Chapter Six: Conflicts and Confessions

The following week sped by with barely any contact with Wyldon. Most of the local guests left the castle the day after the ball, though some lingered through the week. The king left – he did not like to spend much time away from his wives. Vivenne's time was spent with the other guests, though she did manage two stolen kisses from her knight (in the library and the music room) as well as a chess match in the alcove while she was trying to avoid Lord Nikol. He had been persistent in his attempt to court her, and her mother seemed to like the notion. Each evening she found herself sitting next to him at dinner, and had to listen to his boorish stories about the war.

It wasn't that she didn't like hearing stories of battle. In fact, she actually found, during her chess game, that she liked to hear tales of knights' endeavors – it was just a matter of which knights. While Wyldon had a knack for making each story fun or thrilling or poignant, Nikol's were full of bravado and arrogance. You would think he won the war, Vivenne had thought on more than one occasion.

When she wasn't avoiding Lord Nikol, or seeking out secret shared glances with Wyldon, she was holed up with Lady Fanette and her sisters, planning a wedding. Gavrel and Margarethe wanted to be married by Midwinter, which meant that there were things to be arranged, beribboned and embroidered.

"It never fails," Lady Colinne said early one afternoon when the girls were eating fruit in the kitchen. She shook her dark head. "Whenever noblemen gather, their boasting eventually takes them outside to fight it out with swords. I'm surprised it took them this long."

"Have they all gone?' Margarethe asked. "I would like to see Gavrel if he's dueling."

Lady Colinne rolled her eyes. "Some day you girls will realize that men with swords are no more dashing than men with words."

"But until then, we watch the swords with rapt attention." Margarethe took Vivenne by the hand and dragged her out of the castle and through the gardens. There was only one place they could think of where the men would have enough space to hold their mock fights.

Two dozen men were in the paddock, leaning casually against the fence as they watched two men with swords. One was Prince Jonathan and the other was a Tortallan with a dark, secretive face – Sir Alexander of Tirragen, according to Margarethe, who had been frequently seated next to him at dinner. While the prince was good, this knight was incredible. The Tusaine knights jeered when the prince lost, but it was playful in nature; they clearly liked the prince. Vivenne was relieved to see this, as she had worried that the duels would be unfriendly in nature.

She and her sister were greeted enthusiastically. They made their way to the middle of the line, eager to know who was next.

"It hasn't been determined yet," Gavrel said. He lifted Margarethe and sat her on the top rail of the paddock fence. "Do you have any requests, my darling?"

"I wouldn't mind seeing you fence," she said happily. Several men offered, and she chose one of the Tortallans.

While the men were fencing, Wyldon came to Vivenne's side and he explained various techniques to her. "Sir Gavrel is quite adept at feinting," he said, his voice low, "but Flynn of Disart is picking up his style."

"Do you think Gavrel will lose?" she whispered. She liked speaking with low voices, as it gave her an excuse to lean into him.

"Possibly. But he's showing a degree of versatility, so he might keep Flynn on edge long enough to land the blow."

The duel ended relatively quickly, with Gavrel finally getting a clear strike and getting a stab at Flynn's right shoulder.

"Well called," Vivenne said, smiling up at Wyldon. She gestured to the fence where he sister perched. "Help me up?"

He lifted her with ease, settling her on the high fence.

"You, Cavall!" a sharp voice cried. Lord Nikol stepped out of the throng. "You're awfully free with the women of Tusaine."

"I apologize if I have been too forward," Wyldon said politely, bowing to Vivenne.

"I assure you, there's no need," she said. "I did ask you, after all." She flicked her gaze toward Nikol and felt her face growing hot. What if he suspected? Would he take it to her father?

"Vivenne, you are too quick to look for the good in everyone," Nikol chided. "This man has kept one eye on you for the last week – if not since he first arrived here – and I've watched him use every opportunity to let his hands linger on you. While you might not question his intent, I certainly do."

The Tortallan knights bristled at the suggestion and Prince Jonathan stepped forward to speak, but Wyldon put his hand out to stop him.

"It is one thing to insult me, Lord Nikol, but I cannot stand by as you insult a lady's intelligence and judgment in order to excuse your own behavior. Why don't we air out our dislike for one another on the field?" His voice was cold and his gaze was level; his fist gripped the sword hilt at his side.

Lord Nikol sniffed indignantly. "I want nothing more than to express my dislike for you, as you so bluntly put it. As the challenged, I choose lances."

Vivenne saw a flicker of amusement cross Wyldon's face.

