When Onric and several other nobles came out of the castle to join in the final set of archers for the qualifying round, the spectators cheered. Now the tournament had begun. Onric smiled, lifting his bow to the crowd for a short moment before he took his place on the line.
Ian watched his brother focus in, not letting the crowd distract him even though this round was simple. When he finished his set of six arrows, landing them all in a tight formation near the center of the target, the spectators cheered again.
But Ian had no chance to approach his brother, as Onric was immediately escorted into a large gray-and-white tent on the corner of the field.
Only nobles could enter the tent, which meant that Iancouldenter it, but he would have to reveal himself to do so. So he waited.
Before the next round started, the targets were moved back several paces. Then, the archers were again invited up to the line in groups of twelve.
Ian hung back, waiting for as long as possible to be in the same group as Onric, who would again come to join the final group.
But the crowd of archers around him quickly thinned.
He saw Robin, then, recognizing the thin set of her shoulders beneath the green cloak wrapped around her. She stood on the edge of the field, keeping her hooded face forward and hidden, as though she were intently interested in the competition.
The two of them were in the final set of the village contestants. Ian walked slowly to his place by the line, waiting for the three nobles to join them and fill out their set of twelve.
Onric stepped out of the tent along with several of their friends. But Onric stayed back, standing against the tent to watch, waiting until the next set while three of the other nobles stepped forward to fill out the empty spaces.
Ian took his place on the line, standing second from the last with his back to everyone. Except for Robin, who had taken the final place in line and was facing him.
She smiled at him from below her hood.
Ian smiled back, happy to be standing on an archery line with her face-to-face despite the pressure of the situation.
“You are using a straight longbow,” he said, feeling comfortable speaking to her as no one else was close enough to hear.
“I always compete with a longbow, so as not to draw attention to myself,” she replied, twisting the end of the long piece of wood between her ankles to bend the string into place. “And, I am strong enough to draw a longbow now, at least at this range.”
Ian strung his own bow, resting the tip of it on his leather toe so as not to set it on the muddy ground. He waited for the quick double blast of the horn that signaled it was safe to shoot.
His mind revisited Robin’s words as something stood out to him. “You always compete with a longbow?” he repeated, his chest tightening. “As in, you have competed in the harvestreign tournament before?”
Robin looked over at him quickly, her eyes tense, but she did not hesitate to answer. “Yes, I have.”
The horn blew its double blast, and a quiet descended on the field as the archers raised their bows.
Ian methodically grabbed an arrow from his own quiver, nocking it to his bowstring. He had participated in this tournament nearly every year. Which meant that they had competed, together. And he had never known. Just as he nowsaw Onric standing outside of the royal tent, watching the competition from afar. She had likely done the same thing—known he was there, seen him from afar.
Ian drew back his bowstring, focusing his gaze on the center of the ringed target ahead as the grief of that realization hit him. He held steady, exhaling so that his shoulder and arm were in the exact position he always set, then released the arrow.
The twanging of bowstrings and the thudding of targets sounded across the field. This round was scored by ring, with only the top contestants moving forward.
His arrow hit the third ring from the center. A decent shot.
Robin’s shot a moment after him, her arrow also hitting the third ring.
Ian knew she could shoot better than that, but his mind was consumed by a different thought. “And you never sought me out?” he asked. “Spoke to me?” He looked down at his quiver instead of at her as he chose another arrow.
She did not reply, and when Ian looked up she had her next arrow nocked and drawn, eyes focused on the target.
Ian did the same. He hit the second ring.
When he looked over, she still had not released her arrow, and her arm remained steady under the strain of the bow. She finally released. Also hitting the second ring. “You never sought me out,” she said, looking down, her voice so quiet he almost missed the words. “The location of Lockwood is no secret, yet you never came.”
Ian selected another arrow. He had known where she was. But it was not that simple. Reducing it to a visit was not entirely fair.
He drew his bowstring back, locking his thumb in the familiar spot at the corner of his mouth, ignoring the tickling hairs of his newly acquired beard. He settled into his consistentstance, the one that ensured every shot was as identical as possible to the one prior.
