Sorrows of Adoration (24 page)

“He is,” Kurit
confirmed. “He may be ten years my senior, but who do you think
taught me how to be such a rogue? Certainly not my father. I
acquired this regrettable jesting attitude from him.”

“It’s not entirely
regrettable,” I said to him quietly.

“Really?” he asked,
seeming genuinely surprised.

“I adore you when
you’re silly. Most of the time.”

“Oh, I see,” he said,
raising his eyebrows mockingly. “Would you adore it if I were to,
say, reach over and tickle you, here in front of all these people?”
He gave me a wicked grin that implied he meant the threat.

“No, I most certainly
would not adore that!” I whispered, wide-eyed, leaning to the
opposite side of my chair.

He leaned right over
both chairs to growl at me, “Well then, I’ll save that for later.”
I shoved him back into his seat, and we laughed as the call to
begin the tournament echoed over the field.

I watched for too long
as perhaps forty young men beat each other bloody with false wooden
swords in a ridiculous series of mock battles, just for the
apparent honour of being my Champion. Thankfully, there were few
serious injuries, but nonetheless I was suitably revolted.

Kurit asked me early on
if I was unwell because I had gone pale at the sight of one young
fellow’s forearm being broken.

“Is this really
necessary?” I said, averting my eyes.

“You should be
flattered, Aenna. They suffer these things in an attempt to be
worthy to be your Champion.”

“Ugh, I don’t imagine I
need a Champion. Why can’t you just be my Champion?”

“I’m flattered you’d
consider me, dear,” he said, kissing my hand.

“Then why can’t we just
say that you are and end this carnage?”

“Because I’m not
allowed to be your Champion. Royal women are to be protected day in
and day out by their Champions. I’m supposed to have enough other
things to do that, in theory, I cannot be worried at every moment
for you. Of course, I shall always be concerned for you in every
moment, but I suppose I shall worry less as long as Jarik is with
you. That’s the point. If he’s watching over you, I don’t have to
panic if you’re not within my sight.”

“Then why can’t I just
declare Jarik my Champion and be done with it?” I asked as one of
the nearby duels resulted in a spray of blood when an older man
took his wooden sword to another man’s nose. I cringed.

Kurit saw my reaction
and said, “Don’t look at it if it bothers you. I’m surprised it
does, though, since you’re usually far from squeamish.”

“It’s not the blood,
it’s the implied pain that bothers me. And you didn’t answer my
question.” I looked to the other end of the field where Jarik
fought some poor fool. I decided to keep my eye on Jarik, as he was
unlikely to be bludgeoned as the others were. His skill was
actually quite a remarkable sight. He easily parried the blows that
came his way, dancing around his opponent almost joyfully.

“You can’t just choose
a Champion. First of all, it would be unseemly because it might
imply that you have romantic feelings for him. Secondly—and you
won’t like this part—it’s assumed that no proper lady could
possibly know or understand enough about danger or fighting or any
such thing, so she couldn’t possibly make a sound decision.”

I gave him a
narrow-eyed glare for that comment.

“Don’t be angry with
me! I know that you know better!” he said quickly, holding his
hands up in placation. “But that’s the assumption. And I can’t
choose for you, because I might choose my friend over someone more
worthy. It’s considered a very serious position and must not be
allowed to be tainted by any possible bias or scandal. So a
tournament is held, and the man who proves himself there before all
of the witnesses gathered is known to be the best man available for
the duty. Plus, believe it or not, most of these people enjoy the
tournaments.”

That was certainly
evident by the cheering and enthusiasm of the crowd. “It’s
barbaric,” I muttered. “It’s something the Wusul would do.”

“Hardly. These men are
all participating voluntarily and for a worthy goal. The Wusul make
their male slaves fight to the death for amusement.”

“Who is your mother’s
Champion?” I muttered to him, pitying the poor man in my mind.

Kurit’s face took on an
uncomfortable look, but he answered me nonetheless. “Jarik’s father
was. Before he married my father’s sister. He resigned the position
when he married. It’s a very long, complex story that no one likes
to talk about. It shall suffice to say that she has no official
Champion now because she won’t suffer to allow anyone such
authority, and no man seems willing to suffer her abuse. It’s quite
improper on all counts, but understandably, no one has yet had the
desire to set things right.”

