All the voices, movements, and sounds within the lists went as still as Tien himself.
Jamys regarded him. “Pretty nose.”
Some of the men uttered low chuckles. Tien’s eyes widened, and he swallowed before he said, “I like it.”
“Then concede, you idiot,” Coyan advised him, “before you lose that, too.”
Jamys held the blade for another long moment before he lowered it and offered his free hand to Tien.
The warrior seized Jamys’s slim hand with his huge paw and touched his brow to the knuckles. “The circle is yours, Lord Durand.”
“Jamys.” He pulled Tien to his feet and returned his blade to him before he scanned the grinning faces around them. “Next.”
Clashing steel, shuffling boots, and grunts of effort filled the next several hours, and after the sky had gone black and the final challenger had conceded his bout, Jamys stood alone in the circle.
Coyan stepped up to the line, but he didn’t cross it. “My men are drilled every night. They are not permitted leave nor rest until they have satisfied me that they are able and ready to defend our lord and this household. On this I have prided myself. Now you step into our midst, wreak absolute havoc, and defeat my finest. I wager you have been watching us from the house for some time.”
Jamys inclined his head.
“You are your father’s son, my lord.” He offered one of his rare smiles before he performed a deep bow of respect. “And the night is yours. What would you have of us?”
Jamys knew well the garrison’s tradition of awarding a boon to the last warrior left standing. It was the primary reason he had come to the circle.
“He doesn’t want my nose,” Tien joked, and then winced as Coyan cuffed the back of his head. “Well, he doesn’t.”
“I would train with you,” Jamys said, taking care with each word. “For battle, and command.”
“Aye, my lord. We can prepare you for battle, aye.” Coyan’s eyes shifted toward the house. “But command is the realm of the master.”
“Glad I am to hear it.” A massive form separated from a shadowed corner, and the warriors made way as Thierry Durand walked toward them. Flickering light from the burning torches traced the scowl that made harsh his strong, handsome features, and glittered in the black slits of his eyes. Before he reached the ring, the power he shed, which smelled like a field of gardenias being burned, blotted out every other scent in the air.
Jamys remained in the circle until his father took Coyan’s place. Only when Thierry folded his arms did he step outside and bow. “Good evening, Father.”
“Is that what it is?” The suzerain inspected the ducked heads of his garrison. “I am of a rather different opinion.”
Tien stepped forward. “The boy came to the circle tonight well prepared, Master. His arm is fair magic. He bested me in the space of ten heartbeats.”
“I counted five,” another brave soul muttered.
Thierry, who towered over all the men of the garrison, divested Tien of his sword in less than a blink. “Copper on steel.”
Coyan shuffled his feet. “We fight with only the weapons that can harm us, my lord.”
“Indeed.” The suzerain eyed Tien. “And if you had thrust careless, Etienne, and cut off my son’s magical arm? The boy is not a warrior.”
“He fights like one,” Tien had the nerve to say.
“Is this so?” Thierry looked ready to kill the swordsman. “Had you prevailed, would you have sought boon from me for mutilating my only child? The Brethren never did.”
“No need,” Jamys said before Tien could answer. “They had it from my mother.”
The pain that replaced the anger in Thierry’s eyes proved too much for Jamys to bear; he strode to the armory to return his sword to the weapons master. From there he retreated to the house, avoiding the servants on his way to the curving staircase that led to his chambers in the north tower.
He didn’t notice the scent of ripe apples until he encountered the petite brunette sitting on the bottom step. She stood as he approached, and twisted her hands together.
“I tried to keep him occupied,” Jema Shaw told him. “But after three hours he figured it out.”
That his stepmother had guessed his intentions and tried to help him didn’t surprise Jamys; little escaped Jema’s shrewd gaze. She also carried the same unseen scars on her soul, thanks to her own greedy, murderous mother, so she understood what his father could not.
“I could talk to him,” she offered.
He shook his head, pausing to kiss her cheek before he climbed the stairs.
The top two floors of the tower had been designed as living space independent of the main house, and provided all the physical comforts as well as a panoramic view of the surrounding countryside. Jamys had gradually rid his rooms of most of the furnishings to create more open space. During the day he took his rest on the low, simple bed that occupied the lower floor, where custom electric shutters lowered to seal sunlight from the room.