Tournament of Losers (21 page)

Fynn nodded. "Yes, to the tokens. We'll tell Lord Quinton what time you actually returned and the city guards will confirm it for him. As to the horse, don't be silly, Champion. We'll escort you home and be sure the guard assigned to watch your landlords knows you've returned in case they want to summon additional help."

"That's not necessary," Rath said, wincing inwardly at all the attention and ribbing he would get for showing up riding a horse and escorted by soldiers. "We haven't had any trouble since that one attack. I'm sure I'll be fine."

"Stuff it," Teller said cheerfully. "Our duty is to protect the competitors, and it's our decision what that entails, not yours."

Rath made a face, but surrendered with a nod, giving his address when Fynn asked.

Fynn rode alongside him, occasionally calling out for people to clear a path where the streets were congested. Rath hunched slightly and prayed silently that nobody recognized him. Teller rode a short distance behind them, whistling as they rode.

The whistling cut off as they turned onto Butcher Street and saw a crowd of people gathered around something. Rath's heart jumped into his throat when he realized the crowd was clustered right in front of the sausage shop. He urged Thief to a faster pace, ignoring Fynn's cry to stop. He bellowed for people to get out of his way, finally dismounted, and shoved his way through the crush.

He stopped short as he finally broke through the crowd. The first thing he registered was all the blood, bright and fresh and lurid against the dark, broken cobblestones. The second thing was that it was coming from his father's slit throat. Rath stared, mind blank, heart pounding. He barely noticed the pain of his knees hitting the cobblestones. His vision blurred, and he angrily wiped the tears away.

Someone grabbed his shoulder and Rath jerked away, turned, fell, and barely caught himself on one hand. He stared up at Tomia, the butcher who lived across the street. "They did it moments before you arrived. It was like they knew you was coming and wanted you to see it."

"Who?" Rath asked. Friar? No, this wasn't Friar's—

The tournament. This had to do with the fucking tournament, of course it did. He was
stupid.
They'd warned him he'd be sorry if he didn't lose. He'd taken it to mean they'd kill
him.

Oh, Fates. His mother.

Rath pushed to his feet, shoving people roughly out of the way as he took off running.

"Rath, stop! Damn it!"

Ignoring the cries, Rath kept going.

He heard the pounding of hooves on cobblestones, but didn't slow, driven by the fear that he'd find his mother dead, too. Everything else in his head was an irritating buzz to be ignored until he knew she was safe.

The noise moved past him, and Rath barely stopped in time to avoid slamming into Fynn's horse. "Get out of my way!"

Fynn dismounted, grabbed Rath by the front of his shirt, and gave him a shake. "Rath! Calm down! You'll get to your mother faster if you get back on your damned horse."

Rath stared at her blankly a moment, but then the words pierced the terror, and he shuddered, swallowed. "S-sorry. You're right."

"Stop saying sorry when you shouldn't, idiot. I left Teller behind to see to take care of the body and the poor guard they knocked out. I brought your horse, which was no easy feat in these streets, let me tell you. Mount up and stay with me. I can't keep you safe if you run off like that."

Rath nodded jerkily and swung into the saddle, hands trembling as he gripped the reins and fell in alongside Fynn. She cried out for people to move as they rode, bellowing much louder and harsher than before when they'd just been taking him home. People scattered like birds, and the few stragglers were hastened away by city guards that had seemed to come from nowhere.

When they reached the top of Low City, Rath headed for the common bridge.

"Not that way," Fynn said, stopping him. "Follow me." She led the way across the massive pavilion, all the way to the west side, where the guard bridge was located. Two guards lifted hands in greeting as they rode onto the bridge, but otherwise, no one reacted to Rath's presence.

Which made sense, since he was with a guard, but he still waited the entire length of the ride for someone to shout at him, stop him, demand to know what he thought he was doing and how dare he.

As they reached the far end of the bridge, however, all his thoughts turned back to his mother, terror climbing right back up to blinding.

"Breathe, Rath," Fynn said. "You won't be able to help anyone if you don't calm down."

"She could be dead!" Rath bellowed, making a cluster of nearby people jump.

