Heroes at Odds (30 page)

It didn’t take as long for the strength to drain out of me, but the headache was just as bad. That didn’t seem fair.

Kyrra was certainly an amazing substance. There had been many periods in my life when I could have used something like that. But the aftereffects were unpleasant. I couldn’t imagine being tempted to use it again.

The next thing I was aware of was someone shaking my shoulder. “Please stop.” If I was still so exhausted, it had to be too early to get up.

“The test is about your future,” said Taro. “I would think you would want to witness it.”

I pulled a deep breath in through my nose and opened my eyes. That was harder than it should have been. It was daylight, though. I must have slept through the day and then through the night. The kyrra powder was truly powerful stuff.

“How are you feeling?”

I had to think about that. “Take your hand away.” He lifted his hand from my shoulder. Nothing changed. “All right.”

“You don’t sound too sure of that.”

I sat up. My body was sluggish, and I felt as though there were some strange barrier between my eyes and mind and the rest of the world. “I think I’m just tired.”

“Hester just brought some coffee,” Taro said, leaving the bed. “You missed quite the ceremony yesterday. Fiona celebrated the raising of the rock. Luxury food and ale for everyone, and a couple of fiddlers.”

“What’s her explanation for the raising of the rock?”

“That she brought in people who could handle such work. From Misconception Bay, which handily explained why it took as long as it did to have the rock hung.”

Misconception Bay was a good distance away. “And do people believe that?”

He shrugged. “No one seemed to question it. I don’t think anyone cares. I’ve never seen so many of her tenants so happy before.”

That was excellent. Well worth the effort and the discomfort caused by the kyrra powder.

I dragged myself out of bed and stumbled toward my wardrobe. I should have been picking out my best morning clothes. People might be watching me, when they weren’t watching the test. I should try to look my best. But my best would take far too much effort, so I dressed in trousers and a shirt and let my hair fall loose. Yes, my mother wouldn’t approve, not that I really cared, but maybe Marcus would be so put off, some part of him would be disinclined to win the race.

“How are you feeling?” I asked Taro.

“I’m good.”

“Not tired or nervous or anything?”

He smiled at me. “Don’t worry. I’m good at this.”

Taro was not a braggart.

“Fiona wants us all to meet in the back parlor,” Taro told me.

I did not go near the coffee. The smell of it almost made me gag.

Fiona wasn’t alone in the parlor. She had Stacin with her, along with Tarce, my brothers, and my mother.

“You’re not wearing that?” were the first words out of my mother’s mouth.

Really, how often was she going to hit that drum? “Good morning, everyone.”

“Good morning, Dunleavy,” Fiona said in a soothing, calm voice that was a welcome relief in the midst of annoying triviality. “I thought it would be the best way to show support for Shintaro if we appear in a group. It will make us more visible.”

“That’s an excellent idea. Thank you.”

“How are you feeling, Shintaro?” Fiona asked.

“I will win.”

Fiona grinned at him. “Then let’s get going.”

We rode down to the test site. As with the foot race, there was a huge crowd waiting. I bit down on the urge to tell them to mind their own business.

I drew up beside Fiona. “I confess I don’t understand why these particular activities are chosen for these tests.”

“Running is about health,” said Fiona. “Winning a race demonstrates hardiness of the body. A horse is a symbol of wealth. The ability to control the horse is a sign of being able to competently handle one’s funds.”

“Taro doesn’t have any funds.” And controlling a horse had nothing to do with managing money.

“That doesn’t matter. It’s traditional.”

“You know, tradition is really annoying.”

She chuckled. “That’s strange, coming from you.”

“What do you mean?” I had no great admiration for tradition.

“The Triple S is full of tradition, is it not?”

“No. Not really.”

Fiona glanced at me but was too distracted to question me. She dismounted and handed me the reins to her horse. “Time to get things started.” She tapped my boot and wound her way through the horses and people and down to the riding field.