I dropped the issue,
not wishing to hear anything further about Kasha, whom I had
noticed to be conspicuously absent since the wedding itself had
ended. “When we were first coming to Endren, you said ‘your’
parents were deceased,” I said, giving him enough of a feigned
dirty look to make him return a feigned sheepish one. “Can I assume
that, in fact, Jarik’s parents are gone?”

Kurit nodded. “There
was a fire. He was just a small child and was saved by his nurse. I
had only just been born. That was why he was sent to be raised by
his uncle, my father. Don’t ask Jarik about his parents, Aenna. If
you think he’s been oddly morose lately, you don’t want to know how
he can be when missing the family he hardly knew.”

“Kurit, that’s so
tragic,” I said. I looked over where Jarik fought with such
strength, and the idea of him feeling such loss broke my heart.

Kurit nodded and said,
“Yes. Let’s not speak of such things. This is supposed to be a
happy day, Aenna.” He made what seemed to be a forced little smile
and kissed my hand.

Our attention returned
to the tournament, which did little to cheer my mood. Being
flattered by the intent of these men, however, I was sure to
applaud the winners of each bout in due course. The numbers
dwindled, and as the sky changed colour with the impending sunset,
it came down to Jarik and a fierce young man—barely a boy, in my
opinion, with his baby-smooth face—by the name of Zajen, a relative
of Lord Kiene of Asune. I had never seen the boy before and had no
notion as to why he battled so vehemently on my behalf. He had
fought with skill throughout the afternoon, but what had kept him
winning was a relentless pursuit that drove his opponents quickly
to stumble or make a mistake.

Jarik and Zajen bowed
to me. I expected to see confidence on Jarik’s face—he was at least
double the size of the younger man—but his countenance was wisely
controlled as the fight began.

It was an amazing thing
to behold: two warriors of very different but almost equal skill,
clashing wooden swords together in a flurry of repeated strikes and
parries, making quite the racket. Four times the wooden swords were
cracked right through—three times for Zajen as he would manage to
stave off one of Jarik’s heavy blows. Both men would pause where
they were while a boy would run out with a replacement and scoop
the broken bits away. Then they would continue to lunge at each
other.

The first half of the
fight had Zajen attacking Jarik continually, though the larger man
held his ground with some effort. Zajen bounced about, hacking
wildly, never landing a blow on Jarik’s body. Jarik made few
attempts to strike back, and soon I realized his strategy was to
let the boy tire himself out. Jarik’s face was sweaty with effort
but bore no expression of anger or strain.

As the poor boy began
to indeed tire, Jarik was able to strike back. He landed a serious
blow to Zajen’s arm, forcing the young man to fight with the wrong
hand thereafter. It was not long until Jarik struck him with
several other sound wallops, eventually knocking the wind out of
him sufficiently that he grew weak.

Still, brave young
Zajen did not relent. He fought on until Jarik finally won by
knocking the sword out of his hand, sending it flying out towards
the field. Zajen fell to his knees, exhausted and defeated, as a
thunderous cheer erupted from the audience. Always the gentleman,
Jarik stuck his false sword into the ground and offered a hand to
help the boy to his feet. Zajen managed to stand, bow in respect,
and wobble away to the physician’s tent.

Proudly and with a
beaming smile as I had never seen before on good Jarik’s face, he
turned to me and exclaimed, “By right of this tournament, I claim
the title of Champion to the Princess Aenna!” Cheers rung out again
as he bowed deeply.

“Go give him a maidenly
kiss on the cheek,” Kurit whispered. “It’s appropriate, and I’ll
enjoy watching him blush!”

I laughed and left my
seat to go to Jarik. He knelt as I approached, took my hand, and
kissed it decorously. As he rose, I took his face in my hands and
planted a kiss on his cheek. He pretended to stumble backwards,
clasping his hands to his heart and grinning foolishly, as though I
had moved him greatly. The crowd laughed and cheered anew. After
that round of applause died out, they quickly dispersed, most of
the lords and ladies eager to head into the palace for dinner.

