‘Eyes front!’ Sir Caulder barked from behind them, making the students jump. ‘Show your respect for Hominum’s Generals.’
Fletcher stood a little straighter as the corridor into the arena darkened. First came the generals, resplendent in smart uniforms of blue velvet, edged with gold thread that ran from their sleeves up to their epaulettes. Their chests were adorned with a plethora of medals and tassels and they clutched their bicorn hats tightly to their sides as they walked stiff-legged down the steps. These were hard men, with faces that spoke of weary experience. They did not speak, but instead raked their eyes over the cadets as if they were horses at auction.
‘If they’re impressed, they commission us directly after the tournament to fight in the King’s army,’ Seraph murmured out of the corner of his mouth. ‘The pay’s not as good, but they promote faster than the noble battalions do, because of the higher attrition rate. Filling dead men’s shoes and all that.’
‘Silence in the ranks!’ Sir Caulder snapped, limping to the front and daring them to break silence. ‘Stand to attention. If I see you move an inch I’ll make you wish you hadn’t!’
But Fletcher was not listening. A man had ducked into the arena and was staring at him. The family resemblance was unmistakeable. Zacharias Forsyth.
Zacharias was not as Fletcher had imagined. He had pictured a man with cold, serpentine features. Instead, Zacharias was tall and brawny, with half his ear missing and a confident grin. He flicked his eyes away from Fletcher and on to his children, who were standing side by side.
‘Come now, Sir Caulder, let the cadets relax. There will be plenty of time for all that ceremony later,’ Zacharias said in a deep, cheerful voice. He stepped on to the sand and embraced his two children, mussing up Tarquin’s hair and giving Isadora a kiss on the cheek.
For some reason, it confused Fletcher to see this. It seemed strange to think that anyone could adore Tarquin and Isadora, even if he was their father.
‘And who’s this strapping young lad?’ Zacharias boomed, stepping in front of Fletcher and looking him up and down, noting his shaggy black hair and the khopesh at Fletcher’s side.
‘It’s the bastard, Father; the one with the Salamander,’ Tarquin drawled, looking at Fletcher with disdain.
‘Indeed?’ Zacharias said, staring deeply into Fletcher’s eyes. The smile remained fixed on Zacharias’s face, but Fletcher saw something stir behind the man’s eyes. Something dark and ugly that made him want to shudder.
‘It will be interesting to see what your demon can do. Why, I bet it could burn a man’s shoulder to the bone, if it were so inclined.’ The smiling mask remained, but Fletcher would not let himself be intimidated by the brute of a man.
‘It can, and it has,’ Fletcher replied, setting his jaw. ‘Perhaps I could give you a demonstration some time.’
Zacharias’s smile wavered, then he laid a hand on Fletcher’s shoulder and pointed at the arena steps, which were filling with more nobles, all in varying uniforms and colours, representative of their personal battalions. Others had joined Zacharias on the sand, hugging their children and talking loudly, much to Sir Caulder’s annoyance.
‘It will be nice for you to have your family here to support you. Why don’t you wave hello to your father?’
Fletcher froze. Was Berdon here? It couldn’t be! But no, Zacharias was pointing to a grey-haired man and woman, who were staring at Fletcher with a look of pure hatred.
‘I took the liberty of informing the Favershams about your claims,’ Zacharias said, his eyes filled with malice. ‘Even the King has taken a special interest in your case. After all, you have accused Lord Faversham of being unfaithful to the King’s cousin once again, so many years after all the troubles with Arcturus and the other bastards.’
‘I claimed no such thing!’ Fletcher fumed. ‘I would never—’
‘I invited them to join me and see you for themselves, I hope you don’t mind. Arcturus has been sent away so he doesn’t run into his father and stepmother, part of the terms of his agreement with the old King. That leaves Rook in charge of the tournament. An old family friend, don’t you know. I’m sure he will take great pains to make sure everything is as fair as possible.’
Zacharias winked at Fletcher, then left the pit to take a seat with the other nobles, but not before flashing a shark-like grin at Sylva and Othello. Fletcher shook with rage, balling his hands into fists despite the pain that throbbed through his left hand.
‘Don’t let him faze you, Fletcher,’ Seraph whispered. ‘We’re going to wipe the floor with the Forsyths.’