Fynn reached out, grabbed his reins, and forced his horse to a halt. "Rath, you need to calm down. I understand why you don't think you can, believe me. I'm sorry about your father, so very damned sorry. I don't know why they were able to get to him, but if you keep acting like this, then they will be able to get to you and your mother more easily. All right? Now, then, this time of day she's probably still working, right?"

Rath wiped at the fresh tears on his face. "So—"

"If you say sorry again, I will knock you upside the head," Fynn cut in. "Let's go." She let go of his reins and heeled her own horse to resume moving, once more bellowing out clear as a bell for people to move, the
or else
implicit in the tone.

By the time he reached the teashop, Rath could barely breathe. He dismounted and headed right inside, refusing to waste more time by going down the alleyway like usual. Fynn fell into step beside him, one hand resting on the hilt of her sword.

Inside, Rath looked around but didn't see Alia, and he could feel the panic crawling back over him. The crabby old man who usually came to the gate when he knocked came striding up, a pinched expression on his face. "What do you think—?"

"Where she is?" Rath asked. "Get her now!"

The man just glared. "You have some nerve stomping in here. You know the rules. Go to the back gate! We can't have the likes of you bothering customers."

Fynn stepped forward, and the man startled, as if he somehow had completely failed to notice the presence of a royal guard. "Do as he asks, by the king's command."

Blanching, the man turned and all but bolted across the shop to the door in the back.

A few second later Alia came hurrying out, eyes wide. "Rath, what in—?"

Rath cut her off with a tight hug, sobbing against her shoulder, shaking in her arms. Her questions and dismayed reassurances washed over him like a balm. He didn't care what she said, as long as she kept speaking.

Finally drawing back slightly, she said, "Rath, my heart of hearts, what's
wrong
? I don't see you for
months
, everyone who knows us comes up here to talk about the house you asked for, and only
then
did I learn you were in that tournament. Then a guard shows up and introduces himself, says he's looking after me because some people were threatening you, and you show up like
this
? What happened?"

Drawing back, Rath haltingly explained finding his father and what it had to do with the tournament. When he was done, she hugged him tightly again, until he was able to stop shuddering. "Come home with me, Rath. You haven't even seen the pretty house they gave me. You silly boy, granted a boon and you get your old mother a house!" But she smiled, brushed a strand of hair from his eyes. "I'm so sorry, sweet. Come along with me and I'll fix you a cup of good tea. There's some soup left over, too. You can meet the nice guard who's been looking out for me, too." Her gaze flicked to Fynn. "You're protecting my son, I presume?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Fynn replied. "There's two of us, but I left Teller behind to attend your late husband. I'm sorry for your loss."

Alia sighed, looked back up at Rath, and brushed another stray curl away. "Thank you. To be honest, I've been waiting to hear such news for a long time. I am sorry it's part of this whole tournament business. Rath, I'm serious, Mistress Emmi won't mind if I leave a little early. Come home with me and rest."

Rath shook his head. "I need to go to the castle first." Rath accepted the kerchief she pressed into his fingers and wiped his eyes and nose. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come in such a panic—"

"Oh, stuff it," she said quietly, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "If our positions had been reversed, I'd show you a panic." She stared into his eyes, a frown on her face. "Are you going to withdraw from the tournament?"

Rath nodded. "Yes."

"Rath, no!" Fynn said, stepping forward, her hands curling into fists. "You can't!"

Alia looked at him, face set in that pensive way of hers that said he probably wasn't going to like what she said, but he should listen and obey anyway. "I understand why you'd want to, of course, but I think you should stay your course, Rath."

"Why?" Rath asked, looking at both of them, then away, eyes moving restlessly over the teashop. "I should have quit when I had the chance. It's not like I ever wanted to do this stupid thing anyway."

"That's not true," Alia said quietly, a bit sadly. "You might have forgotten the boy who dreamed of bigger things, but I haven't. He got lost along the way somewhere, no thanks to your father or me—shush!" She held up a hand to emphasize he should keep his mouth shut while she was still talking. "I am to blame, at least in part. Children don't stay dreamers long when they're sleeping in alleyways and temples, though I always tried my best to take care of us. Now I keep hearing how you're outdoing everyone and stand a real chance at becoming a prince, and maybe I'm biased, but this kingdom could do a whole lot worse."