"Are you certain?" he asked, one corner of his mouth twitching as if he wanted to smile.

"Of course I'm certain!" Nikol snapped, eyes flashing. "Are you so poor at tilting that you attempt to slink out of it like a coward?"

"You really don't need to do this," Vivenne interjected. She did not understand Wyldon's smile, but she suspected he was a fair jouster. She knew, however, that Lord Nikol was quite good.

Margarethe shushed her. "Vivi, both men feel you have been insulted; let them fight it out."

Vivenne could see the wisdom in her sister's words, but would rather they accepted the insults. She did not want to see Wyldon hurt. The knights of Tortall were rallying around Wyldon, mixing words of encouragement with angry remarks about Nikol. And she decided. If Wyldon's own comrades were not afraid for him, she would trust in his strength.

She uncoiled the plait pinned at her neck and began unbraiding it; she had woven a ribbon into her hair that morning. "Let me at least thank the victor with a gift," she said, feeling bold. She wished she could give it directly to Wyldon, but would rely on his ability to earn it.

"I'll fight all the harder, Vivenne," Nikol said, taking her hand and kissing it.

Wyldon's eyes flashed angrily. "Thank you, my lady," he said stiffly. He bowed shortly, not meeting her gaze.

The men parted, each heading to a different part of the stables. As she watched Wyldon go, she hoped that he would forget her helpless lack of resistance when it came to courtly protocol; she hadn't enjoyed Nikol's gesture in the least.

"Well played, Lady Vivenne," Prince Jonathan interrupted her thoughts, sidling over to where she still perched on the fence. "You handled that in such a manner that both men could keep their dignity in the face of a loss."

"I believe they both have good intentions," she replied. She finished unbraiding her hair and pulled the pale yellow ribbon out. "Does Sir Wyldon have his own shield?" She fretted silently, wondering if she should pillage one of her father's.

"Sir Markus just left for Wyldon's rooms to retrieve his shield and cuirass," he replied. "Do not worry for his safety. I assure you he'll be properly equipped."

The knights made a make-shift rail, tying a line of rope from one end of the paddock to the other. It took several minutes before either Sir Wyldon or Lord Nikol were prepared to mount. Not only was there armor to be donned, but lances had to be tested and chosen.

The men mounted their horses and took their places at either end of the paddock. Vivenne knew that Nikol's warhorse was originally from her father's stable – he was a fast and powerful horse, stronger than Wyldon's bay. And Nikol was a larger man, so he was likely going to have a better pass than Wyldon.

Lances were distributed and the men began their charge across the field. Vivenne's stomach knotted and her heart thundered along with the hoof beats of the charging warhorses. The men lowered their lances and met with a horrific crack: Lord Nikol rocked in his saddle, but Wyldon remained perfectly upright. His lance had shattered.

"What determines a win?" Vivenne asked the prince. She had not been to many tournaments in her life and knew little about tilting other than its potential dangers.

"That pass would earn Wyldon six points in a tournament," Prince Jonathan said, clapping along with the other Tortallans. "It's one point for a strike, five for breaking the lance, and ten for unseating an opponent – all based on the accuracy of the hits."

The men took new lances and turned around to make their second run. Vivenne winced as their lances crashed against each other's shields, and was disappointed to see that Lord Nikol tossed aside a broken lance as he continued to the other end of the field. Wyldon's lance was intact. He rocked in the saddle, but remained upright. He shook out his lance arm and repositioned his shield.

"Sir Wyldon is quite a bit smaller than Lord Nikol," Vivenne murmured to the prince. "How is he holding his own?"

Another knight answered her, though – Raoul of Goldenlake. "It's more a matter of precision and surprise. Wyldon is stronger than Lord Nikol expects him to be, and he knows exactly where to hit."

Prince Jonathan smiled wryly. "Raoul's compliments should not be taken lightly. He is among the few who is well-matched against Wyldon."

She looked at the dark knight appraisingly. He was roughly the same height as Lord Nikol, but was even broader. If Wyldon could successfully joust against Sir Raoul, he could certainly best Lord Nikol. While the lord's warhorse was more powerful, Vivenne could tell that Wyldon was a better rider. "Sir Wyldon is a very good tilter, then?"

The prince laughed. "One of the best in Tortall. It was generous of him to offer Lord Nikol a chance to choose a different weapon."

Vivenne fought the urge to smile, remembering the twitch of Wyldon's lips when Nikol demanded lances.

