“But—”

“It will be safe there, Dain,” Lord Odfrey said, his frown and words a warning.  “When you are older and more responsible, you will receive it back. Let this matter rest now.”

And so the physician who wanted to be a sorcerel had it, locked away where Dain could not get it. He tried not to resent such interference. He understood that this was the only way to keep Gavril from taking it completely away from him.  And yet, Dain could not help but wonder why the Mandrians talked so much about honor but did not expect it in Gavril, who would one day be their king.  Dain’s standing had risen in the hold. Everyone knew him now as a nobleman’s by-blow, and he was treated with more courtesy than when they’d thought him simply a stray of no lineage. Dain was not happy to be called a bastard, but the explanation made sense, especially since Jorb had always refused to tell him and Thia where they came from.

Gavril was infuriated that Dain received no punishment for hitting him. But thereafter, he gave Dain a wide berth, refusing to look at him or speak to him, and ceasing to torment him. Rumor spread that the two boys might be cousins.  King Verence’s younger brother, now dead, had been a roving scoundrel in his youth.

Dain refused to consider any relationship. He believed his father was Netheran, for that much Jorb had said. But if the Mandrians wanted to believe Dain was one of theirs, and if it made them feed him more and treat him better, he was not going to argue. Still, without his bard crystal, he felt bereft and incomplete.  He could not wait for the summer to end. For then, Gavril would be leaving Thirst Hold forever. Dain believed that as soon as the prince departed, his pendant would be returned to him.

“A month,” he whispered, turning his face toward the dawn, where a corona of gold and rosy pink blazed above the horizon.

Dain sampled the breeze, his nostrils sifting through its myriad scents. “Only a month.”

A month hence would fall the king’s birthday. King Verence always threw a great festival and invited all the nobles and knights of his realm to participate in a tournament. It was the king’s custom to let young men win their spurs by jousting before they joined the knighthood orders. But this year would also mark Prince Gavril’s investiture into the knighthood and his coming of age, when he would be named Heir to the Realm. Extra celebrations had been planned accordingly. Gavril himself had been training very hard, practicing privately with Sir Polquin rather than being kept in practice drills with the other fosters.

The less Dain saw of Gavril, the better it pleased him. As for today, he grinned to himself, thinking of his plans, and his ambition. Sir Polquin had organized a contest among the fosters to determine by combat which of them would be allowed to accompany Lord Odfrey to the king’s tournament as squire. Only one boy would be chosen. Sir Polquin said that measuring the boys’ prowess with arms was the fairest way to determine who deserved this honor. Lord Odfrey had agreed to the contest, and the boys were ablaze with excitement.

Now, as the cocks crowed in the stableyard and the hold began to stir, Dain saw a trail of men carrying boards to the practice field outside the walls. They were setting up benches for the spectators. All the knights not on duty intended to come. Servants who could get away from their duties would be there. Villagers would watch as well.

Dain thought of all this and felt nervous, but at the same time he was eager to show off what he had learned the past few months. He had worked hard, harder than he ever had in his life. If Sir Polquin was not putting him through extra practices to help him catch up with the others, then Sir Bosquecel would come along after hours and teach him some trick of swordplay. Or Sir Nynth would give him extra riding lessons. Or Sir Terent would drill him in the finer points of heraldry. Every day Dain felt as though his head would burst from the strain of having so much knowledge tamped into it. His muscles ached at night, but his young body thrived on all the exercise.

He had grown in sudden spurts that surprised everyone and caused him to need more new clothes. No longer was he slight of build like most eldin. In addition to gaining height, he was growing much broader through his chest and shoulders.  Hard muscles rippled through his arms.