Taro and Marcus lined up their horses side by side. I couldn’t believe this kind of race was meant to have two or more horses running at the same time. The field looked so cramped, filled with all of the walls and ponds to leap over.

Gods, this was all so stupid.

Fiona stood a little to one side and raised her hand. Silence fell over the crowd. “Neither party is to touch the other, the violation of this rule resulting in the forfeit of the test. Any form of sabotage will result in forfeiting the test. Accidental injury will not be a reason to halt the test. Do you understand the rules?”

“I do,” said Taro.

“I do,” said Marcus.

“Do you consent to participating in this, the second of three tests, to determine who Shield Mallorough will marry?”

“I do.”

“I do.”

“I call on all those present to bear witness to this trial. Those of the east bring balance. Those of the west bring length of sight. Those of the north bring endurance. Those of the south bring grace. All must favor the outcome of the test.”

And the spell was cast.

Fiona dropped her hand. “Three, two, start!”

The two horses sprang from their marks. I wondered who’d provided the horses. They didn’t look familiar, so I didn’t think they were Fiona’s. How could they know the horses were equally adept at leaping over the obstacles? Was that even considered an issue in such an event? Maybe picking the right horse was part of the challenge.

The horses raced for the first hurdle, a short wall of wood obscured and heightened by brush. Some care for sparing the animal injury if it jumped just shy of the top, but dangerous enough just the same with the speed at which the animals were moving.

Both horses flew over the hurdle. One down, nineteen to go. I could see all of the jumps from my vantage, and all seemed ridiculously high. And it wasn’t just the height of the jumps that was alarming. So much to jump over, so little space, it all looked very crowded. I wondered that the horses could gather any speed at all. Then again, maybe it was better that the horses couldn’t go too fast. Or did more speed make for a smoother ride? I’d ridden my fair share, but only as a means of getting from one place to another. I knew nothing about sport. Taro had always been interested in racing, watching it, gambling on it. I’d always found it dull, watching horses—or people, or dogs, whatever—running around in circles. This, though, was a little too interesting for my tastes.

I watched the horses arc over the second obstacle. I heard people gasping around me. It appeared that hurdle was particularly challenging. It did look a little higher than the others, but I would think the third more dangerous, coming closely after the second at a sharp angle.

Did Marcus shift a little too much in his saddle? Did he fumble the reins? It was hard to tell. His horse leapt true, though.

The next obstacle was a water hazard, and it looked wide to me. I thought Marcus’s horse struggled to clear it, though clear it he did.

Yet, still, Taro was pulling ahead. I saw Marcus rise a little further forward in his stirrups. I was pretty sure that wouldn’t do him any good.

Marcus seemed to catch up in time to jump over the next hurdle with Taro. It was hard to see from my angle, but the two horses seemed awfully close to each other. The participants weren’t supposed to touch each other. What happened if their horses did?

Assuming such an occurrence didn’t result in the animals getting entangled and falling and everyone involved dying.

I could hear gasps and cheers from the others. Who were they cheering for? They couldn’t really care. Whether I had to marry Marcus or not would have absolutely no impact on the lives of anyone else. So how did they decide who to be loyal to? Taro, because he had been born in Flown Raven? Marcus, because as a regular he was more like them than a Source?

Marcus fell behind again, just slightly, and again he shifted forward in his saddle. Is that why the gait of his horse hitched just the slightest bit? And was that why his horse clipped a cannon against the top of the hurdle?

It was gut wrenching, watching horse and rider fall down. I thought I could almost hear the impact. I was sure that had to have killed Marcus, though I couldn’t see the position in which he landed.

Taro kept on riding. Was he aware of what had happened? Should he stop if he did? He would forfeit if he did, but Marcus must have forfeited by falling. What would happen if they both forfeited? They would have both lost, technically.

If Marcus wasn’t dead.

I was dismayed at the possibility of him dying.

