It was barely noon when the sounds and smells of the fair drew Lanri and her friends out of the inn and into the streets and squares of Amourot. Musicians played jolly tunes on fiddles and harpsichords, children and adult visitors alike laughed as they played, and the vendors running the various food stalls cried out for the attention and coin of the carnival goers.

“We should go sign up for the tournament!” Mara eagerly declared, before anyone else could suggest a first stop. Nobody could think of cause to object. It seemed prudent to handle that before the listings were filled, after all. So, they set off in that direction, following the various signs pointing to the sign-up.

The smell of food hung thickly in the air as they walked. Meats, vegetables, cheese, all mixed with the smoke of the cookfires. Signs promised foods Lanri had never heard of, and judging by how what the other people there were holding looked, she was very eager to try some of them.

When they found where the signs were leading them, Lanri saw two booths labeled open division and mundane division, each with a queue leading up to them. The signs promised that thanks to someone called The First Councillor, the prizes for both leagues would be arcane artifacts of supreme utility, and that they were worth more than the entry fees could pay for. They also warned that the entry fees were steep. Very steep, in fact.

“That’s almost two months of pay. I don’t think I can afford to enter,” Mara said. Her voice betrayed her disappointment at the fact, and her eyes held an eagerness to participate. Lanri watched her for a moment as she looked around, sizing up the others who were waiting in the line, and probably deciding she might well be able to beat them in a fight, if only she could afford it.

“I could pay for one of us to enter, Femme d’Arme,” Ithella said. ”But… that would mean not having enough money to pay our way back to Cerene.”

To Lanri’s side, Seeker rubbed her chin for a moment, then looked at Mara and Ithella. “Can you win?” She asked. “Be honest. Look at everyone here, and tell me if you could beat them in a fight.”

Mara and Ithella both did so, and Lanri followed their gaze in the process. The others in the queues looked like they fit into two categories. Most were dandies, dressed much like Astorian nobles, and clearly only here because they wanted something to do today. After seeing Mara fight the Paravians and knowing the reputation of Duin’s priests, Lanri was certain they could both easily defeat them.

The rest were different. They looked gruff and stubborn, like professional tournament fighters. A handful of them even wore tabards displaying heraldry, marking them as standard-bearing champions fighting in the name of another, rather than free agents. They looked… competent. Perhaps not quite as determined as Mara had looked in her armor, but neither did she, at the moment.

In the queue for the open listings, things were much the same, though the ratio of professionals to amateurs was very different. There, only a handful of the candidates had shown up in finery, not most of them. Lanri supposed most of them were probably mages, why else would they not join the mundane league?

“I can win,” Mara said, drawing Lanri’s attention back to her. “And so can Ithella.”

Seeker smiled, and produced her purse from nowhere. It was really getting light by now, Lanri could see. “Then I will sponsor you both,” she said, then grinned when they both lit up.

When they got to the front of the queue, a grumpy-looking dwarven woman eyed them all, fountain pen in one hand, and the other held out to accept the entry fee. “Name?” She asked.

“Ithella Val Gyr, and Mara of Cerene,” Seeker said as she gestured to each of them, and handed the woman the sizable entry fee.

“Do either of you have magical potential that you’re aware of, be it arcane or divine or are you a sorcerous creature? If you say no and are found to have lied, you will of course be disqualified.” Despite the generalized phrasing, it was obvious from the way she was glancing at Ithella that the question was only meant for one of them.

Ithella tugged at her amulet, and nodded. “I am a Daughter of War, Touched by Lord Duin, yes.”

The dwarf raised an eyebrow. Unlike when Seeker did that, it was a scornful thing on this deeply bored looking woman’s face. “All contestants in the mundane league are required to hold a bit in their mouths throughout every fight, and mystic contestants pay a double entry fee, to be returned if you remain in good standing throughout the tournament.”

“A deposit?” Ithella asked. “Would an oath suffice?”

