The sky was overcast, the day a dull gray, and the wind blew a chilled blast across the stands. And yet the crowd at Highcourt was larger and louder than ever. The entire imperial court, and most of the town, had turned out to see the spectacle. Every inch of the bleachers was jammed, and a sea of bodies pushed against the fence. On the staging field only the blue and gold tent of Sir Breckton and the green and white tent of Sir Hadrian remained.
Hadrian arrived early that morning alongside Renwick, who went right to work feeding and brushing Malevolent. Hadrian did not want to be in the palace and risk an encounter with Breckton, Amilia, or Merrick. All he wanted was to be left alone and for this day to be over.
“Hadrian!” a strangely familiar voice called. Along the fence line, he spotted a man amidst the crowd waving at him while a pike-armed guard held him back. “It’s me, Russell Bothwick from Dahlgren!”
Leaving Renwick to finish dressing Malevolent, Hadrian walked over to the fence to get a better look. As he did, his shadows from the palace moved closer.
Hadrian shook Russell’s hand. His wife, Lena, and his son Tad stood next to Hadrian’s old host. Behind them was Dillon McDern, the town smith, who had once helped Hadrian build bonfires to fend off a monster.
“Let them through,” Hadrian told the guard.
“Look at you!” Dillon exclaimed as they passed under the rail to join Hadrian at his tent. “Too bad Theron’s not here. He’d be braggin’ about how he had taken fencing lessons from the next Wintertide champion.”
“I’m not champion yet,” Hadrian replied solemnly.
“That’s not what Russell here’s been saying.” Dillon clapped his friend on the back. “He’s done his own fair share of bragging at every tavern in town about how the next champion once spent a week living in his home.”
“Four people bought me drinks for that,” Russell said with a laugh.
“It’s very nice to see you again,” Lena said, taking Hadrian’s hand gently and patting it. “We all wondered what became of you and your friend.”
“I’m fine and so is Royce, but what happened to all of you?”
“Vince led us all to Alburn,” Dillon explained. “We manage to scratch a living out of the rocky dirt. It’s not like it was in Dahlgren. My sons have been taken for the imperial army, and we have to hand over most of what we grow. Still, I guess it could be worse.”
“We saved all our coppers to come up here for the holidays,” Russell said. “But we had no idea we’d find you riding in the tournament. Now that really is something! Rumor is they knighted you on the field of battle. Very impressive.”
“Not as much as you might think,” Hadrian replied.
“How’s Thrace?” Lena asked, still holding his hand.
He hesitated, not sure what to say. “I don’t know. I don’t get to see her much. But she came to the banquet last night and she looked well enough.”
“We just about died when we heard Deacon Tomas was calling for her to be crowned empress.”
“Thought the old boy had gone mad, really,” Dillon put in. “But then they went and did it! Can you imagine that? Our little Thrace—I mean, Modina—empress! We had no idea she and Theron were descended from Novron. That’s probably where the old man got all his stubbornness and she her courage.”
“I wonder if she’s in love with Regent Ethelred,” speculated Verna, Dillon’s daughter. “I bet he’s handsome. It must be wonderful to be the empress and live in that palace with servants and knights kissing your hand.”
“You’d think she woulda remembered some of us little folk who cared for her like a daughter,” Russell said bitterly.
“Rus!” Lena scolded him. Her eyes drifted to the high walls of the palace visible over Highcourt’s tents. “The poor girl has gone through so much. Look up there. Do you think she’s happy with all these problems she has to deal with? Wars and such. Do you think she has time to think about old neighbors, much less track us down? Of course not, the poor dear!”
“Excuse me, Sir Hadrian, but it’s time,” Renwick announced, leading Malevolent.
With the help of a stool, Hadrian mounted the horse, which was decorated in full colors.
“These are friends of mine,” Hadrian told the squire. “Take care of them for me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“ ‘Yes, sir’! Did you hear that?” Dillon slapped his thigh. “Wow, to be knighted and in the final bout of the Wintertide tournament. You must be the happiest man in the world right now.”
Hadrian looked at their faces and tried to smile before trotting toward the gate.
The crowd exploded with applause as the two knights rode onto the field. The clouds overhead were heavier than before and appeared to have drained the color from the banners and flags. He felt cold, inside and out, as he took his position at the gate.