The head official started talking about what an honor it was to oversee the tournament every year, how fiercely all the competitors had fought, and blah, blah, blah, blah. The only thing that mattered right now was the fact that I’d lost. But I plastered a tight smile on my face, raised my hand, and waved to the crowd when I was supposed to. Deah did the same thing, smiling just like I was, although she kept looking at me out of the corner of her eye.
“Why did you let me win?” she muttered during a particularly loud round of applause. “What possible reason could you have had for doing that?”
“What does it matter?” I muttered back. “You won. So shut up, and be happy about it.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t want to win like that. I wanted to earn it for myself. I don’t need your charity or especially your damn pity.”
I opened my mouth to snark back that with her ungrateful attitude, she didn’t have to worry because she wouldn’t be getting either one of those things ever again. But the official stepped forward and presented me with a small silver cup before I could get the words out.
I ground my teeth together, forced myself to smile again, and held the cup up over my head as though I were absolutely thrilled with second place. No bloody way.
After the polite applause had faded away, I lowered the cup and tap-tap-tapped my fingernail against the side of it. Solid sterling silver and worth a pretty penny. Well, at least I’d gotten something out of letting Deah win. Maybe I’d let Mo hock my trophy, such as it was, at the Razzle Dazzle. I certainly didn’t want to keep it and be reminded of how I’d lost.
“And now, I am pleased to present this year’s winner of the Tournament of Blades . . . Deah Draconi!” the official yelled.
Deah got a gold cup—real gold from the way it glimmered in the sun—and hoisted it up and over her head. The Draconi dragon crest had already been stamped into the cup, along with Deah’s name and the date she’d won the tournament. Wow. The engravers around here worked fast. The thought further soured my mood.
The crowd cheered again, the sound rising to a deafening roar, and Deah smiled and waved, although I was the only one who noticed how thin and brittle her expression really was.
Maybe that was because it matched mine perfectly.
Finally, the stupid ceremony wrapped up, and I could leave the stage. I stomped down the stairs and back over to the fence where Devon and Felix were waiting for me, along with Oscar.
“Don’t worry,” Oscar said, fluttering over and landing on my shoulder. “You’ll get her next year.”
“Right,” I muttered. “Next year.”
If one more person said that to me, I was going to scream.
“Come on,” Felix said. “Let’s get you cleaned up and out of those clothes so we can go get some food. I know you must be starving.”
“And how would you know that?”
He grinned. “Because Lila Merriweather is always starving. They’ve already set out the food down by the lake. And doesn’t bacon make everything better?”
Felix waggled his eyebrows, trying to cheer me up by using my own line against me, and I actually found myself laughing, just a little. Sure, losing had sucked, but I wouldn’t trade places with Deah for anything. She might have won the Tournament of Blades, but I had something way more important—my friends—friends who would never, ever desert me no matter what happened.
“Come on,” Felix said, a wheedling note creeping into his voice. “I’ll even let you have my allotment of bacon too.”
I eyed him. “Promise?”
He made an X over his heart. “Promise.”
I laughed again, the sound coming to me easier this time. “Good. Because you’re right; bacon does make everything better. So point me to it.”
We stopped at the Sinclair tent, where Felix used his healing magic to patch up the slice in my arm. I also took off my tournament clothes, exchanged them for my normal blue T-shirt, gray cargo shorts, and gray sneakers, and put my silver cup in my bag with the rest of my things. I strapped my sword back to my waist, then balled up my black pants and white shirt and stuffed them into the nearest trash can. I never wanted to wear them or be reminded of this day again.
When I was finished, I threaded one arm through Felix’s and my other one through Devon’s. Together, we left the stadium behind and headed out of the fairgrounds.
It was after seven now, and the party was already going strong by the time we reached the lake. People were milling around the picnic shelters, laughing, talking, and scarfing down food. Someone must have gotten hold of Oscar’s playlist because twangy, old-school country music sounded. The smells of grilled meat filled the air, and my stomach rumbled.
“See?” Felix said, nudging me with his elbow. “I knew you wouldn’t be down for long. Not when there’s free food.”