The dwarf considered that, then shrugged. “Sure,” she said. “If you swear you’ll abstain from magic until the final bout is called, I can waive the deposit.”

Seeker leaned in closer to Ithella. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

Ithella smiled at Seeker. “Your grace, I would no sooner squander your sponsorship by cheating than earn Lord Duin’s ire.” Behind them, the people waiting in line to enter the tournament were beginning to grumble, and Seeker reluctantly nodded her approval. Ithella turned to the dwarf, cleared her throat, and made a sign with hand as she said, “serment.”

The path the priestess’ fingers had traced through the air started to glow, a vibrant, bloody red unlike the brown of Mirabelle’s oaths, but otherwise identical looking. “I, Ithella Val Gyr, Daughter of War, swear to my Lord Duin that I shall not use magic of any sort to cheat or influence the outcome of this tournament.”

The circle flashed red, then faded away with a faint hum, and the dwarf nodded. “Good enough. Come back in half an hour, and you’ll know when your first bouts are. Next!”

Mirabelle giggled as the group filtered away from the tournament grounds, and back out to the main thoroughfare of the carnival. “I must be rubbing off on you, if you’re taking oaths so casually.”

Ithella gave the bovine priestess a patient smile, and shook her head. “There’s nothing casual about swearing to the gods. Even an oath as… superfluous as that one.”

“Superfluous?” Lanri asked.

“Of course,” Ithella said. “My Lord Duin wouldn’t look kindly upon me cheating, anyways. And even though I believe he would forgive me for it, I doubt I could.”

A little while later, they were walking the grounds of the carnival, and enjoying a snack the vendor had called fries. They were fiendishly decadent things in Lanri’s eyes, strips of potato that had been submerged in hot oil until they were cooked all the way through, then served with salt, vinegar, and garum. They were fucking delicious.

All five of them had gotten a serving, and they’d been amazed by how little it had cost. Cooking with so much oil would have been unthinkable at her parents’ farm, and unrealistic even with her and Faron’s income. Yet here in Amourot, such a thing had only cost a few copper Scales, of which they’d get back half when they returned the baskets to the vendor.

“Hey, you five,” a voice called from Lanri’s left, she and everyone with her turned to look. It had come from one of the stalls they’d passed, they quickly realized. It was a simple thing, with a tan-skinned human man in bright red robes sitting on a chair. That chair hung suspended from an elaborate set of pulleys and latches, above what Lanri assumed was a big tub of water. “Step up, my clerical friends, and see if you’ve the skill to make a fool of one of your colleagues, or will make fools of yourselves.”

Lanri cocked her head at the man for a moment, looking him over. He was dressed like a jester, and around his neck, a brass amulet hung on a chain, shaped like a smiling mask. “A priest of Kukaro?” She asked him. She’d never actually seen one in person, though she’d heard of them. The god of jokes was apparently very, very picky in who he Touched.

“That I am, my mundane madame! I am Morell de l’Astoria, Son of Whimsy! And you’ve led quite a godly party to my game.”

“Your… game?” Mirabelle asked.

“My game indeed,” he said with a grin, as he pointed at a few balls that were laid in a basket on the ground by a red line, hastily painted on the cobblestone ground, and then at a small wooden panel beside him. It was shaped like Kukaro’s sigil, and painted in the same red. “Take a ball, and throw it at my lord’s sign. Hit it hard enough, and I’ll be dropped into the cold water below me. Miss, and I get to paint something on your face. Though, in your case, I think I’ll paint one of your horns instead.”

Seeker crossed her arms, and inspected the man. “And you’re a priest of Kukaro? I’ve never known one of your number to do anything like this.”

“And I have never known a Heartwarden to eye me with such suspicion. Scandalous, isn’t it? Not quite fitting in with your peers?”

“I take your point,” mumbled Seeker.

“I’ll take that bet,” said Mirabelle with a smirk, as she picked up one of the leather balls, and felt its weight for a moment.

