Tournament of Losers (12 page)

"I know," Tress snapped and took several injudicious-looking gulps. His face soured, and he slammed the cup down. "I hate red wine."

It was the wrong time to laugh, but it bubbled out before Rath could stop it. Tress looked up, the irritation on his face wavering and then finally collapsing into a sheepish smile.

"Sorry," Rath said. "I didn't mean to hurt you… That's what we've always been told. I've heard all kinds of stories about the ways noble houses have cheated. It's High City that first started calling it the Tournament of Losers."

"When they're stupid enough to say it around me, I make them sorry for it," Tress said. "I know it doesn't seem like it, and I didn't mean to get so mad, but there are a lot of us who believe in the tournament and what it's meant to accomplish. Including the royal family."

Rath nodded and nibbled at a few of the remaining olives.

"So you don't really want to continue with the tournament?" Tress asked. "Even though you've come so far?"

Shrugging, swallowing a bite of olive, Rath replied, "Well, yeah. I mean even if I did win, which is unlikely, I don't think they'd actually permit it. There's commoner and then there's East End whore. Anyway, I don't have any money, I've only traveled out of the city once, and a lot of those other people on stage looked far more qualified than me. Especially the one next to me, in the expensive clothes and smug little grin. You might think the royal family is all noble, but I know a hoity-toity when I see one, and if he's not one, it's only to squeak by the rules." He ate another olive. "What about you, fancy boy? You said you were one of the marriage candidates, right? I'm guessing, given how vehement you are about all this, that your family doesn't have one already picked out."

"I'm not getting married unless it's somebody I
want
to marry," Tress replied. "I may be a tournament prize, but if someone like that smug jerk you mentioned wins, I'll refuse to go through with it. I won't marry someone who misses the point of the tournament—the point of the
law
."

Rath's mouth turned down. "The law says you have to marry whoever wins that right."

"The part everyone forgets is that after the tournament is over, the candidates and the winners get a three-month trial to make certain they'll get on together. It's not simply 'win tournament and go immediately to temple'. If the winner and noble prove incompatible, then one of the runners-up is chosen. It almost never happens, because it is poor form not to marry the winner, but there have been a few instances. I know it's nigh impossible I'll marry for love, but that doesn't mean I have to marry someone I hate. That would defeat the purpose, which is to work together to improve the kingdom."

"I didn't know nobles worked," Rath said, smiling faintly. "I thought they just flounced around High City or snuck down to slum around Low City pretending they're all brave and bold and
different
."

Tress gave him a look that was half-exasperation, half-amusement. "You're supposed to be the mature one here."

"Older, certainly, thanks for the reminder," Rath replied, mood souring a bit. "Never claimed maturity." He pushed his plate away before he tried to eat more. "So where are we?"

"An inn on the West End called the House of Three Sparrows. I've stayed here a couple of times." A quick, sly grin. "When I'm fairly certain I won't be going home anytime soon."

"Your family must be angry you're out right now, given the tournament has moved into the most important part."

Tress shrugged. "No one needs me until the end, and they're used to me slipping away, usually to find a quiet corner to read, but sometimes to go down into the city. They're hoping that marriage will finally force me to stay where I'm told. If that doesn't work, I'm fairly certain they'll move on to chains. But until the wedding ceremony, there's very little they can do."

"Must be nice," Rath muttered and drained his wine. Wiping his mouth with the napkin, he looked at Tress with raised brows. "So what did you have planned for the rest of the evening, my lord?"

"Stop calling me that. I had nothing as solid as a plan. My only thought was to get you to talk to me again. Though I would have preferred it not be because of mushrooms. Speaking of which, I am really sorry about that. I should have asked."

"I should have said, I'm the one who should be apologizing." Rath ran a hand through his hair. "It's too expensive a substance for healers to use on anyone but propers, and temple healers don't give murgot to the likes of me. I get lipseed oil and prayer."

Tress frowned again as he stood. "You keep making it sound like you're a—a monster or something. There's nothing
wrong
with you, and so what if there was? You'd still deserve to be healed properly."