The knights teased him, saying he was using a growth spell, but Dain thought it was all the food he ate. He was forever hungry, despite regular meals. The more he trained, the larger he grew. His voice deepened, never cracking and breaking at embarrassing moments the way Thum’s did, much to his friend’s consternation.  Dain learned how to cut his hair so that it was short and neat in the way Lord Odfrey preferred his men-at-arms to look, but long enough to cover the pointed tips of his ears. His pale gray eyes would forever mark him, but despite that the maids of the hold began to throw him sultry looks nearly as often as they eyed the other boys. Every time a serving maid lingered while pouring cider in his cup or brushed herself against his shoulder while setting a laden trencher before him, Thum would dig his elbow sharply into Dain’s ribs and snicker.  Dain squirmed with embarrassment, but he was seldom fooled. He could read the girls’ intentions. Most of them contained a mixture of fervor, curiosity, and scorn. And for all their pretended boldness, most were afraid of him. He pursued no one and accepted no invitations. For one thing, he felt unsure of himself.  Nor did he want Mierre’s leavings, or worse, Kaltienne’s.  Besides, he had yet to grow a beard, although all the others were trying to sprout scraggling versions of them. Sir Nynth had taken him aside one evening and solemnly explained that until he grew a beard, he would be no man that pleased a woman. Sensing amusement in the other knights when he and Sir Nynth returned, Dain grew suspicious of such advice, thinking it a jest. But when Thum said he had also heard this from his older brothers, Dain decided to believe it.  “Better get ready, Dain boy,” said the sentry now, startling Dain from his thoughts. He gave Dain a grin and slapped him on the shoulder. “I’ve bet money on you. Don’t let me down.”

Realizing he was going to miss his breakfast if he didn’t hurry, Dain smiled back and ran for it.

In an hour, the sun was up bright and hot over the practice field. Dain squinted as he helped Thum buckle on his thick padding. Shaped like a breastplate but instead made of multiple layers of wool felt stitched together, it fit over each boy’s chest and back and buckled down the sides with leather straps.  “Too tight!” Thum said with a gasp.

Dain eased out the buckle one notch. “Sorry.”

“You have to get it even on both sides or it will slip,” Thum said. “Pay attention, Dain.”

Dain drew a deep breath and nodded. He was trying, but his excitement was too intense. He felt like he might leave the ground and fly about in all directions.  Already buckled into his own padding, he finished strapping Thum in and thumped him on the back.

“Now, you’re ready,” he said.

Thum grinned, meeting Dain’s gaze. For a moment, neither boy spoke, and Thum’s freckled face began to turn red. “This is it,” he said, his voice cracking.  Dain nodded, his gaze darting across the field, where Sir Polquin and his assistants were setting up the equipment, readying the blunted lances, and counting the padded practice swords. Knights and villagers mingled about. The air was festive, despite the summer heat. Some enterprising urchin was selling pies. The Thirst banners swung heavily in the hot air.  “Dain,” Thum said, his voice hesitant, “I wish you luck today.” Reluctantly Dain pulled his attention away from the scene and looked at his red-haired friend. “What? Oh, yes. Thanks.”

Thum frowned, and Dain scrambled to remember the rest of his manners.

“And good luck to you as well, Thum.”

Some of the ire faded from Thum’s face. He looked a little troubled, however.  “We can’t be friends the rest of this day, I suppose. Not and compete at our best. I wish there could be two squires chosen, not one.” Dain understood what Thum was trying to say. For all his sharp wits, Thum had a soft heart. He spent too much time bemoaning what could not be changed. The four fosters were all desperate to see Savroix, the fabled palace of Mandrian kings.  Dain knew that Thum, who had failed to make friends with the spoiled prince, might never see Savroix otherwise in his lifetime. In order to advance, Thum would have to become some knight’s squire. If he succeeded in becoming Lord Odfrey’s, then he would have a good start at a career.  But Dain also wanted to become Lord Odfrey’s squire. He admired the chevard very much. He wanted desperately to please him and make him proud. Dain never forgot that he owed his good fortune to the chevard’s kindness. He wanted to repay the man with service. Although the other boys had been training at arms for several years, Dain was determined to shine. He practiced harder and longer than the others. He did not let Mierre’s taunts and Kaltienne’s teasing stop him from trying again and again until he mastered a skill. He had ability; that was evident to all. He learned quickly. Although he might not understand something as it was first being explained to him, as soon as he saw someone demonstrate the movement, he could quickly imitate it. Already he had become an expert horseman. That was easy, for his mind alone was able to control the horse. As for fighting, he was agile, quick, and inclined to cheat. Again and again Sir Bosquecel took him aside to explain that a knight never cheated in a contest of honor, although in real battle anything was permitted against the enemy.  Dain did not understand this distinction and felt it was a silly waste of time.