“Outstanding!” Said the priest, clapping his hands together. “Just a moment to let me think, if you don’t mind.”

Mirabelle cocked her head, and quietly said “okay…”

After just a few seconds, the man raised a finger, and said, “ah, I’ve got it! Go ahead, when you’re ready.” Mirabelle smiled, and wound up to throw, when the priest started to talk in a horrid falsetto voice. “Before me, a priest of the farm. A ball to spell doom in her arm.”

“What are you—” Mirabelle started, but the priest ignored him.

“Now she winds up to throw, soon she’ll let the ball go!” Mirabelle threw the ball as hard as she could at the target, but missed it by the narrowest of margins.

“Alas, some red paint won’t cause harm!” The man grinned and giggled. He pointed at a bucket of red paint. “I’ll be right down to settle the bargain, unless one of your friends wants to try to stop me?”

Over the next few minutes, Ithella, then Mara, and even Lanri stepped up, each of them agreeing to join the ones before her in the bizarre priest’s red anointment. All of them threw one of the heavy leather balls to the accompaniment of the priest’s terrible rhymes, and none of them managed to hit the target. Eventually, only Seeker hadn’t tried, yet.

“What say you, Heartwarden? Will you risk Kukaro’s mark for the sake of your mortal friends?”

All four of them gave her pleading looks, more out of a sense of camaraderie than any particular aversion to the man’s paintbrush, and after a moment of hesitation, Seeker rolled her eyes, sighed, and picked up a ball.

“Oh, splendid!” The priest said with a laugh. “Four women, my canvas, their face.”

Lanri rolled her eyes as the man started yet another bad limerick, and Seeker prepared her throw. “Upon them, to paint my lord’s trace.” She tossed the ball into the air twice, as if to flourish her upcoming triumph. “Now they’re at the end of their rope, with only one hope—”

With a grunt, Seeker threw the leather ball as hard as she could. It hit the small target with a thud, and the man’s eyes went wide just before he fell into the water with a grand splash. He remained under for a few seconds then broke the churning water with a gasp and a fit of coughs.

Lanri and Mara both ran towards him, helping him out of the massive tub of water, and leading him towards a stack of towels he’d seemingly prepared just in case. “Are you okay?!”

The man nodded and took a moment to catch his breath, then said, “—and that’s why one does not taunt her grace.”

For a moment, the silence of the group was deafening. The fair around them seemed to be muffled as the priest dried himself off, and looked to each of them as if to gauge their reaction. Eventually, Seeker snickered.

“Was that man really a priest of Kukaro?” Lanri asked as she, Seeker, and Mirabelle took their seats in the tournament stands. The first bout of the day had just been called, with one of the men she’d dismissed as a dandy winning… against another one of the dandies.

“I think so,” Seeker said. “He was clearly Touched, or he wouldn’t have recognized me as a Heartwarden. And none of the gods would tolerate one of their priests galavanting about with someone else’s sigil around their necks. The arch-devils might, but… Well, he didn’t seem like a devil cultist, did he?”

“Nope,” Lanri agreed. It was fun to see one in person, even if his rhymes were absolutely terrible.

In the field, a few attendants that judging by their revealing outfits were mostly eye candy, were running around, holding up big signs showing the listings. The next bout would be Mara against someone called Bothar. An elf, judging by the name. And then the fifth bout would be when Ithella was up.

“Why did you sponsor both of them, Seeker? They’re in the same league.”

“Honestly?” Seeker asked. “When I offered to sponsor them both, I assumed Ithella would enter the open tournament. But… I don’t mind this. It might be fun to see them compete against each other.”

A few moments later, the attendants gestured for silence, and Mara and her elven opponent stepped out onto the field, accompanied by the judge. They both wore dark tunics rather than their own clothes, Mara’s with white trim, and her opponent’s without. Their equipment was different, though. The elf had a sword in one hand and a small, round shield in the other, while Mara held something that looked a lot like her own glaive, save for the blade being completely straight and double-edged instead of faintly curved and single edged.