"There's many in the city who'd disagree," Rath said with a shrug. "It is what it is. Stop scowling about it."

The frown turned into a soft smile as Tress reached down and tugged Rath to his feet. "At least if you're being rude, that means you're no longer mad at me. Haven't bothered to read that book of manners I gave you, I see."

"I did," Rath said, the reminder hitting him in the face and making him feel like the lowest for forgetting such a kindness. "I opened it this morning. Thank you. That was far too generous."

Tress shrugged one shoulder. "It was pennies, which we both know is easy enough for me. As I said earlier, I was trying to show off and be impressive. I didn't want you to get bored or fed up with me."

Rath snorted. "It's your lot that gets sick of
me
. Or did you not notice that thousands of my lot showed up to the tournament, and your lot doesn't bother to show at all until after the sorting."

"They're all idiots, because I don't see how it's possible to grow tired of someone I can't even keep pace with," Tress said. His thumb traced Rath's cheekbone. "I mean look at you, competing for the prince and everything."

"Yeah," Rath said with a laugh. "Better be careful or a prince might steal me away, and then who would call you a spoiled brat?"

Tress didn't reply, just bent his head and brushed a silk-soft kiss across Rath's mouth. Ooh, he remembered that kiss. Hard to forget, even drunk as he'd been. Nobles never wasted time on finesse. They expected everyone else to have it. They were the ones to be catered to, after all, why should they need finesse?

Not Tress. That he bothered to kiss at all was remarkable, and it was so very obvious in his skill and enthusiasm that he enjoyed kissing. The night they'd met, Rath had been amused and charmed, more than he'd wanted to admit. Tress kissed like a sheltered, bookish idiot who'd absorbed a lot of fanciful nonsense that life hadn't yet driven out of him. The same sort of idiot that bought a whore for a night and then spoiled that whore rotten.

And had come back and taken care of him
again,
after Rath had been so mean. For a brief, sharp moment, he was envious of whoever won the right to marry Tress. But that kind of thinking would only lead to madness, so he squashed it and focused on the present. He draped his arm around Tress' neck, drawing him down into a deeper kiss, eager to relearn that mouth, now that he was sober.

He frowned when Tress gently withdrew and stepped away. "Something wrong?"

"You're hurt and still recovering from the murgot," Tress said.

"I'm fine," Rath replied.

"Healer's orders were to rest and engage in as little activity as possible."

Rath rolled his eyes. "That's not even much of a challenge. I'm a
whore,
if mostly retired. I don't need to move a lot—" He scowled as Tress's fingertips covered his mouth.

Grinning, Tress removed his fingers and kissed Rath quickly before darting away. "I bought a new book while you were asleep: old minstrel ballads. If you behave, I may even sing a few for you."

"You can sing?" Rath asked, forgetting everything else they were talking about.

Tress smirked. "Behave and you'll find out."

Huffing, Rath returned to the bed, a delicate tendril of happiness curling through as he slid beneath warm blankets on a soft, firm mattress. Better still was the easy, familiar way Tress settled next to him.

Driving Tress away had been the smart thing to do, and sneaking away would have been wiser than lingering. But the misery of the past few days was still fresh and vivid in his mind, and he didn't have it in him to be smart a second time. He'd just have to handle the inevitable consequences when they came and enjoy himself in the meantime.

Tress could, indeed, sing—at least as beautifully as the temple priests, if not even better. He sang so well that Rath moved without thought, climbing atop him to kiss every sweet sound from his lips. All he got for his efforts was pushed back to the bed and told to behave, but there was some satisfaction to be found in Tress's mussed, uncomfortable state.

Rath fell asleep to Tress singing him a lullaby and gentle fingers combing through his hair.

He woke to gentle shaking and Tress whispering his name. "Hmm?"

"I have to go," Tress said softly. "I am being dragged home on pain of
or else.
"

Rath gave a sleepy laugh. "I am well acquainted with
or else
. I should be going to work, anyway. Thank you, for everything."

