Griffin ate, then drank to soothe the ache in his face that flared as he chewed. Cornwall spoke little of the arena. Instead, he boasted about new armor his father had made for him for the tournament. “New hauberk, much thicker than my other. With a layer of thinner beneath. It’s ingenious.”
“Mail isn’t useful against the draignochs,” Griffin said. “Too heavy.”
Cornwall pounded the table with his tiny fist. “The fangs carry venom and—”
“The claws too.” Griffin held up his injured hand. “Felt the sting this morning, but if you think layers of mail, thinly linked or wide, would stop the pinprick point of a draignoch’s claw or fang, let me tell you, you’re very wrong. My advice, save your ingenious hauberk for battle. It’ll only slow you down in the ring.”
“Sir Griffin has a point, Cornwall,” Sybil said.
“A sharp point of his own, and one wishing me defeated. I can think for myself, thank you very much.” Cornwall got up, taking his cup with him, and padded to the other end of the hall, near Oak.
“He’s . . . impertinent,” Sybil quipped.
“If you say so.” Griffin had other choice words to describe Cornwall, which he kept to himself. He broke off a piece of bread and held it out to Sybil.
She took it and picked at the crust.
She wore another matching dress to her sister’s, yellow, without decoration, but she didn’t need it. She was more like her brother Malcolm than her sister, with an earthy quality. She had a warmth, though, unexpected, considering the rest of her family.
“I was speaking with Esmera.” Sybil nibbled on the bread. “Since her marriage to the prince is to take place so soon, and our families will be joined, I have been informed that I will be remaining in the Walled City.”
Griffin was surprised by her crisp wording and disappointed tone. “That displeases you?”
She set the bread down and said so only he could hear, “The thought of being locked up with Esmera in a fortress for the rest of my life makes me want to vomit. At home, at least, I can escape on my horse, but here . . .”
“Understandable,” Griffin said. “Yet here we are. About to share the same burden.”
“Yes. Forced friends, I suppose.” She smiled. “It would be nice to see more of the city, if you have time to show me.”
Griffin’s stomach tensed. King Umbert’s words returned to him. Had he already told Sybil’s father that Griffin should marry her? “I’ll be busy with the tournament, I’m afraid. But I’m sure one of the guards could escort you.”
The corners of her mouth curled into a secret smile. “You don’t have to be afraid of me. I don’t want to marry you, Sir Griffin.”
Griffin swallowed hard.
“But I would like for us to be friends. I don’t know anyone here other than my siblings, who are all busy with . . . their own pursuits.” Sybil picked at a loose thread on her sleeve, her eyes glossing over, staring at the throngs stuffing themselves at the tables before them.
Griffin knew he was turning red. “Yes. Of course . . . I’m . . .” He couldn’t formulate any way of coming out of this with his dignity intact. She had completely disarmed him. “Friends. I’d like that too.”
“Good.”
The lute and lyre plucking a lively tune faded. It was time for the great Xavier Ambrosius. Time for Griffin to unravel his routine . . . and win a peek at that new draignoch.
Griffin pushed his plate out of the way and moved his cup too. He wanted to make sure he didn’t miss a single move the supposed sorcerer made.
The entertainment entered. Xavier first, arms akimbo, his head turning here and there, bones clackety-clacking in his hair with each pass. His grin creeping wide, his eyes bulging, he looked every bit the part of the mad sorcerer.
In the West, as a small child, Griffin saw many magic-worshippers like Xavier. His parents’ farm was near a dense forest. The woods were rumored to be haunted by demons. Some believed the draignochs came from there. Gypsies camped close to them, but never entered. They strung beads and tied bones in their hair. Threw stones to predict futures, telling all what they wanted to hear for the price of a coin.
Xavier’s assistant, Maggie, followed him, walking at a steady pace with her hands fisted at her sides.
The guests fell into a familiar pattern of exchanging smirks and whispers as yet another supposed sorcerer made their way to the middle of the tables, where the props had been placed.
The assistant stepped behind the small screen. Her gaze fell on the royal table. Then she gave a hint of a smile.
Griffin returned it, flattered she’d seen fit to steal another glance at him. But then she gave a nod, and he realized that her smile wasn’t meant for him. Her gaze was fixed on Jori. And his on hers. Griffin wasn’t the only one who noticed. Esmera’s lip curled. She cast her hand across the table, spilling her wine.
“Oh my!” She hopped up, but most of it spilled on Jori, soaking his white shirt in red.
Servants rushed to clean up the mess. Jori barely looked put out. He stood, wiped it off, and sat back down, all the while eyeing the assistant.
She, though, had turned around, her attention now on the audience, her face hidden from them.
“Who is that?” Sybil asked Griffin.
“Her name is Maggie,” Jori answered for him. “Daughter of Xavier, the Ambrosius.”
“You say his name as if it should mean something?” Malcolm asked, taking Cornwall’s vacant seat.
“It will mean something,” Jori enthused. “Just watch.”
Maggie’s focus shifted to the windows, passing by each as if looking for something. She stopped on the fourth and closed her eyes. She must’ve found what she was looking for, but Griffin could see nothing but the waxing moon.
Jori stood. The crowd silenced. “Guests of the Draignoch Tournament and Festival feast . . . I give you Xavier Ambrosius.”
“Noble families! Good people of King Umbert’s court,” Xavier cried so loud it hurt Griffin’s ears. “It is an extreme honor to be welcomed in the Walled City, and to be able to perform for you all, and our illustrious king.” He bowed to King Umbert, who tilted his head in acknowledgment, then picked his teeth with a chicken bone.
Griffin laughed, catching Xavier off guard. This was too easy. Jori should’ve known better.
Xavier scowled at him. His lip twitched, then he spun, giving his painful grin to the room. Maggie was looking at Griffin too, a crease forming between her brows. There was a strange weight to her glare, like a boulder sitting on his chest.
Xavier started again. “To all those nonbelievers in the room, I will surely change your mind by the time I’m through, and prove to you once and for all that—”
“Oh, will you get on with it,” Griffin groaned for all to hear.
“He’s at it again,” Oak called out from across the room.
Laughter spread like wildfire. Jori would normally join in with Griffin. But not this time. He coveted Griffin’s dagger as much as Griffin wanted to see the draignoch.
“Yes, yes . . . let us get right to it . . .” Xavier bumped into the props table. The stacked-up bowls teetered on the edge, threatening to spill over, but landed back on the table. He took a long deep breath, color returning to his face. Perhaps he was finally ready to begin.