“To reiterate the rules,” the judge began, his voice booming across the relatively empty stands. “The bout is to the second unique hit. That means tapping the same spot twice won’t work! Your weapons are enchanted, and will make your opponent glow where they’ve been struck, if the glow of your second hit overlaps the glow of your first, then the hit does not count! Bits stay in your mouths, and you’ve forfeit if they come out. Do you both understand the rules?”

Mara and her opponent both nodded at the judge, then started to back away. It was a shame so few people had shown up for the early bouts, Lanri thought. It was quiet, and calm, and shouting her support of Mara would likely get her funny looks from everyone present. From the contestant’s area, Lanri could see Ithella watching as well.

“Then, begin!” The judge called.

Almost immediately, Mara charged forward. She thrust at the man, aiming for his sword hand. He brought his shield across to block it, which worked. He deflected the blade, but had put his shield in the way of his sword, meaning he couldn’t thrust or swing effectively.

Before he could move the shield out of the way, Mara spun around, and whacked him on the calf with the shaft of the glaive. The entire area she’d hit was immediately highlighted with a bright green glow. “Hit!” the judge called, to a relatively quiet applause from the stands.

The two separated, each taking five steps back before the elf charged at her, and bashed her with the edge of his shield. Mara caught the blow on the shaft of the glaive, but was pushed back two steps. He moved in to do it again, but this time Mara met the hit head-on, then kicked the man in the same shin she’d already thwacked with her glaive. The hit didn’t cause any glow, but it did make him wince and stagger back long enough for Mara to level her glaive at the man, and deliver what would have been a nasty cut into his sword-wielding wrist had the blade been sharp.

“Second hit! Bout goes to Mara of Cerene,” the judge called the second the glow manifested. Mara raised her glaive overhead in triumph, and this time, the applause was louder. A sharp whistle drew everyone’s attention back to the contestant’s area, to Ithella. She took her fingers out of her mouth, then gestured for Mara to join her, even as the loser spat out his bit, and started to argue to the judge that the second hit shouldn’t count.

A few minutes later, Ithella’s bout was up, against a woman called “Loreley.” At first, Lanri was surprised to see the woman had chosen a sword rather than a quarterstaff for the duel. It didn’t take long for her to figure out why.

The woman she was facing was wearing a dress, and heeled boots. One of those dandies, it seemed. She held her sword with more grace but about as much skill as Lanri thought she herself would have managed, and seemed to be paying more attention to the audience than the judge, as he explained the rules.

“Oh, man,” Mirabelle said as she stuffed a few of the fries into her mouth. “It must kill her that she didn’t get to fight the elf with the shield.”

“I don’t think so,” Lanri said. “Sure, she’d prefer a challenge, but she’s a priestess of Duin. She knows how good she is. Seeing Mara prove herself is probably worth more to her.”

“Very diplomatically put, Dear,” Seeker praised, just before the judge started the bout.

For a few moments, Ithella and her opponent circled each other. The swords they’d chosen were both rapiers from the looks of it, thin nippy things the nobility liked to carry around as fashion statements rather than something heftier someone might take into battle

Ithella’s opponent stepped forward, and swung her sword. Ithella caught it with ease. The blades met several times, scraping against each other from tip to hilt, or simply swatting each other away. Ithella didn’t look like she was truly engaged in the fight, not quite thrilled by it. She barely moved around as the woman made attempt after attempt to get a hit in.

Thrusts and swipes and feints and swings, none of which seemed to bother Ithella. After a minute or two of this, though, she actually took the lead. She stepped into one of the woman’s swings, and rather than swatting it aside, managed to disarm the woman with a flourish. There were a few gasps in the audience as the sword clattered onto the cobblestone arena floor, and once it settled, you could hear a pin drop.