Tress caught up his hand as Rath sleepily tried to lift it, kissed his fingertips and winked. "Be well, Noble Champion. If I can get away again tonight, I'll seek you out."

"Go away," Rath said and tried to swat him, grumbling when Tress moved out of range.

Then Tress was gone, leaving the room feeling empty—and Rath like an interloper. He lingered in the soft bed a few minutes more anyway, before finally climbing out and dressing in the clothes piled in a chair. Some of the clothes, anyway. There were at least three complete outfits, all of it far nicer than anything Rath would ever be able to afford. That didn't mean he wasn't going to keep them. Thanks to those knaves, he didn't have any breeches left. So he'd take free clothes and gladly.

Rath dressed quickly and bundled up the rest of the clothes. Stealing a hunk of the bread and some grapes left over from dinner, Rath headed out, whistling as he wended through the city to drop off his new clothes in his room before he headed to the docks to see if there was still a chance of finding work.

Rath bought two pies before he headed for the fairgrounds, carefully tucking one away for later in the new pouch he'd bought himself with some of the money from Tress's book. Between those pennies and the money he'd earned working the docks three days in a row, he had nothing to worry about for once.

Well, except the tournament and not getting beaten to death. But he didn't have to worry about paying rent or buying food, which was always pleasant.

He ate the other pie while he walked, licking gravy from his fingers when it dripped. Reaching the fairgrounds, he finished off the last couple of bites as he joined the crowd milling about the grounds.

"Rath!"

He turned and smiled at Kelni, who came up and lightly smacked his arm. "We've been worried about you!"

"We? About what?"

She smacked him again. "The way you were bleeding? You ran out of here the other day like you were going to die if you didn't, ignored all of us calling after you."

Who was 'all' of us? But even as Rath looked, Warf and several other people clustered around him. Three of them were competing against him to marry the prince. "Uh—I'm fine. I was hurt, but a friend helped me out, and since then I've been busy working."

"You're supposed to be focusing on the tournament," Kelni said. "Not working."

Rath shrugged. "What competition are you in? I missed it, and then I was distracted when…"

She and Warf and some of the others laughed. Warf gripped his shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze. "Your face! You looked like you'd just seen the Fates. I thought you were going to pass out. How does it feel to be in the running for a prince, huh?"

"Like a nightmare," Rath replied. "So tell me already: where are you in this mess?"

Warf laughed again and let go of his shoulder. "I'm with the earls."

"Barons," Kelni said. "Thank the Fates. The rest of them sound terrifying."

Rath scowled, making most of them start laughing all over again. Warf nudged him, though with Warf, that was really close to toppling. "We looked for you at the pub the past few nights."

"I really have been busy or tired," Rath said. Busy fucking Tress or falling asleep next to him, but he wasn't admitting that. Brag about a good thing and it was guaranteed to be taken away. "I don't want to think about how much busier and more exhausted we'll all be once the challenges—" the trumpet of a horn filled the air, "—begin," Rath finished.

"Royal competitors, this way!" A clerk called out, and Rath bid farewell to his friends before following. The clerk led them across the field and behind the stage. Rath's stomach lurched. Thank the Fates he would soon be done with the whole mess; there was no way he would ever survive the whole tournament. "Once the others have been given their challenges and sent on their way, you will take the stage to receive your first challenge," the clerk said. "Remember: you must complete the challenge alone, with no help from another competitor or someone outside the tournament. If you are caught cheating, you are disqualified. If you fail to complete the challenge, you are disqualified. At the end of each challenge, the competitors with the poorest performance will be removed. By the end of the fourth challenge, only two competitors will remain to face the final challenge. Any questions?"

Rath hesitantly lifted a hand, and when the clerk nodded at him, asked, "What if the reason for failure to complete the challenge is something completely out of our control? Like, I don't know, we're mugged or something like that?"

"Such matters are decided on a case-by-case business."

"Thank you," Rath said, relaxing slightly when the clerk gave him a brief, approving smile.

"How dangerous can these challenges get?" asked one of the others, a young, pretty woman with short hair and dark freckles covering every bit of visible gold-brown skin.