“We can all see the king’s motives,” Malcolm said.
“Better not do that to me when I fight, or I’ll—”
“You’ll what, Cornwall?” Esmera hissed a small laugh. “You’ll blame your poor performance on the king like Malcolm?”
Maggie snorted. “Poor performance? Did you not see your brother leap on the back of the draignoch?”
“No. I didn’t.”
“At least he didn’t have to kill the beautiful creature,” Maggie added.
Griffin stared at her in disbelief. “Beautiful?”
Jori growled, begging for attention, ending the conversation. He advanced on Oak like an arrogant dog let off his leash. Oak parried his every move, then made the obvious mistake of attacking with a weak grip. A returned swat and Oak’s sword flew out of his hand, fast and hard—and into Maggie’s.
Esmera flinched as if it had hit her, because it should’ve. No one could’ve caught that sword, not even Griffin.
“How did she do that?” Cornwall asked Malcolm. “I didn’t see it coming.”
Malcolm shrugged, dumbfounded.
Sybil laughed. “Perhaps it should be Maggie in the arena rather than you, then.”
Malcolm popped Cornwall on the back of the head. “Sybil has a point.”
“Oh, you’ll pay for that,” Cornwall goaded. He walked backward, arms out, taunting Malcolm. “Come on then, brother, put me on my ass.”
Malcolm grabbed the longest wooden sword and tossed it at Cornwall, picking another for himself. It was the first time Griffin saw them act like brothers who liked each other.
“I’ve seen enough fighting for one afternoon,” Esmera declared. With a last long look at Maggie, she left.
Sybil picked a practice sword from the rack. “Is this game for all?” She swung at Griffin.
He easily blocked it, but she kept coming.
“You’re quite practiced at sword skills, Lady Sybil.”
“I am, Sir Griffin.” Sybil jabbed, forcing him back. Then thrust.
He blocked and locked their swords. With a hard spin, he whipped it out of her hand.
Sybil clapped. “Even one-handed, you’re still a champion.”
“Maggie, want a go? Or are you too fragile now that you’ve been made over as a lady?” Griffin teased. He kicked a weapon in her direction.
She picked it up. “I’ve never been fragile, Sir Griffin.” Maggie swung, twirling her weapon as if it were part of her hand. “I’ve not played with wooden sticks in a long time, I think.”
“I’ll go easy on you.” Griffin smiled.
He attacked. She blocked without hesitation. As he’d suspected, she knew exactly how to handle the sword. He advanced and attacked again. She ducked, and before he knew what was happening a sharp pain spread like fire in his injured hand. He clutched it to his chest.
“That was for last night,” Maggie hissed.
“My turn,” Sybil said, attacking.
When he’d disarmed her and looked back, Maggie was taking on Silas and Oak. Two at once, and she was winning—albeit with a few dirty tricks. She kicked as much as thrust, landing blows on Oak’s shins and Silas’s privates, leaving him bent over.
She caught Griffin staring and shrugged.
Griffin laughed. She was funny, if not a little scary. Her eyes darkened to an inky blue color, and she smiled. It was the second time he’d seen that smile. First in the tunnel, laughing at his clumsiness, and now when she was being admired for her ingenuity. His pulse raced at the sight of it. That smile was her most dangerous weapon.
“Where did you learn to fight like that?” Griffin asked.
Maggie’s brow creased. “Out of necessity.” She padded over and spoke in hushed tones. “Will you really help me?”
The question caught Griffin completely off guard. “Help you what?”
“See the new draignoch. She came in from the Hinterlands.”
“She? Draignochs are neither male nor female. They’re eggs born fertile.”
“Oh, but this one is certainly female. I need to see her.”
Griffin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She wanted to visit the Oughtnoch? He did too, of course, but for entirely different reasons. “They’re not beautiful, Maggie. They’re dangerous. Just look at the scars on my face. Damage done by their fangs and claws, and I’ve been trained to kill them.”
“What are you two whispering about?” Jori called.
“Sir Griffin was saying he thought Xavier’s magic truly false. It seems he still doesn’t believe,” Maggie lied. She smirked and whacked Griffin’s chest with her wooden sword, harder than necessary.
“More likely attempting to argue back his dagger, which is now mine.” Jori rested his hand on the pommel at his waist. “Xavier is a real sorcerer, Griffin. He is the one and only Ambrosius,” he exclaimed loudly, as if he were preaching to the whole practice field. “But now, I’m bored. A new contest. The Northman against Sir Griffin and me.” He jostled his wooden sword back and forth. “For all the bragging rights.”
Griffin raised his wooden sword at Malcolm, leaving Cornwall to Jori. Maggie and Sybil walked to the end of the field, and the others circled, all wanting to see the two kingdoms go at it.
Griffin attacked first. Malcolm deflected and thrust. Griffin sidestepped, blocking, and swept his leg, knocking Malcolm off his feet.
Griffin reached to help him up. Malcolm latched on, laughing, and yanked, flipping Griffin over him. The two scrambled to their feet, ready for more.
Jori and Cornwall danced through them, parrying across as if neither had the courage to overtake the other—until the end of the green—at the edge, where the Top fell down to the Middle.
A fence protected any from falling, except in a spot where a board had loosened during practice the day before. Griffin knew it because he was there when the horse reared, striking it. But Jori didn’t know, and neither did Cornwall.
Cornwall pushed on, and on. Jori grabbed the loose board, his eyes widening as it fell out from beneath him, taking his balance with it. Jori’s heel slid, and Cornwall lunged.
His heart pounding, Griffin barreled into Cornwall, sending him careening into the grass, while grabbing Jori’s flailing arm. Palm to wrist, Griffin pulled him to steady feet.
“I’ve got you,” Griffin said.
He never saw Malcolm coming.
Malcolm shouldered Griffin, crushing his injured hand. White-hot pain spread through his palm. He knew instantly the center bone had snapped. He fell on top of Cornwall, shoving his hand underneath his arm to protect any further damage. But it was too late. His hand was broken. With only a few days before he would have to fight another draignoch, his hand would never be healed.
Griffin rolled off Cornwall to laughing applause, Malcolm’s chortle the loudest.
“Brother, whose side are you on?” Cornwall steamed. He got up and stormed off like the spoiled child he was.
As he padded with Jori back to Maggie and Sybil, Griffin did his best to hide the pain. Never let them see you hurt. Raleigh had told him that the first time he laid him flat on this very field. And it was true.
But by the looks in the women’s eyes, they saw right through it.
“Do you want to see the physician?” Sybil asked.