No part of her opponent had yet been hit, Lanri thought. She didn’t see any glow, after all. The woman was out of breath, and glared at Ithella as the priestess brought the tip of her blade up to her foe’s face, and tapped one of her cheeks with it. It started to glow immediately.

“Hit,” the judge called, quietly.

When Ithella tapped her cheek again, the glow didn’t change. That did not count as a second hit, so why had she done it? To taunt her? The woman rolled her eyes, then spat out her bit before she said something to Ithella and started to walk away.

“Loreley Varham forfeits, bout goes to Ithella Val Gyr!” The judge called, to some applause.

“You two did quite well,” Seeker said as Mara and Ithella filed out of the contestant’s area. The first round of duels would take at least another hour, so the five of them had decided to play a few more of the carnival games on offer. “Taunting and toying with that woman was mean, though.”

Ithella suppressed a laugh. “Perhaps. But this way, the only bruises I inflicted were to her ego. I cannot say the say for you, Femme d’Arme.”

Mara awkwardly rubbed the back of her neck and blushed. “He was trying to bruise me too, you know!”

“Oh, I do,” Ithella said with a grin. “He was an opponent that was actually worth taking seriously, and you defeated him with skill. I’m quite pleased by how that played out, frankly.”

“I told you she was awesome, didn’t I? After what she did to those Paravians, I’m not surprised she kicked ass,” Lanri said.

“Oh, I know she’s that and more, Lanri,” Ithella said. “She was the only one brave enough to stand her ground when her grace cast a terror spell on her squadron. Two of the men with her ran away, and the other fainted, while she stood her ground.”

Mara smirked and rolled her eyes. “I suppose I just radiate sheer potential.”

Mirabelle chuckled. “Duinite courtships are… strange things.”

The quintet walked around for a few minutes, examining a few of the games on offer as they bought and ate the second round of snacks of the day. These were far more familiar to Lanri than the fries had been, but no less tasty. Candy apples. They each got one of the fruits on a stick, coated in cinnamon and sugar syrup, and were all happily eating away at them.

Lanri saw that the offered archery competitions, chances to display feats of strength, and a reflex-centric game with an attendant dropping rods for the player to catch were all already in full swing. Puppet shows, chess competitions, and of course that quiz Lanri had seen announced on the sign the day before had all been set up, though those hadn’t begun yet. She did hope she would get to participate in the quiz, it sounded like the only thing she stood any chance of winning.

Seeker… didn’t lead them to the quiz. She led them towards a surprisingly simple game instead. A bored-looking boy that couldn’t possibly be more than thirteen sat on a chair, attending a game made of an array of wooden pegs that stood at an angle on a backboard, painted various colors and set about seven paces behind the counter. On that counter lay a pile of wooden rings, and right next to the boy rested a glass-topped case displaying various bits of jewelry, tagged with ribbons that matched the colors of the pegs.

The boy rolled his eyes as they approached his game. “Wanna play?” He asked, sounding like he’d rather do anything other than supervise their game.

“We do,” Seeker confidently said. The sign by the jewelry case mentioned the price to play in Adampora and Remeran coinage, and she counted out enough to cover five games.

The boy counted the coins, then sighed. “Everyone tosses seven rings, if they all land on the same colored peg, you get the trinket with the matching ribbon as a prize.”

Lanri looked at the prizes in the cabinet, and then at the board. The most common color on the board was brown, and made up about a quarter of the pegs. The cabinet’s corresponding prize was a plain, copper ring that looked like it had less metal in it than even a single copper scale. The next one over was a copper ring with a small milky green stone set into it, and a gray ribbon, linking it to about a fifth of the pegs, followed by a copper ring with a slightly nicer stone, and a green ribbon.

The prizes went on like that, until they got to the most valuable ones, which only had one or a handful of corresponding pegs on the board. A golden ring with what Lanri assumed was a sapphire was the grand prize, with only a single yellow peg on the board to win it. But the one that most caught her eye was closer to the middle of the pack. It was a modest, silver hair brooch, far smaller than the one she’d worn since meeting Seeker, and decorated with an elaborate floral design. The ribbon on it was a royal blue, corresponding to five pegs on the board.

