Robin stepped forward, crossing the shooting line. “I was counting everyone’s score,” she explained as they walked across the field. “When I knew you were safe, I bowed out. We do not both need to speak with Onric.”
“But the final round of nobles have not even shot yet?” Ian asked.
Robin threw him a conspiratorial smile, a small piece of her confident self returning. “I have watched every one of the twelve archers shoot countless times. I know what they are capable of. Only two of them even had a chance of advancing to the final round.”
Ian shook his head. “Is Onric one of them?”
She nodded. “Onric will make it.”
Chapter 28
Ian watched from the sidelines as Robin’s prediction came true.
The spectators cheered loudly as Onric received a red flag, moving him forward to the final round. Lord Durando, a visiting friend from Allys, received the final red flag.
Perhaps Robin should have participated in Fletcher’s betting ring; it would be one way to get more gold for Bernard and the...Ian shook his head, realizing that she had likely fed the same information to the monk, doing exactly that.
The targets were pushed back another twenty paces, and the twelve contestants of the third round were called to the line.
Walking slowly, Ian focused intently on the fletching of one of his arrows as everyone chose their places in line.
Not unexpectedly, Onric was a clear favorite among the archers as well as the spectators. As he approached the line, he recognized Ormunder from the castle guard and called out his name, standing next to him.
Ian moved forward to the spot on Onric’s other side, but the Allysian nobleman got there first, joining in the casual conversation between Onric and Ormunder.
Ian took the next spot, standing next to Lord Durando, one place away from Onric.
He already felt grim from the recent conversation with Robin, and this further failure only amplified that. Maybe he could try to catch Onric for a moment when they walked off the field.
The final round of the tournament would consist of only the three best archers. Ian knew he had a chance to be in the top three, but that would put him under too much scrutiny. Standing here under the excited attention of the crowd was risky enough. He scratched his beard, then lifted his hand to tug at the hood of his cloak, keeping it safely over his face.
“Durando,” Onric’s voice called from behind him. “Let me switch places with you.”
Ian turned a casual glance over his shoulder.
“Is something wrong with your target?” Lord Durando asked, laughing. “Or is the wind better over here?”
“No,” Onric said. “I just don’t want to stare at your ungainly face. It will distract my aim.”
Durando laughed again, but he happily switched places.
Ian waited a few moments for Onric to settle into place. When he risked a look back around the side of his hood, Onric was grinning at him.
Ian smirked back. “How did you...” Ian glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention to them.
“Brother,” Onric said, “I would recognize you anywhere, beard or no.”
“No one else seems to have noticed,” Ian said, defensively.
“No one else knows you like I do,” Onric replied. “I noticed you retrieving your arrows last round when I recognized the tense set of your shoulders and the direct focus of your stride.”
Ian looked down, snorting a little as he held back a grim laugh. It felt good to be seen. “Then you noticed Robin, as well?”
Onric immediately spun his head, looking around at the other archers and nearby spectators. “No, is she here?”
“She threw the last round,” Ian said, both pleased and peeved that Robin’s disguise had worked better. Ian picked up an arrow, preparing to nock it against his string in an effort to avoid looking at Onric.
“It is good to see your face,” Onric said, his voice falling to a quieter pitch.
