“Speaking of the queen.” They motioned with a nod of their head to the spot where the crowds were opening, creating a passage. Arthur’s procession wasn’t like the other knights’. His route cut straight through the heart of the tournament ring, stealing everyone’s attention as he deposited Gwen on a seat overburdened with fluffy bright cushions beneath the shade of a billowing canopy. When he brought the back of her hand to his lips, Ari looked away, examining the bent joints on her gauntlets. She only hoped they’d hold up long enough for one more fight.
“Painful?” Ari expected Lam, but this time it was Jordan, come to stand beside her.
“It’s painful to answer that question, Jordan, because of course it’s painful.”
“Pain is good. It means you’re actually trying.”
With that, Jordan took position. The teams were assembling and even though Ari had spent the last three days setting this in motion, she suddenly felt the weight of a seriously bad idea. There was too much hate in the air. It rose off of Sir Kay’s dark expression like smoke.
From the left-center of the ring, Ari motioned for Arthur, Lamarack, and Jordan to circle in. At right-center, Sir Kay and his band weren’t holding one last strategy talk but taking practice swings at the air. Ari beckoned Arthur closer. “I’m matching you up with Galahad. He’s got a solid arm but aged joints. Make him bend his knees and he’s yours.”
“Shouldn’t I be matched with Sir Kay?” Arthur countered. “I am the leader here.”
“Only in name,” Ari said. “He’d spank you in front of your kingdom and enjoy it.”
Arthur looked down sourly. This time Ari’s honesty might have dug too deep.
“I’ll take Sir Kay,” Jordan growled beneath her helmet. “He’s the fuckwit who threw me in the oubliette.”
Ari nodded. “That leaves Lam with Gawain. He’s feisty. Lots to prove, although I’m not sure he’s as rotten as Suck Kay.”
“Sir Kay,” Lam corrected.
“Yeah, sure, that’s what I said.” Ari was about to claim the fourth knight for herself, the unknown quantity in the group who she had a sneaking suspicion was Sir Kay’s ringer, but the crowds had gone expectantly quiet. Ari had a flash of a very different time, a very different tournament ring on a planet far away. She felt the breath-held silence before Gwen had kissed her… and then gambled her entire queendom to save Ari from Mercer.
Ari looked at Gwen. The crowd was waiting while Gwen waved a bit of cloth that matched her glorious red dress. A token of her favor. Arthur started toward Gweneviere.
When Jordan gave Ari a hard shove, she snapped, “What? I’m standing right here!”
Jordan pointed. Beside Gwen—eclipsed by Gwen—a girl wearing a shade of pink that felt distinctly un-medieval stood with her own token held out. Ari hustled over and managed a wink at the girl in pink, inspiring a decent blush. Ari stiffly remembered that this was Elaine of Astolat. They’d been introduced during last night’s feasting. Elaine retreated under the canopy while Arthur returned to central position, and Ari found herself stuck in Gwen’s gravity. Only a few feet apart.
Ari stared straight at the queen for the span of a breath, not caring who saw the intensity in her eyes. Then the trumpets sounded harsh and high, and she jogged into the melee.
Young Arthur was nearly dancing, but Ari noted he was the only one taking this lightly. After all, it was a fake fight with blunted weapons… and real animosity. Jordan’s predictable ire was glued to Sir Kay across the divide. Even Lamarack seemed ready to vent a little steam.
“First positions,” Jordan said, overly formally.
“Spread out in a line, matched to your opponent,” Ari translated.
They did as they were told, each fighter paired and separated by a healthy twenty-foot distance. Ari was on one end, with Lam beside her, then Arthur, and finally Jordan at the far side, facing Sir Kay, who’d started a taunting rhythm by clasping his sword against his shield.
They marched toward their opponents. Closer, closer, and finally, Arthur struck the first blow and the fight began in earnest. Ari knew it would be quick. At knight camp, they’d taught dramatic swordplay as a sort of dance. In reality, it was several strict hits, a bevy of countermoves, followed by a sword to the throat or gut.
Swords crashed and cracked. Armor sang with metal howls. And the crowd rolled about in it like dogs in mud. Ari was unsurprised to find that her unnamed opponent was more than good. He wielded two short swords, using them to fork and throw Ari’s blade in the first seconds of the duel. She rolled out of the way, collected her sword, and then sealed herself into a much more aggressive stance. She tangled his blades beneath her arm in two moves, pausing with her pommel about to snap up and into the knight’s exposed neck under his jaw.
He stepped away, dropping his swords. Beaten.
Ari turned back to the fight and found Arthur dueling Galahad with glee—and definitely receiving a boost in confidence and ability from Excalibur that Ari had enjoyed back in the future. Lamarack and Gawain were also having a decent fight, and actually, they were evenly matched. It was all rather unorthodox, though, as somehow they’d both lost their swords and had started to wrestle. But Lam was far taller and stronger, and ended up sort of roosting on Gawain in a way that made the crowd laugh.
Which left Jordan and Sir Kay. The ogre of a knight trundled after her, slamming his sword against hers. He was trying to pummel her into submission—very un-knightlike. Jordan was playing with him. Waiting to strike. She let him swing himself around and around, before knocking him silly and taking his sword in one swift move. The crowd roared with pleasure as Jordan raised her sword in victory.
Arthur flung up his visor with a grin on his red-cheeked face. “We’ve won!”
Ari grasped