She imagined it would look fantastic in Seeker’s hair.

“Who wants to go first?” Seeker asked, shooting Lanri a knowing look. Lanri shied away from the look slightly, going first seemed… scary. She’d rather see how the others fared, first. Thankfully, Ithella stepped up first. She picked up the rings, and without much by way of hesitation, started to toss them.

“So, Mirabelle, how was the equinox celebration at the monastery?” Seeker asked as the first of Ithella’s throws predictably landed on the yellow peg.

“Oh, it was lovely, your grace,” Mirabelle answered. “Du Bois was grumpy that you didn’t want to stay to celebrate with his people, but it was still delightful. We had nice food, I made a point of blessing the fields around the city in my lord’s name, and I got those cherry pits started in the greenhouse.”

“Ah, that’s… good,” Seeker said, and her voice dripped with uncertainty. “They took, then? My Dear pointed out after we left that it might be the wrong time of year for that.”

Mirabelle smiled and shook her head. She was about to say something when Ithella grunted. Lanri looked just in time to see what would have been the second-to-last of her rings miss the peg and clatter to the ground. The boy sighed, and got up to gather the rings as the priestess said, “trees are languid things, your grace. The time of year one sticks the seeds in the ground hardly matters when they might take months or years to sprout on their own. But with Lord Huin’s help and blessings, they were willing to… hurry along a bit. By the time I left the city, they were healthy-looking saplings already.”

As the others went one after the other, Lanri kept eyeing the silver brooch, and the target she’d have to hit to win it. The five blue pegs on the board were arranged together in a cross, so it was a much bigger target than the sole yellow peg Ithella had aimed for. Lanri was pretty sure Seeker made a point of losing with as much style as possible, putting her rings in a perfect row that spanned three colors. But Mara and Mirabelle both managed to put all of their rings on the green pegs, so it definitely felt possible.

By the time it was Lanri’s turn, she’d managed to make herself nervous. It was the silliest thing to her. She’d had no idea there were even prizes to be won here, and no plans to take the game seriously. Yet as soon as she had seen that brooch, and the idea of winning it for Seeker occurred to her, she-

“Don’t worry about winning, Dear,” Seeker purred into her ear. She whispered something that Lanri couldn’t hear over the music and people of the fair, but the goosebumps and shiver told her it was a spell.

She could feel it, just at the back of her mind. A little nudge, a change in perspective. Just before she completely registered the apprehension about Seeker helping her cheat at and win the game, the thought died. She didn’t have to worry about winning this game, because she just knew she would. There was no other sensible outcome. All she had to do was pick up the rings, and-

She paused when she picked up the rings. They felt so… heavy. They were just pieces of wood, but they had heft to them. They were dense, and solid, and they had a lot of oomph behind them, a lot of inertia. She felt like she could throw one and it would just keep going forever.

What did you cast on me?

Seeker put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. “Are you still worried about winning?” She asked, still whispering into the same ear. Lanri shook her head. She absolutely wasn’t. She knew she had this in hand. “Good. Because I want that brooch.”

Galvanized by mystic confidence, Lanri threw the first ring, and it caught on the top peg. “That’s my girl,” Seeker purred, as Lanri threw the next, and the next after that. One after another, they landed on the pegs, rolling and rattling as Seeker sang her praises and Mirabelle, Mara, and Ithella cheered her on.

She felt good. Good about herself, good about what she was doing, and good about the day in general. It felt wonderful to play games with Seeker and the friends they’d made together.

When she threw the last of the rings, and it caught the peg, she felt truly and unnaturally triumphant. She did know whatever spell Seeker had cast on her was a big part of it, but she didn’t really care. She’d won the little trinket she wanted for Seeker, and Seeker wanted from her. She could take on the world. Hells, she even wanted to. She wanted to find something else to do, and achieve for her.