But he worked hard to please the knights.

He heard a shout from the center of the field. Sir Polquin was gesturing for the boys to come to him.

Thum, still looking worried and on edge, frowned at Dain. Dain’s own heart was suddenly pounding. He gave Thum a light shove to start him walking and matched strides with him. From the opposite side of the field came Mierre and Kaltienne.  Dain said, “I want to win as much as you do. But if I cannot win, then I want it to be you.”

“I feel the same,” Thum said quickly. He frowned at the other boys. “Anyone but them.”

“Aye.” Dain gave him a nudge. “We’ll be friends again, come tonight. Don’t worry.”

Thum’s grim look vanished, and he managed a quick grin before Sir Polquin lined them up and started his inspection of their padding. His assistant followed, handing out padded caps.

Dain hated the cap. It was hot and stank of sweat. Complaining about it got nowhere, however. Sir Polquin warned them that the metal helmets they would wear someday were much worse.

“The rules of orderly contest apply,” Sir Polquin said sternly. “We’ll draw lots to see who goes first. We’ll start with lances. You have three tries to hit the circle.”

As he spoke, he pointed toward the alley, where a red shield with a white circle painted on its center swung at one end.

“If everyone hits that, we’ll take off the blunted tips and let you aim your lances through this ring.” He held up a circle of brass with a loop of rope already tied to it.

Mierre rolled his eyes impatiently. “Games of children,” he said. “Why not let us unseat each other, the real way?”

“Because not everyone has learned that skill as yet,” Sir Polquin replied.  “You mean, the stray hasn’t learned it yet,” Mierre said, flicking Dain a look of contempt. “The rest of us are trained for it. Why should he hold us back? At least let us ride at a quintain, if not at each other.”

Sir Polquin’s weathered face grew quite stiff, the way it did when he was annoyed. “For those who succeed at lance, we’ll go to swords and shieldwork.  You’ll throw lots again to see how you’re paired. There will be three judges for this contest: Lord Odfrey, Prince Gavril, and Sir Bosquecel.” Hearing those names, Dain smiled to himself and lifted his chin higher. He was certain to please two judges out of three. Lancework remained hard for him, but he was good at sword-play, very good. He’d learned something new last week, something he hadn’t yet shown to Thum. He intended to hold it back as his ultimate trick. It would be impressive, and he was certain to win.  A commotion in the distance caught his attention. He saw Lord Odfrey riding up on a bay horse that was prancing in response to the excitement and noise. Sir Bosquecel rode beside the chevard, but of Gavril there was no sign.  Sir Polquin looked displeased. “Is his highness going to keep us waiting clear to the midday heat?” Grumbling, he strode away to confer with Lord Odfrey, who leaned down from his saddle and shook his head.

Dain and Thum exchanged glances. Thum sighed and circled his thumb around the tip of his forefinger. Dain grinned. They all knew how Gavril liked to make a big entrance.

“Doesn’t care, does he?” Kaltienne complained, wiping sweat off his face. “We bore his highness, don’t we?”

“Shut up,” Mierre growled. “He’s got more important things to do. He won’t be coming today.”

Even Dain blinked at that, but it was Thum who shot Mierre a startled look.

“Not coming?” he echoed. “Why not?”

“Gone hunting,” Mierre said.

“Without his lapdogs?” Dain asked. He was learning to insults the courtly way, using words and a sneer instead of fists. “How can he manage?”