As Ember and her sister hurried to match the long strides of the two Conatus knights, Agnes whispered, “How horrible! Can’t you stop this?”
Ember glanced at her. “How could I stop this?”
“They’re fighting over you,” Agnes said. “Alistair has been our friend since we were children. Plead your cause to him. Surely he’ll convince Lord Hess to release you from Father’s promise. You were but a babe and our father was desperate. This burden shouldn’t fall to you.”
Gritting her teeth, Ember said, “You know how dear you are to me, Agnes. But I have no desire to be released. I want to go with them.”
Agnes sighed. “You say that now, but what do you know of Conatus?”
Ember pulled her gaze away from her sister’s worried face, frustrated by the truth in her words. Conatus was shrouded in mystery—an order of knights sanctioned by the Church, but one whose tasks were known only to its members.
“You told me that Alistair’s letters spoke of vows.” Agnes stared at Alistair’s back as she spoke. “Vows wherein you would forsake a life of your own.”
“My life now is not my own,” Ember hissed through her teeth. “If I stay here, I am but Father’s to give to whatsoever noble he chooses.”
A mewling sound of sorrow emerged from Agnes’s throat and Ember put her arm around her sister.
“Forgive me, Agnes,” Ember said, cringing at her own thoughtlessness. “I should not say such things.”
“I know you look upon marriage with scorn.” Agnes kept her eyes on the floor as they walked. “But it is only because you haven’t been struck by love’s arrow.”
Ember would have snorted, but she’d already hurt Agnes enough. “I hope you find the love you seek in France.”
Agnes glanced up, but at Alistair rather than Ember. “So do I.”
Bright sunlight made Ember squint as they emerged into the courtyard. Her father’s warriors had already formed a ring in the open space. Within the circle Hugh, Gordon, and Felix brandished their weapons. Hugh bore a short sword and had a shield strapped to his left arm. Gordon carried a halberd and Felix a spiked mace.
Lord Morrow’s men stepped aside to let Barrow enter the ring. Alistair led Ember and Agnes to a nearby slope where their parents stood, overlooking the ring. Barrow had drawn his sword. Unlike Hugh’s thick, squat blade, Barrow’s sword was sleek and curving. The men about to fight bore as much resemblance to one another as their weapons did. Like Ember’s father, the three warriors he had chosen to face Barrow were thickly muscled with an impressive girth of chest and shoulders. Their hulking bodies were built like piles of large stones. By contrast Barrow was tall and lean, his form drawn in long, taut lines.
Barrow searched the courtyard until he found Edmund. “My lord?”
“Whoever does not fall or does not yield,” Edmund shouted. “My men or this knight of Conatus shall be declared the victor!”
Brutish hollering rose from the ring of warriors. Agnes shuddered, pleading with her sister once more: “How can you bear this, Ember?”
Ember barely heard her sister’s question. Her blood was roaring in her ears, her heart drumming heavy against her ribs. Her hands moved restlessly, fists clenching and unclenching. She wished she could hold her sword, even if only to mimic the exhilarating match that was playing out before her.
Barrow raised his sword in salute to his trio of adversaries. They grunted and shrugged in reply. Hugh and Felix exchanged grins, signaling their anticipation of an easy win.
As the warriors around them roared for blood, the men within the ring began to move. Barrow kept his sword low, watching his opponents. Gordon bellowed, rushing at Barrow, his halberd aimed to impale. Barrow sidestepped, letting Gordon’s spring carry him past the point of attack. As Gordon blew by him, Barrow twisted and brought the flat of his sword down on Gordon’s skull. The crack of steel on bone made Agnes shriek.
“I can’t watch!” She buried her face in Ember’s shoulder. Ember didn’t blink. It was as if she could feel Barrow’s muscles tensing and exploding into action as he fought. Her body hummed with his strength and grace. She’d never felt more alive.
Gordon crumpled and lay unmoving. With Barrow’s back turned, Felix and Hugh were already on the attack. Felix leapt at the knight, swinging his mace in a broad arc, while Hugh darted around their adversary, keeping his shield up but his sword low.
Barrow dove, rolling in the dirt as Felix’s mace whistled past his ear. Hugh struck as Barrow lay on his back, but the knight managed to kick Hugh in the stomach with both feet. As Barrow sprang to his feet, Felix brought his mace around. A cry of warning rose in Ember’s throat, but Conatus’s champion spun around, his blade sweeping up to meet Felix’s mace mid-blow. Metal clanged as they struck over and over.
Recovering from having the breath kicked out of his lungs, Hugh scrambled from the dirt to rejoin the fight. He tossed aside his shield and threw himself at Barrow’s unguarded back. As Felix swung his mace, Barrow dropped to the ground flat as a board. Hugh tripped over Barrow and fell forward. Bone crunched, and a groan rose from the circled warriors when Felix’s spiked mace buried itself in Hugh’s shoulder.
Hugh screamed as Felix swore and wrenched his weapon free. Blood poured from Hugh’s wound and his left arm hung limply at his side. Barrow had already rolled away from them and was on his feet again. Without pause he darted toward Felix, his curved blade flicking through the air. Gashes began to appear on Felix’s arms and shoulders. Felix winced, stumbling back. With a strangled cry he wheeled around, flailing as Barrow continued his relentless strikes. Felix’s shirt was in tatters, his chest covered with cuts that looked like whiplashes. Breathing hard, he dropped to one knee. Only then did Barrow’s blade pause.
“I yield,” Felix rasped, his head bowed.
Barrow nodded. He turned to face Hugh, who though bleeding and groaning in pain was still standing in the ring.
“Do you yield?” Barrow asked him.
Hugh spat on the ground just short of Barrow’s feet, but he nodded. As Barrow sheathed his sword and turned to leave the ring, Hugh began to laugh. Felix had risen from the dirt, his eyes bulging with outrage. Without a battle cry, Felix lunged at Barrow, bringing his mace around in a high arc so it would smash into Barrow’s skull.