Tournament of Losers (23 page)

"Yes." Rath's eyes abruptly stung. Maybe he wasn't too tired for more tears after all. "Thank you for coming. You didn't have—"

"Of course I did," Tress cut in. "How could I not?"

There were plenty of people who would think it strange a man did so much for someone he was merely having an affair with. Rath had known Anta for years, had considered her something of a friend, and she'd thrown him out without hesitation. "It's still appreciated. You're always so kind."

"You're kinder by far. Now go back to sleep." Tress said and kissed him softly before drawing him in close again, settling them both comfortably, and Rath finally fell asleep listening to the soft, sweet sound of Tress singing.

It took three days for the final competitor to return. Rath and his mother gave his father's ashes to the sea on a cold, snowy day that seemed far too bleak and depressing for a last farewell, even to a man he'd never liked. Then he'd attended the victory ceremonies for the other competitors, got to cheer and scream as Warf was engaged to the second-eldest son of the Earl of Bellowen, and Kelni was engaged to the youngest daughter of the Baron of Diara.

Now, only his portion of the tournament loomed, driving him mad with anxiety as he sat at a table in the room Quinton had insisted he keep until the tournament was over. He turned his tournament ring over and over in his hands, occasionally pausing to run his thumb over his name inscribed inside.

He should give the ring to Lord Quinton as he'd originally planned. But every time he tried to walk to the castle to do precisely that, he found something else he needed to do. His mother's words, Quinton's words, clamored in his head, running around and around.

And of course there was Tress, who told him he should keep trying, that he would be a credit to the royal family…

Why couldn't he be a credit to Tress's family? But that wasn't fair. Tress still had to follow the law, whatever he said about not marrying someone unsuitable. Rath just wished he didn't seem so happy about the fact they would eventually be parting.

Sulking and sighing over the matter would accomplish nothing, but matter how many times he reminded himself to simply enjoy the time they had together, his gloom persisted.

Normally, he would have busied himself with work or spent more time with his friends, but his friends were all busy working, and there'd been little time to work while handling the burning of his father's body, filing the death, dealing with his father's belongings, and then being summoned to the castle to be told what he'd already surmised: his father had slipped away from his guards, and that was all the opportunity the people responsible had needed. When exactly he'd been taken, no one knew, but his guards had been searching for him half a day when he was killed in front of the sausage shop. No one else had known because the guards hadn't reported the problem like they should have.

Rath didn't envy the guards and the punishment they were facing for what Quinton had called dereliction of duty. Summoning more help in the end wouldn't have mattered; his father had probably been grabbed too quickly for it to make a difference.

He was grateful it wasn't his mother they'd gone after first, no matter how terrible that made him.

As to who was behind the murder, Quinton had said she had her suspicions, but so far no hard evidence. If Friar knew, and they'd pressed him hard, he wasn't saying. According to him, he wasn't part of it, just kept his ears to the wind like any half-sensible person would.

Rath just wanted the whole matter to go away.

When he wasn't dealing with all of that, he spent time with his mother at her pretty new house, right in the propers district, close to shops where she could buy food without traveling far and taxing herself, close enough to the common bridge that she didn't have to travel too far to get to work.

And when he ran out of distractions, he sat in his room and brooded—over Tress, over the tournament, over what he was supposed to do.

His mind retreated to the most recent set of happy memories he had: traveling the kingdom. He'd enjoyed that challenge once the homesickness had eased. He'd liked seeing the rest of the kingdom, talking to people, the ale tasting and the pie contest and officiating at the frost fair. If that was what he was supposed to do if he married Prince Isambard, would it be so bad? It beat whoring and laboring by leagues.

He missed his friends and the easy security of his routine. He had no idea how to be a hoity-toity. But…

It was that damned
but
that was driving him to stupid choices, stupid actions.
But
and
if.

How had the need for fifteen slick wound up stirring hopes and dreams long dead? He was a fucking idiot, exactly the kind of loser he mocked for joining the tournament.