Her friends politely applauded, and Seeker spun her around and kissed her as the bored looking boy grimaced at the sight, then got up from his chair with a sigh. He pulled a key from his tunic, then crouched behind and underneath the counter. A few moments later he re-emerged with the copper rings, and a silver brooch that looked almost identical to the one in the display cabinet.

“Congratulations,” he half-heartedly mumbled as Mara and Mirabelle accepted their rings, and Lanri took the hair ornament. She turned it over a few times, comparing the engraved flowers of the one in her hand to the one in the display case. Was this one as nice as the one she’d had her eyes on? Should she demand that one? Was it-

Seeker put a finger under her chin and tilted her head back until she was looking into her eyes. Then, Lanri felt the spell fade. That total confidence in herself and certainty that she’d succeed melted, leaving her wondering how she could have possibly thought she had any right to demand to exchange her prize for the display sample. She didn’t feel hopeless and small, though, like she had when staring into Gorance’s eyes. She just felt… normal.

“Can’t have you running around with too much confidence, can I?” Seeker asked. “As much fun as it would be to watch you charge headfirst into trouble.”

In the stands, Lanri smiled. Ithella had just handily won her second bout of the day, and she’d only put in the slimmest bits of effort to do so. The signs the men and women in revealing outfits were holding all said the next bout would be Mara fighting someone called Avar, but that would be a few more minutes. The silver brooch she’d won was heavy in her pocket, and she so longed to see Seeker wear it.

“Turn around,” Lanri told her.

Seeker just gave her a bemused look. “Are you ordering me to do something, Dear?”

“Well…” Lanri started, and she looked around at the others in the stands. They’d gotten a lot busier for the second round, she noticed. The majority of the seats were filled, and it looked like they’d be full before the third round even started. She supposed that meant they were staying here until Mara and Ithella were both out.

“Well, what?” Seeker asked, drawing Lanri’s attention back to her. “You’re lucky I like those thoughts of you so much, or I might be offended when you get distracted.”

Lanri blushed. “I- Just turn around, please,” she asked.

“Oh, no!” Seeker said, grinning as she pressed her hands to her heart as if staunching a bleeding wound. “She’s found the one spell that can bend me to her will. The magic word! Now she has real power over me.”

Lanri rolled her eyes as Seeker turned around. “You’re impossible,” she mumbled with a smile. She gathered Seeker’s hair, and tried to replicate the bun Seeker tied her hair into every day. It was a lot harder than she’d expected it to be. She knew the process involved pulling the hair tight, and then twisting it somehow, but when Seeker had done it to her in the past, it didn’t exactly allow her to watch and take notes.

On the far side of Seeker, Lanri could see Mirabelle growing increasingly entertained by Lanri’s fumbling. She tried to picture what sort of facial expression Seeker might be making, whether she looked entertained, impatient, or a mix of both.

Eventually, Seeker sighed and said, “how about I just teach you?” Her hands reached for the back of her head, and gently nudged Lanri’s out of the way. She very slowly twisted her hair into a single taut bundle, then swirled it around, tucked it into itself, then held it in place. “Now, fix it,” she ordered, and Lanri obeyed. She hesitated for only a moment, then fixed the bun in place with the silver pin, and smiled.

“All done,” she told Seeker, who felt around at the back of her head for a while, then turned around, and smiled at her. The bun looked good on her, Lanri decided, and as Seeker moved her head, the brooch sparkled in the light just like she imagined her own did. “It looks wonderful,” she said.

“What do you think, Mirabelle?”

“I think it looks great, your grace,” Mirabelle told her. She looked like she wanted to say more, but the crowd got louder around them. When Lanri looked, she saw Mara and her opponent entering the arena. The new opponent was a woman -human by the looks of it- though she was tall enough that she could have been an elf. She carried a sword that was almost as long as she was tall, resting on her shoulder like a club.