But then the horse awkwardly climbed to its feet and one of the people who had run onto the—what did one call it? a field? a pitch?—caught its reins and calmed it down. Two of the others on the field ran to Marcus but he was already on one knee before they reached him. Everyone cheered.

And Taro slowed his horse and turned it around, trotting back to the hurdle at which Marcus had fallen. When he had reached it, he dismounted and stood beside Marcus, offering a hand to help him up. The cheering got louder.

No one seemed to worry about the rule concerning touching.

Marcus got to his feet and put a hand to his head. There was some discussion among the people on the field, including Fiona, who had run out to join them. No doubt they were asking Marcus if he was hurt. Then there was some pointing about the field, and I guessed that Marcus had claimed he was fine and could continue the race.

Which Taro had been guaranteed to win had he continued. It was wonderful that he behaved with such generosity and honor. I kind of wished it wasn’t the shape of my life that was vulnerable to his generosity and honor, though.

After a few more moments of discussion, the two men mounted their horses and arranged them just after the last hurdle they had ridden over. Or, in Marcus’s case, fallen over. Then Fiona called them to start, and they charged at the next hurdle. It seemed to me a ridiculous risk. Surely the horses didn’t have enough space to work up the speed necessary to jump so high?

Yet they did, though it clearly required great effort, the force of the movement pushing both riders back in their saddles. And then they were off, and they seemed to be back on track.

But it quickly became apparent that Marcus had felt the effects of his fall more deeply than he’d admitted, for he swiftly fell behind. By the third hurdle it was no longer a matter of two horses in unison, and by the sixth Taro was in the clear lead.

People were still cheering, but I could hear that they were rooting for Marcus. Because he was losing? Weren’t people supposed to admire those who won?

The end of the race was anticlimactic. No one was surprised when Taro prevailed. I was pleased that he received a good bit of applause as he crossed the finish line. It would have been horrible for him to go to all that effort and receive no positive response.

Fiona declared Taro the winner of the test.

I closed my eyes in relief. Thank Zaire.

I hadn’t realized how very worried I’d been that this challenge would be won by Marcus, and that that would have been the end of it.

I opened my eyes when I heard the others begin to applaud, and I joined in enthusiastically. I would never question how Taro chose to spend his free time again. He was a brilliant man.

I dismounted, giving my fistful of reins to a neighbor, and jogged down to the field, followed by my mother, my brothers, and Browne. Cars was already there. As we approached, I could hear him berating Marcus for losing. Ass.

There were a lot of reasons why I wasn’t going to be marrying Marcus, but Cars was a significant one. Cars was not as bad as Taro’s mother—no one could be—but at least Taro’s mother seemed to have things to do that took her away from our immediate presence. I had a feeling Cars was very much in Marcus’s life, and I couldn’t imagine associating with him on a regular basis without having to work real hard to resist the impulse to poison his tea.

Taro dismounted and I went to him, rising to my toes to kiss him on the cheek. “You are marvelous.”

He grinned.

Yes, we were back on track.

“Do shut up,” I heard Browne say to Cars, and that was kind of funny.

Cars’s face grew even redder. “How dare you—”

“Your son has an enormous lump near his temple and his eyes are glazed.”

Taro frowned. “Is he badly injured?”

Browne didn’t answer, instead asking Marcus to follow her finger with his eyes. He seemed to be having trouble with it.

“What’s wrong with him?” Cars asked in a suddenly milder tone.

“I’m not sure, yet. I’d like to get him somewhere quiet and take a more thorough look at him.”

“So let’s get him back to the manor,” Fiona ordered.

“The tavern’s closer,” said Cars.

“The manor’s quieter and there’s more room. Healer Browne can easily stay if she needs to, without being disturbed, and my staff can bring her anything she or Trader Pride requires. Tarce, see if you can quickly get hold of a carriage or wagon.”

“We will do the race again when you are better,” said Taro.

I couldn’t help glaring at him. There was honorable and then there was just ridiculous.

“You can’t do it again,” said Fiona. “The test was completed by both parties. It’s done.”