“I feel as though I owe
you a prize.” I said with a laugh as Jarik ran his hands through
his sweaty hair. “You worked so hard for me, and I have nothing
with me to give you in reward.”

“He’ll tell you now
that being your Champion is the only prize that his noble heart
desires,” Kurit teased as he approached.

“You’re lucky I’m too
tired to swat you, little brat,” Jarik responded, visibly exhausted
but still smiling nonetheless.

An idea struck, so I
walked quickly back to the stands to pluck a flower out of the
garlands. I chose a budding white one that was around the back
where it had not wilted in the hot sun. As I walked back to them, I
pulled out one of the many green ribbons that was entwined in the
bushel of ringlets at the back of my head. I tied it in a bow
around the flower and presented it to Jarik.

“It’s not much, but
here is a token prize of thanks,” I said with a happy smile.

For a moment I thought
I had offended him, perhaps by offering him a prize when one was
not expected, for his proud grin faded as he beheld my gift, small
in his large hands. Then he looked at me with such tender fondness
and said softly, “That is very thoughtful of you. I shall cherish
your gift, Aenna. Thank you.”

It was a heavy moment.
Jarik stared at me with unwavering appreciation, and Kurit’s face
took on an odd, vaguely jealous look. Before it all could become
too overwhelming, I forced myself to smile at them both and took a
hand from each of them in my own.

“Come then, I am
hungry. I want my dear husband and my dear Champion to escort me
back for our dinner!” I happily demanded. The strange moment
broken, they both smiled and led me to the waiting coach.

Dinner was pleasant,
and afterwards we all went to the ballroom to dance. My first few,
of course, were with my dear new husband, whom I allowed to entrap
me in that addictive eye contact Jarik had warned me about. I wish
I knew what words would properly describe my ultimate joy in those
moments, but every phrase that comes to mind seems either to miss
the mark or sound superfluous.

I danced also with King
Tarken, who kept whispering to me to stop being so nervous. He
laughed at my girlish little blushes and spun me about quickly and
merrily. When the song ended, I caught a glimpse of Kasha’s fury
from a back corner of the room but quickly ignored her before the
King would notice and feel badly for me.

Soon Jarik joined
us, having taken the time during dinner to bathe and change his
clothes. He danced with me happily but making an obvious effort to
not catch my eye.
Poor, wonderful Jarik,
I thought.
He worked so hard this afternoon for me, yet here he works
again to ensure that I do not appear unseemly.

Lord Cael asked for the
next dance, but just then the musicians decided to take a short
break. I promised to find him when the music began again. He bowed
with a flourish in reply and said, “Just don’t seek me too eagerly,
Your Highness, or your husband shall accuse me of further
treachery!”

I laughed as he strode
away. Then, Leiset was behind me, tapping my shoulder.

“Aenna, I must go now,
but I wanted to ensure there was nothing else you wanted taken
along to the cottage.”

“No,” I said as I
walked with her towards the door. “We went over everything a
thousand times last night. Anything forgotten deserves to be so. I
feel badly that you have to go so soon.”

“Don’t be silly,” she
said happily. “I don’t care for dancing and such silliness anyway.
It’s my duty to go have your room prepared for you. Gilrin may seem
very uppity and dull, but I’ve been told that in private he shares
many a delicious story of gossip, so my trip shouldn’t be
boring!”

“I do appreciate it,
though.”

“I know. That’s what
makes my job so pleasant: I know I’m appreciated. I’m so happy for
you, Aenna. Your face is alight with joy!”

I embraced her fondly,
and she returned the gesture in kind. “I am joyous. And relieved
and excited and …” I sighed, unable to express the thousands
of words for my feelings.

Leiset ended the
embrace and said, “And you deserve it. Now I must run, or Gilrin
will be in a foul mood and the trip won’t be so delightful.” She
hurried away as I watched her go.

“You know, it really is
terribly inappropriate to be seen embracing one’s maidservant,”
came a menacing voice behind me. I turned to find Sashken standing
there, arms crossed in disapproval. “But then, I suppose that you
are closer to her station after all, so perhaps the friendship is
natural.”