When they got to the middle of the arena, the judge seemingly explained the rules again, though Lanri couldn’t hear him clearly over the audience. He talked for a little while, and once both Mara and her foe nodded, stepped back and shouted “begin!”

The woman, Avar, charged forward almost immediately, one hand forward of the crossguard, and one on the pommel. She thrust it forward violently, hard enough that Lanri thought she could run Mara through with it, blunted edge or not. Mara was barely able to jump to the side to avoid it, and staggered several steps.

As she struggled to regain her balance, Avar moved the hand she had on the blade down to meet her other hand, and swung the whole thing like a hammer at head height. Mara had to throw herself to the ground to avoid the blow, and scrambled back as the sheer inertia of the blade almost unbalanced her foe. Mara tried to make a sweeping attack with her glaive, aiming for the woman’s ankles. Avar just planted her sword’s tip in between two of the cobblestones, and the glaive simply bounced off.

Then, to Lanri’s horror, the woman stepped forward, and kicked Mara in the head, just below her ear. The crowd gasped, and Lanri stammered, “is that bitch trying to fucking kill her?!” As most of her neck and face started to glow, the judge called the hit.

“She might be,” someone behind her said, putting his hand on her shoulder. Lanri recoiled from the touch, but looked at the man. He stank of beer and pipeweed as he pointed and explained “she broke her first opponent’s knee with that sword. You could hear the crack, and they had to cart him off.”

He sounded entirely too entertained by that. Lanri politely nodded at him, and turned her attention back to the arena. Mara had managed to get back to her feet, and despite looking unsteady from the blow, wasn’t giving up. As Avar wound up for another swing, Mara charged forward holding her glaive just below the crossguard, and bashed it into the woman’s hip. The judge called the hit, and the audience cheered.

The man behind Lanri put a hand on her shoulder again. “That blonde sure is tough, too!” He said merrily.

Before Lanri could comment, Seeker took the man’s wrist and twisted as she hissed “touch her again, and you’ll wind up carted off, too.” The man winced and meekly nodded, then withdrew his hand as soon as Seeker let it go.

Thank you, Lanri thought, and Seeker gave her a confident nod before gesturing back at the arena.

The two women had separated again, and were circling each other. Mara was nursing her head, while Avar had one hand pressed to her bloodied hip. Lanri was hard-pressed to feel bad for the woman’s cut, though; as far as she was concerned she deserved that and more for apparently making a point of injuring her opponents.

Avar raised the sword up high and charged at Mara. Halfway through her charge she grimaced, though, and chopped down too early. Mara was able to evade the strike, and it hit the stone ground with an awful clang that sounded like it would have shaken the woman’s very bones.

Mara took advantage, thrusting at the woman’s sword arm. The blade being as heavy as it was, the only reasonable way to evade was for Avar to simply drop the weapon, which she did. She jumped back as Mara chopped at her feet with the dulled blade again, then lunged for Mara’s weapon. She got a good grip on the shaft with one hand, and, being so much bigger than Mara, managed to pull it from her hands.

She fumbled with the weapon for a moment, looking down at it to get a good grip. She managed it just as Mara charged at her, and punched her in the throat as hard as she seemed to be able.

The woman dropped the glaive immediately, clutching her glowing throat and spitting out her bit as she gasped. The judge called the second hit, and declared Mara the winner.

The crowd cheered as Mara, entirely out of breath, picked up her blunted glaive, and raised it above her head in triumph. She took out her bit, leaned down to say something that elicited a glare from Avar, then walked out of the arena, to where Ithella was waiting to tend to her.

“That woman didn’t even want to win, did she? She just wanted to hurt people,” Lanri quietly said.

“I think so, Dear,” Seeker agreed. “Though, now that we know Mara can beat that, and those big birds back in northern Remere, I’m pretty sure she’s not going to lose to a more skilled but restrained opponent, either. We might be here longer than expected.”