The Knight and the Moth (The Stonewater Kingdom, #1)(21)

Rory was there, too, talking with his fellow knights, smiling in a way I’d never seen—without derision.

My pulse stumbled.

A new song began. Be it from the ale or the dancing or the seclusion we felt—alone with the knights in a wide, empty field—one by one, the Diviners began to shed their cloaks. When I dropped mine, it felt like a burden lifted. A skin, shed. Gossamer caught the breeze, and I heard more than one knight let out an awestruck sound as our dresses, white and weightless, wove together.

Then there were hands in mine—a new dance partner. His cheeks were ruddy, his eyes cobalt blue, his smile a crooked line.

“Will you dance with me, Diviner?” King Castor asked.

The others whistled and made kissing sounds as I took the hand of the boy-king.

King Castor, Benji, was surprisingly spry for all that fancy armor, and his hand on my waist was well trained. Either he was working hard not to grasp me too tightly, or he did not want to.

“Are you enjoying your interlude from the tor?” he asked as we spun, my dress whooshing around us.

More than I cared to admit. “It’s my first time away.”

“Really? How marvelous.” The king’s hand clasped mine, and we danced face-to-face. “I know my friend Rory did not give you an easy time about it. And you were right, of course, to force his hand to escort you for a night on the town. He owed you—well, I did.” He laughed, his words half digested, muddled as they came out. He’d clearly been drinking. “What I mean is, thank you for not saying anything about the spring water you found in our possession last night.” He spun me. “I’d like to explain my motives, but I fear it’s one of those things that you must see to believe…” He chuckled. “Rather like the Omens.”

We turned a final time. “I’d like to pay you back in my own way for your discretion,” the king said. “Wouldn’t want you to think me thankless.”

“You should be more concerned with the five bad portents you garnered than winning my esteem, King Castor.”

He laughed, bawdy and boyish.

I scowled.

“Oh, I’m not laughing at you—Six, isn’t it?” He grinned. “I admire your conviction. You’re wildly intimidating. I like that in my friends.”

He wasn’t my friend, and I would have told him so, but the song ended, and the king dropped my hands. “I’d like to pay you back,” he repeated. “If not for your esteem, then for Rory’s truly talented rudeness.” He winked conspiratorially. “How about a little game?”

King Castor swanned back to his knights, stealing a cup of ale and addressing them at a volume only the truly intoxicated can achieve. “Listen up, you ingrates. Before we return the Diviners to Aisling, it’s time for an age-old sport, practiced by even the most dignified knights of old.” He cleared his throat dramatically. “Rodrick Myndacious. Please step forward.”

The knights whistled, chided, and Rory came forward, laughing. It was a heartening sound. Deep and scraping and rich. He was smiling—sickeningly handsome.

His sneers, it seemed, he reserved only for me.

King Castor suddenly looked downright wicked. “Care for a little challenge, my friend?”

Rory’s shoulders were an atlas, every subtle shift a new course charted—annoyance, humor, pointed resignation. Meanwhile the knights, who were practically frothing with glee, began to slam their tin cups upon the table. “Challenge him at his craft,” they shouted. “Challenge him at his craft!”

The Diviners gathered. “What’s this nonsense?” Five asked, bemused.

“Don’t you know?” Maude was there, saddled up next to us, brow damp from dancing. “It’s a tenet of Traum. Every person in every hamlet has a craft. Be it combat or wits or handiness, a challenge to one’s craft is a kind of duel, a test of their skill—and more importantly, their honor. Only the gutless, bereft of honor or merit, deny a challenge.”

Maude rested an arm on my shoulder like we were old friends. “The virtues of knighthood are love, faith, or war. Rory must accept one of those challenges. If he doesn’t, the knights will chase him through the field. Naked.”

“Really.” My gaze sharpened. “And if he accepts the challenge?”

“If he loses, he does whatever Benji tells him to. If he wins”—she shook her head, smiling at the king—“Benji will have to strip and run naked instead.”

Three grinned. “Sounds like a happy ploy to get everyone’s clothes off.”

“Bless the knighthood.” Four cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted. “Challenge him at his craft!”

Rory folded his arms over his chest—said something I could not hear. The knighthood went wild with applause.

“Oh-ho! Challenge it is.” King Castor stepped farther into the field. “All right, Rodrick Myndacious. I challenge you to your knightly craft of war. I say you cannot keep your footing against three assaults. If you can, I’ll happily concede my loss, shed my clothes, and howl at the moon. But if you falter a step or are knocked from your feet”—the king’s blue gaze found me in the crowd—“you must return to Aisling and have your future Divined.”

Next to me, Maude was grinning. “This should be good.”