But he couldn't make himself return the ring either.

And he was due at the fairgrounds in a little under two hours, so it was time he headed out. Hopefully nobody else would die or get hurt because he was too weak and pathetic to walk away.

Gathering up the cloak Tress had bought him, despite Rath's protestations that the one he'd bought while traveling was just fine, he swung it over his shoulders and pinned it closed with a plain pin he'd bought himself, despite Tress's protestations.

The guard in the hallway pushed away from the wall, smiling in greeting before stepping in front of Rath and leading the way downstairs and out to the stables.

Snow had begun to fall again, muting the noise of the city and making everything feel soft and lazy. It was an improvement over the dreariness of the morning, at least.

A stable boy approached with their horses, one of them Thief, who had replaced the other horse Rath had initially been given. The boy smiled shyly when Rath gave him a farthing. Swinging into the saddle, giving Thief a pat on the neck, Rath led the way through the city.

He dismounted once they reached the fairgrounds, handing his horse off to the guard. "Thank you."

"My pleasure, Master Rath. Fates See your victory."

Rath mustered a smile, hoping it didn't look as anxious and sad as he felt. "Thank you."

He headed through the open walkways that framed the fairgrounds, strode past the blue tent already filled with people—and yelped when they all cheered and called his name. That set off more cheering and screaming as the people in the stands took it up.

Merciful Fates, what in the world was going on?

Rath almost turned around and fled, but that wouldn't make him feel
less
like an idiot, so he continued on across the field and onto the stage, where the other three remaining competitors already waited. Jessa, Sarie, and Benni. Rath had really hoped Jessa would get lost in a forest somewhere, or eaten by a griffon, but he hadn't put much faith in the possibility. Especially when somebody had resorted to murder to give Jessa more of an edge.

He didn't care if there was no hard evidence, who else would it be? More often than not, the obvious answer was the right one. The Fates-rejected bastard was lucky Rath wasn't willing to risk his standing in the tournament to beat the shit out of him. But once the tournament was over, Jessa had better hope he found a good hiding place.

As the cheering died down, Quinton stepped forward. "Congratulations, competitors! You have done exceedingly well to make it this far. Your Majesties! I present to you the four strongest competitors fighting for the chance to join your esteemed family!" The crowds cheered raucously again, and it was several minutes before Quinton got them calmed once more. "Competitors, be proud of yourselves. Out of the thousands who arrived, and whatever happens the rest of the tournament, you four are the only ones to make it this far and that is no small thing." Quinton clapped her hands for silence.

"Unfortunately, before we move on to the next challenge, there is something that must be addressed. Cheating is not tolerated, and
violence
is most certainly not tolerated. A terrible act was committed against one of our noble competitors, and a life was lost. When the parties responsible for that crime are found, they will be severely punished, very likely with their lives. If you have knowledge pertaining to this matter, you would be wise to share it with me, because if it is found later that you knew something, but withheld it, you will be punished alongside those who committed the act."

Silence fell, and Quinton let it linger for several minutes. Finally, with a minute nod toward something or someone in the stands, she clapped her hands and continued. "Once more, competitors, I congratulate you. Now onward with the tournament, which I return to the capable hands of Lord Montague."

Montague stepped forward as Quinton stepped back, and clapped his hands for silence. "Competitors, as your last challenge was a task most arduous, the fourth challenge will be something more relaxing. Your challenge, to take place this evening, beginning at the closing bell, is the Feast of Kings Challenge. And all you must do is come to the royal castle to enjoy dinner with King Teric and Queen Isara."

That was a terrible challenge. Rath would quite literally prefer to
walk
around the entire kingdom twice. Dinner with the king and queen was the worst challenge he'd ever heard of. Obviously dining with them was inevitable for the winner, but he didn't see why it had to be inflicted on people before they had no choice in the matter. What was the point? It wasn't like they were allowed to say 'this one is our favorite, he should win'.