Rath drew a breath, let it out slowly, and shook his head. "I'd rather we both
live.
There are plenty of people who could be a prince, but there's only one of you." He kissed her cheek, hugging her tightly one last time. "Be careful. I'll come see you again tomorrow."

She sighed again but kissed his cheek, patted it. "Get on, then. But don't do anything tonight, Rath. At least promise me that much. If you must do it, wait until tomorrow."

"I'll think about it," Rath agreed, and reluctantly left, Fynn falling into step beside him after bidding his mother farewell.

Now that he was moderately calmed down, everything came crashing down over him like waves slamming against the warehouse during a storm. He was tired. Wrung-out. Distraught. He hadn't loved his father, hadn't even liked him, but he'd never actually wanted the man dead.

And it wasn't just his mother he was worried about. What if they hurt Toph and the others? What if they saw Rath with Tress and went after him? Nobody deserved to die over a stupid fucking crown he'd never wanted in the first place.

"Come on," Fynn said quietly. "You said you wanted to go to the castle, right?"

Rath nodded, pushing his exhaustion away and letting anger take its place. "I want to know how this happened. The Lord High Constable said my family would be protected."

"I am really sorry."

"It's not your fault," Rath replied. "I'm sorry you're still stuck with me, though. I know you and Teller were looking forward to being home."

Fynn gave him a look. "What have I told you about apologizing when you shouldn't? You're our friend. Of course we want to help. No one should ever have to suffer something like that, and we did promise to protect him. Something must have gone wrong. We'll sort it out."

Rath nodded again, mounted his horse, and followed her as they rode through the streets all the way to the top.

When they reached the castle, Fynn led the way around to a smaller set of gates, where a guard stepped forward and held out a hand. "Castle is closed for the night. Oh, hello there, Fynn. Teller just came through—you looking for him?"

"Yes, but first we need to speak with Lord Quinton. Is she around?"

The guard frowned. "I think so. Told Teller the same thing. Something going on?"

Fynn nodded. "Explain later."

Nodding, the guard unlocked the gate and let them through. "Leave your horses. I'll ring for someone to come take care of them."

"Thanks," Fynn said, dismounting. Once Rath joined her, she strode off briskly across the courtyard, bound for a small door at the far east end of the castle.

Rath had been so distraught upon arrival, he hadn't really paid the castle itself any mind. Normally, he would have been excited to be within the castle walls. It wasn't much to look upon at first glance, being made of the same stone and style as the rest of the city. But colorful banners hung from the walls and torches blazed, even at the late hour, casting light across a bailey that was kept in good repair, the stones even and well-cared for, not the broken, uneven mess of Low City streets. People milled about in small clusters, most of them in guard uniforms, but others were dressed in livery or other working clothes.

Inside, the castle was breathtaking. There was stuff
everywhere.
Mirrors, tapestries, paintings, the floor covered by rugs as beautiful as the tapestries. Fancy candle stands, gleaming wood, flames dancing inside colored glass. The smell of wax, flowers, and herbs permeated the place, underscored by fancy perfumes and expensive fabric. Rath tried to look at it all, but between the flickering light, his sore eyes, and exhaustion, mostly it all passed by in a blurry, colorful rush.

They turned down a short hall onto a long one, and a figure sitting in a chair at the end, next to a set of austere-looking double doors, leapt to his feet. "Rath! Fynn!" Teller said and strode down the hall toward them. When he reached Rath, Teller hugged him tightly. "I'm sorry, Rath. That never should have happened."

"It's not your fault. I'm sure the guard watching him did everything they could." Rath had no doubt his father had been offended by the whole idea of being watched by a guard, if not terrified, given how little of what he did was legal. He'd probably slipped the guard's watch the moment he could.

"Come on," Teller said, squeezing his shoulder. "The Lord High Constable is waiting. Fynn, she said you and I should go find out what happened to the guard that was watching him, since she'd like to keep this to as few people as possible until we have a better idea of what happened."