I’d never been afraid of animals in general, or of horses specifically, but the joust was unlike anything I’d ever witnessed. It was noisy and terse and brutal—all the danger of fighting, without any of its necessity. I shrank farther and farther into my seat beside Prince Bertilak, growing tenser with each crash of spear against shield and armored man against earth. It was unsettling, and worse still, it was boring.

I stared around the dais, dying for distraction, but the royal family was engrossed, and Bear along with them. Though his chair had initially been a little behind mine, he’d edged forward to get a better view until he was beside me, practically leaning over the rail. Only the Beholder crew seemed not to be paying attention—Skop, because he was laughing and beset by the royal children, and Perrault, because he couldn’t relax beside Cobie, expression black as her clothing. “Where are Lang and Yu?” I suddenly asked.

Cobie’s eyes flicked to the back of Bear’s head. “Surprised you noticed.”

Skop elbowed her. “I’m sure they’ll be here soon.”

“I hope they’re off meeting the Duke of Cornwall, as I suggested.” Perrault scanned the audience, eyes greedy. “A very valuable contact. You can never make too many connections at events like this, you know.”

I wanted to hit my head against the railing until I couldn’t make out his words anymore.

If the joust was dull, the melee was even worse. It was endless, one long, droning battle beneath the brazen afternoon sun. Dazed by the clash of blunted practice weapons and the cries of the two armies draped in green and gold jerseys, I distracted myself by admiring horses and coats of arms. Bear explained the significance of the colors and symbols splashed across the warriors’ shields, never growing annoyed as I peppered him with questions. But when the leader of the forces dressed in gold disarmed the last remaining green knight, he flopped back in his chair, crossing his arms and grunting in disgust.

As the armies regrouped out on the field, preparing to present themselves to Constantine, a lean-muscled boy in a green jersey waved at Bear. He tugged his helmet from his head and shook out his dark, sweaty hair, and even at a distance, I could see the disappointed twist of his scarred upper lip; he’d taken their loss hard. Suddenly, he stopped short.

The boy cut his dark eyes in my direction, and Bear gave a tiny nod. But then Bertilak appeared without warning.

The prince smiled politely. “You and I shall present the winner’s reward together, to the leader of the victorious gold army.”