At dawn on Midwinter morning Kel met the others for glaive practice as usual, and as her body moved through the steps of the pattern dance, her mind mulled over what she had seen in the past few days. The closest word she could think of to describe what she'd seen in the dream, what she was becoming more and more convinced was happening to Shinko, was that she was becoming ikiryo. The word was a Yamani one, something Kel had heard in old stories during her childhood on the Islands, where the spirit of a living person exited their body to exact vengeance on others. That doesn't quite fit, Kel reminded herself. I'm pretty sure this has nothing to do with Shinko herself. It has to be being done to her by someone else. Still, her suspicion of the Yamani mage was compounded by the fact that she couldn't think of any similar magic or myth that she'd ever heard of in Tortall or anywhere else to describe what she'd seen in the dream. Or what she'd seen with Shinko's shadow, for that matter. Or I'm just going mad, and nothing is happening to anyone at all, she thought.
Finishing the pattern dance, she glanced across at Shinko. The princess was flush-faced with the exercise and smiling, her motions with the glaive neat and graceful. There was no sign anything was wrong with her at this moment, and it still seemed like nobody else had noticed anything amiss. Shinko finished her own sequence, and stopped, noticing Kel watching her. She half-opened her mouth, as if about to speak, but then Thayet's voice interrupted them.
"No time for sparring this morning! The tournament begins after breakfast," she announced. After wiping down their weapons, the group of women thus headed early towards the dining hall, Yuki companionably linking her arm with Shinko's.
Over breakfast, she thought about the Midwinter gifts she planned to give her friends and family the next morning - her parents and her brother Anders were all in Corus, and she also had gifts for Neal and Yuki, Merric, Owen, and Raoul. It was a good thing she had finished wrapping them, since, after finishing her meal of fresh bread, cheese, and fruit, she had no time to do anything other than prepare for her first joust. As Owen reminded her, she was up second for her first round. The palace mages had prepared a tournament field just outside the city's gates, clearing away snow and making heated stone blocks to place under the spectator's benches. With the grass visible and many coloured flags and banners flying from poles planted behind the stands, it would almost have felt spring-like, if it weren't for the biting cold.
Merric was up first, facing off against Quinden, who toppled him from his horse quickly, and gave him a cold glare. Kel was saddling up Peachblossom as Merric returned from the field, dusting himself off.
"Ah well," he said. "I suppose I'm more used to fighting Scanrans from horseback these days. Give me a sword any day!"
Kel shrugged and climbed onto Peachblossom's back. She wasn't sure what her jousting skills would be like now, either. The days of tournaments with Sir Raoul seemed like a very long time ago, somehow. She was therefore somewhat surprised when she easily knocked her first opponent from his horse, her yearmate Esmond of Nicoline - and even more surprised when she did the same with the second, a seasoned knight from an Eastern fief who she remembered from tournaments of years gone by as being a regular prize winner. By her third win, she had come to the conclusion that jousting must be largely a matter of muscle memory, since it wasn't as if she had had much chance to practice during her years on the northern border.
Owen also won his first three rounds, the third of which saw him knock the Lioness from her horse. Owen looked half-ready to apologise as he dismounted and courteously helped her from the dirt, but Alanna simply laughed. "It's been a long time since I did much practice at the tilting lanes. Clearly I need to do some catching up!"
Only four knights remained in the competition: Owen, Kel, Raoul, who had unseated Prosper in the third round, and Quinden, who after Merric had bested a Bazhir knight Kel didn't know, followed by Garvey's former knightmaster, Sir Jerel. Now Owen was to face Raoul, and Kel Quinden. The latter pair would go first.
Kel nudged Peachblossom towards the tilting lane, focusing her attention on Quinden and his horse at the other end of the field, rather than on the cheering crowds in the stands, or her own thoughts about the Chamber and Shinko, which kept threatening to disturb her concentration. She didn't want to lose to Quinden, particularly not after his behaviour towards her earlier in the week.
At the signal, both pushed their mounts to a charge. Kel frowned as she realised that Quinden was riding at her full out, the same glare on his face that he had worn all day. She twisted aside to avoid his lance at the last minute, her own lance bouncing harmlessly off his shield - misjudging his speed like that had not left her any opportunity to unhorse him. She spun around for a second charge, and pushed Peachblossom to a no-holds-barred gallop. This time, she was prepared for Quinden's speed, and her lance hit his shield perfectly in the centre - and shattered. Quinden's clipped the right side of her own shield, numbing her side and causing her to twist sharply to avoid being skewered. As Peachblossom reached the other side of the field, she half wondered what was wrong with his aim - he had never been one to miss so badly in their years as pages.
She slowed up Peachblossom and was handed a fresh lance from the field monitor, and gulped some water, waiting for the numbness in her side to subside before her final run. In the stands, she could see Neal and Yuki, the former giving her an encouraging wave, and near to them, Roald and Shinko with the King and Queen. Wiping her brow, she replaced her helmet and readied herself for a final charge. I am a lake, she told herself firmly. Quinden could glare and miss all he liked. She wouldn't let him unnerve her.
Seeing that Quinden was also ready, she waited for the signal, then whispered to Peachblossom. "Charge." This time, she felt the rightness of his muscles moving beneath her, the perfect balance of the lance in her hand, and the surety of her focus on Quinden's shield. As they came together, her lance caught it in the sweet spot, lifting him up and out of his seat - just as his lance slammed into her ribcage. She dropped her lance, slammed back against the pommel of her saddle and breathlessly winded, as Quinden flew through the air. Peachblossom slowed to a walk as she slumped over, struggling for air and seeing stars. She slipped from his back and found herself caught by familiar hands - Neal and Owen, propping her up while Neal did something that made her breathing immediately easier again.
"What was that?" he asked, outraged, as she took deep, relieved, breaths, feeling a large bruise blossoming across her lower ribs as she did so. "That could have killed you! What was he doing, trying to run you through?"
Kel breathed deeply again, and looked at Neal's angry face and Owen's uncharacteristically serious one. "I don't know," she said, her voice sounding frustratingly faint. She glanced over to where Quinden was being helped from the field. It looked as though he, too, required some healing. "But it doesn't matter. I still won."
Neal looked as though he half wanted to drag Quinden back from the healers and interrogate him, but Owen put a hand on his shoulder. "Leave it, Neal," he said. "Kel dealt with him. And she has one last bout to win." He grinned at her. "You'd better go catch your breath. It'd be jolly to joust against you, if I can unseat Sir Raoul!"
Kel wished him luck, although she thought his chances were slim - hers too, for that matter, since if Raoul won she would face him in the final bout - but her thoughts were troubled as she retreated to a small tent beside the stands, thinking to apply bruise balm to her ribs and adjust her armour. She hadn't wanted to stoke Neal's anger further, in case he did something hasty, but she was pretty sure Quinden had been aiming for her ribs, not for her shield. It was good that she had unhorsed him when she had, or she really could have been seriously hurt. But was one report to Lord Wyldon, three years earlier, really enough to push him into trying to kill her? And if so, would he try again?
She winced as she removed her jerkin and carefully applied the bruise balm to her ribs. Quinden apparently trying to kill her, and mysterious possible magery threatening Shinko and Tortall... This Midwinter was shaping to be the most stressful she'd ever experienced.