Chapter 14

  Facing off against Ser Arthur once again, I saluted him back with raised lance, couched it, then set off at a gallop, Smoker’s hooves churning the sandy ground beneath me. Except this time, I had settled on how I’d beat him.

  It was a dumb idea, reckless, and bound to see me carried off the field on a stretcher even if I won. But the grin did not leave my face even as another lance burst against my armor, this time catching me on the right shoulder.

  I gasped, wobbled, blinked away tears and fought to catch my breath. Thunderous noise from the stands rolled over me like a crashing wave. Spears of pain stabbed at my shoulder. But I did not fall. And I did not let my lance fall.

  When I found Pate once again at the end of the lane, I told him simply, “Don’t bother.”

  I decided the lance in my hand would be the one I’d carry to the end, whether victory or defeat. Then I rode off, not giving myself time to think. On the other end of the lane, Ser Arthur had the same idea, and his squire tossed him a lance as he thundered past him. Despite the rush, the Sword of the Morning’s form was flawless. A titan above his steed, posture tall and unyielding.

  I cracked up at the sight of him, chuckling to myself. My own riding had turned lousy. Still better than most of the riders who started on the tourney, but I wasn’t trying to reach for that connection with Smoker like I had practice a few nights prior.

  With too much in my head after the meeting with Tywin, I had already tried and failed to do so in the first few bouts. No need to put mental energy on that.

  I didn’t even focus on my own jousting form. Instead, my target was solely watching Ser Arthur gallop toward me. Like the last two tilts, I tried to match every subtle shift in his armor to the muscles beneath it, to track the faintest movement of his fingers clutching his lance, the smallest tilt of his head. If I held on against his onslaught for enough bouts, could I figure out where his eyes looked without even seeing them under his helm?

  The idea was ludicrous, and I was laughing even as we clashed again in the middle of the tiltlane. Except now, his lance crashed against my shield, breaking apart into a thousand pieces, and I stood firm above Smoker.

  I cackled as I rode past him, screaming out, “I see you! I see you!” like I’d gone mad, even if I knew the noise of the crowd would drown out my words.

  Despite what I said, my respect for Ser Arthur did nothing but increase. He truly deserved to become the legend he was meant to be. There were no tricks to his jousting. No secret techniques, no cheating.

  He had just practiced. Practiced to perfection. If Ser Tygett Lannister’s form had been textbook, then Ser Arthur Dayne rode like he invented the sport himself. His reflexes were honed to the point where he could react to my own last-second movements, and in that smallest of windows of time, explore any gap I left in my form.

  That’s why, in this last bout, I had not tried to counter his own strike by trying to defend myself with my shield at the last moment. Instead, I had simply held the shield on the same spot the whole time. With no movement, there was nothing to react to.

  I knew how to win now. I also knew it would hurt like hell.

  Before I could enact the final part in my plan, I noticed Smoker favoring one side as we trotted down the lane. Looking down at him, I noticed a finger-sized splinter of wood from Ser Arthur’s broken lance lodged on his upper left front leg, right beneath a gap on his barding.

  Lifting up my shieldhand, I called for the attention of one of the tourney’s attendants and pointed at the spot on Smoker’s leg. Realizing what I meant, the man ran off somewhere waving his hands in the air. He’d notify Ser Arthur first, then the announcer. These things were quite common during tourneys, and though I’d have to either forfeit or change horses if Smoker couldn’t continue, the wooden shard seemed more a discomfort than an actual injury.

  We quickly made our way down the lane to where my squire would be. I couldn’t reach the spot myself from where I sat, and it would be a huge pain in the ass to dismount in full jousting gear with a shield in one hand and my lucky lance in the other.

  “Pate!” I called out, but could not see the boy anywhere.

  My brows furrowed. Had he taken my earlier dismissal as an actual discharge of his duties?

  I rode further down the lane to where the squires kept the spare lances and saw to their knight’s equipment before and after the joust. It was a small area tucked around the corner of the tiltlane, fenced off by waist-height railing and a tiny wooden roof for the squires to hide from the sun.

  There, I found my giant-sized tweenage squire body-blocking a little girl from running into the field. She was screaming at him, tugging at his clothes, kicking at his shin, all while a red-faced Pate stuttered out apologies even as he held her back.

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  It would’ve been an amusing sight were I not in the middle of jousting the goddamn Sword of the Morning in front of half the realm. It would’ve been even funnier had I not recognized the girl trying to slip past a boy twice her size.

  “Ari?” I blurted out from above Smoker.

  Pate swivelled around at my voice, upper lip already quivering, and the little demon I called sister used the distraction to run past him.

  “Am sorry, m’lord,” Pate cried, scrambling after her. “So sorry, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  Oh I knew all about that, so I waved the boys pleas away.

  “Forget about it,” I said, then turned to Arianne. The girl was a sweaty mess, her hair a forest of dark tangles. “What in the Seven hells are you doing here?”