Which, all right,
allowed
didn't have much to do with anything. But still. What was the point?

"Show up half an hour before the closing bell," Montague said, and Rath really hoped he hadn't missed something else important. "If you have no suitable clothes, show up a few hours early, and they will be provided, but feel no obligation. Whatever you choose to wear is suitable, I promise."

It had damn well better be. But Rath couldn't put much heat behind the thought, not after all the kindness Lord Quinton and the others had shown him. Maybe the lords felt comfortable cheating, but so far as he could tell, Tress had been correct about the royal family being quite serious about the tournament and having no tolerance for cheaters.

He fled as soon as they were dismissed, eager to go and hide—somewhere Tress wouldn't find him, preferably, since Rath didn't doubt for a moment that Tress had already selected his outfit and had it tailored, somehow.

Instead, he went in search of food and settled at a pub at the end of Tanner Street that often had passable food and ale for cheap.

He and his guard had only just started eating when someone sat down beside him, and his stomach clenched at the familiar scent of spices used in making sausages that always clung to Anta. Rath didn't look up, just kept eating.

Anta cleared her throat, then said, "Rath…"

Reluctantly looking up, he stared at her in silent query.

"I'm sorry about asking you to leave," she said, eyes dropping to the table. "We were upset and scared and thought we were doing the right thing. But it wasn't your fault that happened, and it wasn't right to do that to you, considering you just lost your father. If you want to come back, the room is yours. Only been a few days, but it's not the same without you coming and going."

Another knot in Rath's chest loosened. "Thanks. I'm staying elsewhere through the tournament, but once it's over, I'll come by."

She nodded, smiled tentatively as she slowly looked up at him. "I hope you win, Rath. Everyone was surprised when you joined and we're all so excited to see you keep winning. Fates See your victory."

"Thank you," Rath said and sighed as she walked away.

The guard next to him chuckled. "You look more miserable than when you started."

"I'm just nervous," Rath replied. "Everyone keeps saying they hope I win, but I don't know why, and now what will I do if I lose?" He shook his head. "That's not your problem, though. I suppose I should go get dressed. Closing bell isn't that far off."

They finished eating and headed back to the inn. Tress wasn't there, which surprised him, but there was a handsome new set of clothes on the bed, which didn't surprise him at all. Tress was just being nice, but Rath was fairly certain it was cheating, or close enough it may as well have been. His own clothes might not compare, but even if wearing the fancy ones hadn't been borderline cheating, he refused to show up as anyone other than himself.

All that aside, he needed to start pulling away from Tress. Once the tournament was over, Tress would have to focus on his new spouse. If Rath won, he'd have to focus on learning a whole new way of life. If he lost, it was back to the docks and his attic room. Back to his safe, quiet, boring life that no longer appealed.

And no matter which life he wound up with at the end of the tournament, neither would include Tress.

He shoved the thoughts away before they turned his mood completely black, and stripped. A washtub sat by the fire, complete with fancy soaps and both soft and rough cleaning rags. Rath was uncomfortable with most of the things Tress took for granted, but he would never turn down the chance for a proper bath.

Once he was clean, he pulled on his clothes and the boots he'd gotten repaired and polished the day before. Hopefully, he wouldn't completely humiliate himself at dinner.

Maybe he'd get to see Fynn and Teller. They were so busy supervising the guarding of his friends and family he never actually got to see them.

Outside, he once more swung up onto the patiently-waiting Thief and rode through the city with the guard at his side. They dismounted inside the castle gate, and he left Thief to the girl who came rushing up to take her. Guards pulled open the front doors, and Rath forced his feet to move. He'd much preferred when Fynn and Teller had taken him through a side door the other night.

Bennie and Sarie were there, but Jessa was missing, which seemed odd. He seemed the sort to make certain he got all the attention he could, which meant not showing up late. Then again, what did Rath know about fancy dinners?