everyone else was so happy, and Pel tried to remind himself that they’d all wanted the spectacle, and they’d gotten it. That showy magical finish had made it even more exciting for them, because it wasn’t something they normally saw. Pel was clearly really sensitive about this, and he’d probably made a bigger deal of it than he should have.
But… why hadn’t Torex told him from the beginning? Then, at least, Pel would have known it was coming.
Surelythe man knew him well enough to know it hadn’t been a happy surprise?
Out of the corner of his eye, Pel caught sight of Torex again, watched as he grinned and nodded, as he took the time to congratulate the other winners in person and to mingle with anyone who wanted to talk to him.
Was it Pel’s imagination, or did that smile look a little forced?
Impromptu dancing sprang up, and Pel watched as the loud group of drinkers became loud and boisterous groups of dancers. He wasn’t a huge fan of dancing, but of course the winners of the competition were highly solicited as partners. Pel steeled himself and danced with the first blushing young lady who asked. And then he made himself keep doing it, because he’d look like an arrogant jerk if he refused.