  She stopped a few feet before me, huffing like she’d run all the way from Casterly Rock. “He’s—” she started, coughed, took a deep breath, then started again. “When you strike over his shield he’s going below your arm,” she said, and stabbed the air with an imaginary lance.

  I gaped at her for what must’ve been a good ten seconds. Was she trying to give me jousting tips? The situation was so ridiculous I burst out in laughter.

  Arianne looked like she wanted to pout, but tears appeared on the corner of her eyes. “I’m serious, Gal, you have to trust me, please.”

  The pleading in her voice took me by surprise. An earnest Arianne was a rare sight. It was enough to make three brothers melt, much less one.

  Here I was complaining about the lack of a team in my corner when it was there all along. I had a crazy little sister, a horse smarter than many a lordling, and a whole Pate with me. What else could a man need?

  “I do trust you,” I told her. “I trust you so much I’ll let you pluck off this splinter here that’s bothering Smoker. Then I trust you to follow Pate back to my pavilion and wait there for me, got it?”

  “But—”

  “No buts. I heard what you said. And don’t worry, I see what you’ve seen too.”

  Her eyes went wide. “You do?”

  I nodded. I had no idea how she’d figure it out. Had I not gone on what was basically a sequence of suicidal tilts, sacrificing any striking and most of my defense to focus on watching my opponent up close to the very last instant, then I was sure I would not have noticed Ser Arthur’s gameplan.

  Had Father sent her here with advice? No, he would never put his daughter up to such a task. Whatever this was, it was Arianne’s own doing. She was too willful for anything else.

  I shook myself. It would do me no good to theorize. When Arianne finished her vet duty and Smoker reared up a bit to signify he was okay, I wheeled him around and rode back toward the tiltyard. Fortunately for Arianne, she would not have to wait for long to see me.

  My strategy to win was simple. Brute force, that was the name of the game. One ride. No quick movements, no last second lunges. I would keep my shield close to my body the whole time, aim my lance at him, and thrust with as much force I could put behind.

  Whether I hit him in the chest or the shield it didn’t matter. With my full strength, I was certain I could push him off his ride no matter what. The only question was if he’d be able to do the same to me.

  One last gamble. In my mind, it was the only way I could prevail. I simply couldn’t beat him by being a better jouster as I was right now. I’d bet even being fully in-tune with Smoker wouldn’t see me winning the day. That’s how much better he was than me.

  When I got back into position, Ser Arthur was waiting at the end of his lane, speaking quietly with a squire. I took the opportunity to look around for a moment. Unlike the last few days, the sun shone brightly over the city of Lannisport. The stands were flooded with people like ants swarming over an anthill.

  I had tried to tune out the crowds during the first tilts, but it became a hard task now. We hadn’t taken long back there, no more than a minute, but the people had gotten antsy. I could hear their jeers at me, some shaking fists, others booing like I was some terrible actor in a play. None of it could touch me.

  Taking a deep breath, I righted myself on my seat and raised my lance in salute. Ser Arthur had finished his business with the squire and he saluted back.

  This was it.

  I spurred Smoker on the moment Ser Arthur’s lance came down to point at me, then we took off. Dry air blew on my face through the grates of my helm as we picked up speed. Instead of tensing up, I let my muscles relax. Sound faded into just the crunch of Smoker’s hooves. The rhythm of my breath. The creak of my armor.

  All that mattered was the point of my lance.

  I didn’t have time to focus on Ser Arthur’s form or his striking lance. Nothing. When we came together, I poured every ounce of power I had into my thrust.

  Contact. A solid jolt on my striking arm, followed by a blast of force against my shield. Wood exploded like fireworks. Something in my left shoulder popped out of place. I jerked back hard, neck straining, felt my arse lift off the saddle.

  A grunt of effort slipped past gritted teeth, my hills sunk on Smoker’s flanks hard enough it must’ve bruised him, and I fell back to my seat with a gasp.

  It all came crashing back then. The heavy weight of the armor on my body. Muscles spasming around my neck. The whooping of the crowd echoing around the arena. It felt like being assaulted by a dozen different sensations all at once after floating in a dark, silent lake.

  Looking down, my lucky lance had become a tiny jagged stump, the entire wooden pole scattered into fragments behind me. A throbbing ache pulsed throughout my arm still holding on to my scuffed shield, but I pushed it down with practiced ease.

  Finally, I looked back the way I came. Ser Arthur lay sprawled on the sandy earth, the enamel on his armor was marred, his white cloak no longer pristine as it lay on the ground. Riderless, his tall destrier had kept on galloping down the lane.

  A deep, weary exhale almost had me sagging in the saddle. How had this one bout tired me twice as much as all the others before them? Even the full days of jousting I had to suffer through after entering the tourney as a no-name mystery knight felt like rosy fieldtrips compared to this.

  But the day was not yet finished for me. After watching Ser Arthur walk his way out of the tiltyard with the help of his squires, I ignored the cheering mob and rode back to my pavilion.

  Before the grand final began, I had a sister I needed to lecture.