On the third pass, Lord Nikol was a hair slower bringing down his lance: he was thrown from the saddle. The Tortallan knights cheered, and even some of the Tusaine knights were applauding. Vivenne knew little of tilting technique, but it was clearly an impressive performance.

"The win goes to Wyldon," the prince told her, clapping.

"As we all knew it likely would," Sir Raoul murmured on her other side.

Lord Nikol stood slowly, removing his helmet and shaking his head. Wyldon slowed to a halt, dismounted and spoke shortly with him, his voice too low to be heard. Vivenne hopped down from her perch and walked toward him as he crossed the field to meet her, reins in hand.

For a moment she said nothing, beaming up at him as the wind whipped her loose hair into her face. "You ride well, Sir Wyldon, and joust even better."

"Thank you, my lady." A smile played at his lips.

"I would like it very much if you kept this as a token of my appreciation and awe." She tied her ribbon around his wrist. Leaning toward him, she stood on her toes so she could kiss his cheek. "I love you," she whispered. She turned away almost immediately, afraid to see his reaction to her confession.

An angry Lord Nikol made his way back to the stables, leading his horse. Vivenne ran to his side and walked with him, trying to match his stride. "I thank you for defending my honor, though I assure you Sir Wyldon has not offended me. Please don't be angry when I myself am not."

He stopped and looked down at her, his expression softening. "Forgive me, my lady," he said, shaking his head. "I assumed you could not handle yourself like a proper Tusaine woman. That man's lust is obvious, and I'll be damned if he has his way with you."

He continued on to the stables, leaving Vivenne standing in the paddock, feeling overwhelmed and distraught.

***

"I told him I love him." Vivenne was in Margarethe's room, preparing for dinner.

"And what did he say?" Margarethe asked, her grey eyes wide with surprise and delight.

"Nothing," Vivenne replied. She pulled on her stockings and slipped into her shoes – the heeled slippers she had worn the evening she had first spoken to Wyldon alone.

"He didn't reply?" she asked incredulously.

Vivenne sighed. "I ran away before he could answer." She sat down on her sister's bed, feeling forlorn. "Will he be turned away by the idea that I couldn't be brave enough to wait for a response?"

"Of course he won't," Solanne said from the doorway.

Vivenne was astonished when her eldest sister came over to sit next to her and placed one arm around her waist.

"You two whisper and think you have secrets, but I know you better than you know yourself, Vivi. I know you've been in love with the Tortallan since at least the night of the ball. I assume you two met up after you fainted in the ballroom?"

Vivenne nodded, dumbfounded.

"Don't worry – mother doesn't have an inkling," Solanne continued. "She doesn't watch you as closely as I do."

"You don't think he's disappointed that I could not face him after my confession?" Vivenne asked meekly.

"He might be disappointed," she acknowledged, "but I think it's more likely due to the fact that you didn't give him a chance to reply in kind."

"And are you disappointed in me?" she asked, looking up at her sister.

Solanne frowned. "Vivi, how could I be disappointed that you fell in love? Do I wish he was a Tusaine knight instead? Of course."

"We thought you would pitch a fit," Margarethe said casually. "You've been so cold regarding the Tortallans."

Solanne shrugged. "A sister's feelings should be more important than politics," she answered. "And he seems like a nice enough man."

"He is," Vivenne insisted.

"Mother will be disappointed," Solanne began, "but I think Father will not mind so much. Is he wealthy? Is he of good breeding?"

Vivenne flushed. "I don't know enough about Tortallan bloodlines to know if he's of good family. He is the Cavall heir, and I would guess it is a wealthy fief, judging by his clothes and his mount."

"Vivi's got good enough bloodlines that it doesn't matter," Margarethe asserted.

"I agree, but Father might not," Solanne replied. "And Mother wants you to marry Lord Nikol. She hasn't said as much to me, but I've overheard her speaking to Father about it."

"Lord Nikol is boastful and rude," Vivenne said with a scowl. "And he's made it clear that he intends to marry me, yet has not once considered that I might not agree."

"He's the kind of man who looks likes the perfect husband to someone who is not concerned about his lack of compassion or his inability to compromise," Margarethe said, pulling her pale blue overgown on and lacing it up the front. "I've never seen his wife attending a party or ball, so there's really no way of knowing how he treats those in his care."

"I have met her," Solanne said solemnly. "He's a very harsh man. You would be best to keep him at an arm's length, Vivi. Tonight is the meteor shower party, so if I were you, I would take Sir Wyldon aside and talk to him about speaking with father as soon as possible."