She wouldn’t want the duke’s son to see her looking this way, if this was indeed Valten. He would mistake her for a peasant, which, when she thought on it, she might as well be, given her position in her stepmother’s household.
Gisela urged Kaeleb forward, and soon they were flying back over the hills again. She wasn’t running away from the duke’s son; she had to go home, for her stepmother and stepsisters would be demanding their breakfast soon, and she still had to give Kaeleb a good brushing after their ride. Besides, Valten, the tournament champion and future leader of Hagenheim, would hardly care to get acquainted with her, the stable hand, cook, and all-around servant for a spoiled, selfish trio of women.
As a little girl she had imagined marrying Lord Hamlin. Now, she knew it was a silly dream. Though she had once cared very much about Valten — following the reports from town of his accomplishments as a tournament champion — it was getting easier to tell herself he couldn’t be as noble and good as she had imagined. Her usual trick to keep from feeling bad — to tell herself that she didn’t care — worked nearly as well with Valten as with everything else.
Valten strolled through the Marktplatz for the first time since leaving Hagenheim two years ago. Very little had changed. The vendors were the same. Same old wares — copper pots and leather goods — carrots, beets, leeks, onions, and cabbages laid out in rows of tidy little bunches. People talked loud to be heard over the bustle of market day. They stepped around the horse dung on the cobblestones while brushing shoulders with the other townspeople. Everyone had somewhere to go, a purpose.
What was his purpose?
A restlessness possessed him, the same restlessness that had haunted his wandering all over the Continent. Entering all the grandest tournaments for two years had not eased that restless feeling. He’d succeeded at winning all of them in at least one category—jousting, sword fighting, hand-to-hand combat — but often in all categories. He still wasn’t a champion at archery, which rankled. But he couldn’t be perfect at everything.
Perhaps God had given him archery to keep him humble. Archery, and his little brother Gabe.
He couldn’t truly blame his brother. Gabe had seen an opportunity to make a name for himself and he had taken it. Valten would have done the same. And Gabe probably hadn’t intended to steal his betrothed.
He didn’t like to relive those memories. He’d forgiven his brother, and truthfully, Valten had not been in love with Sophie. He hadn’t even known her. Now he couldn’t imagine being married to her. She was Gabe’s wife, and he didn’t begrudge them their happiness or doubt that it was God’s will that the two of them were together. But he had been made to look foolish when everyone wondered why Gabehart, Valten’s younger, irresponsible brother, was marrying Valten’s betrothed.
Why was he even dwelling on this?
He shoved the thoughts away and instead dwelt on the last tournament, where he’d defeated Friedric Ruexner, the man who seemed determined to be his nemesis. Ruexner had tried to trick the judges in Saillenay by substituting a metal-tipped lance for a wooden one when tilting with Valten. But in spite of his lack of chivalry, or perhaps because of it, Ruexner seemed to take special offense every time Valten bested him.
Valten had defeated Ruexner in many tourneys over the years, although the man had defeated him a few times as well, usually under suspicious circumstances. And now Valten was always watching his back, for Friedric Ruexner had muttered a vow of vengeance at their last meeting. But that only meant Valten would relish defeating him all the more in the next tournament, which was to be held here in Hagenheim, hosted by his own father, Duke Wilhelm.
Valten wandered past a vender selling colorful veils and scarves from the Orient, which reminded him of all his travels. Truth be told, he was beginning to weary of the tournaments. He had hardly admitted the fact to himself, and certainly hadn’t told anyone else. His dream, his goal all his life, had been to distinguish himself in each competition, to be the best at all modes of war, to be known far and wide as the champion of … everything. And now people far and wide knew his name, troubadours sang about him, wealthy and titled men’s daughters in every town wanted him to wear their colors, and their fathers offered him money and jewels to make their daughters his wife.