But even victorious in his own contest, Harwin wasn’t heading for an exit. Some scream or cry had caused him to whirl around in time to see an exhausted young man being dragged to the ground by a pair of sleek attackers, one black, one brown. Harwin didn’t hesitate. He charged over and fell on the brown dog from behind, forcing its lower jaw open and down toward its chest. I couldn’t tell if he was using his bare hands or some weapon he had appropriated from a watching guard. The young man scrambled to his feet, the black dog still clinging grimly to his thigh. With a tremendous effort, Harwin flung the brown dog against one of the half walls, where it landed with a pained yelp, scrabbled, and lay still. Harwin snatched up something that had fallen to the ground—yes, one of the heavy wooden rods that the guards had carried—and began beating the black dog on its nose and eyes. It loosed its hold and charged at Harwin, but he fended it off while the younger man stumbled toward the exit, coughing and sobbing. Backing away, but never lifting his eyes from the dog’s face, Harwin moved slowly toward the arena wall, then felt his way to the nearest door.
I thought he would turn and dash out, but he didn’t. He merely kept his back to the wall and his weapon upraised until one of the handlers slipped a collar over the dog’s head. Then I figured out what Harwin had obviously realized—no one who left the arena could be considered a winner in this round. He had to stay until every other contestant defeated his dogs or fled in humiliation.
I took a long, long breath and assessed the situation again. Darius was still unharmed and unmarked, standing in the center of the arena. Three other contestants appeared to have survived their encounters. One was the big, stupid man who looked so likely to win any event that required force. I didn’t even want to think what might have happened to the poor animals assigned to attack him. Two others were strangers, both so covered in blood and grime that I couldn’t tell much about their physical appearance.
Five. Five men still left to vie for my hand. I surveyed the carnage and thought bleakly that I was not worth this kind of effort.
Gisele spoke up, her voice low and controlled but full of rage. “I hate your father’s dogs,” she said.
I shook my head. “I’m afraid of them, but they break my heart,” I said. “They’re only doing what they’ve been taught to do.”
Now she looked at me. Her eyes matched her voice. “Then maybe I just hate your father.”
I was too weary to be shocked. “Half the lords in the kingdom keep fighting dogs, and those who don’t own such animals come to watch the fights.”
“Then maybe I just hate all men,” she said.
Remembering that I didn’t like Gisele, I gave a mocking laugh. “And yet you’re the one who’s been insisting I get married as quick as can be.”
“I encouraged you to choose a groom carefully,” she said. She swept a hand toward the arena, which was emptying out as the dog groomers took away the last of the animals and other servants escorted the five final contestants back to the palace. “Surely you could see that there was one among those suitors who was worthy of you.”
“Yes!” I said. “I was amazed by Darius!”
“Who’s Darius?” she asked sharply.
“The blond man. The one who kept the dogs at bay through magic. He was not harmed, but neither were they.”
“Magic,” she repeated. “That’s a dangerous sort of toy.”
I tossed my head. People still talked about the wizard my grandfather had kept as part of his household, a powerful and unscrupulous man who had sometimes used sorcery to enforce the king’s less popular decrees. There had been some suspicion that my grandmother’s first husband had not died a natural death, freeing the lovely young widow to accept the king’s offer of marriage. But most of the magicians in Kallenore had relatively limited and benign power, and they were generally welcomed wherever they traveled. The ones I had encountered had been rare, itinerant, and cheerful. Well, wouldn’t you be cheerful if you possessed the power to heal people or change objects or create illusions? I think I would be.
I think I would be happy if I had any kind of power at all, whether or not it was magical.
“Maybe magic is just the toy I need,” I said.
“Listen, Olivia,” she said. “I know you dislike me.
But you should believe what I say. Your father plans to marry you off with all speed, and he won’t be overnice in his requirements. Please make it possible for him to choose a generous man, a thoughtful man, a man who will care for you.”
I sneered. “And were those the qualities you were looking for when you chose to marry the king?”
“I didn’t choose,” she said evenly.
I turned away with a flounce. The others were already climbing from the dais, my father solicitously holding Mellicia’s hand to guide her down the temporary steps. “I hardly think, no matter who I marry, I shall fare worse than you,” I said. Just to be contrary, I didn’t bother with the stairs at all. Instead I dropped to the floor, flattened my hand against the wood, and vaulted down to land lightly in the grass. I was sure any spectators got a nice flash of my ankles and underskirts, but I didn’t care.
I barely heard Gisele’s reply. “But don’t you wish you could do better?”
After the intensity of the middle round, the third trial my would be suitors faced couldn’t help but be anti-climactic. It was not even interesting to watch. My father had hired three of the most famous scholars of the kingdom to create a long list of questions about mathematics, history, and the natural sciences, and a series of these tests were administered the next day. Whoever had the lowest score on the first exam was eliminated first. Whoever scored most poorly on the second test was eliminated next. And so on. Each suitor was quizzed separately in a sequestered room, attended by a scholar and two witnesses. Those of us who cared about the outcome hovered anxiously in the hallways, watching as the scholars emerged to compare scores.
I was relieved, but not surprised, when the large brutish man was the first to fail. He burst out of the room where he had been questioned, slammed the door behind him, shoved aside the folks who clustered in the corridor, and stomped on down the hall. I was glad to see him go, but still nervous. Who would be the next contestant eliminated? Surely Darius was clever enough to pass this final test—if not honestly, then artfully, by bedazzling his judges into believing his answers were correct. I sighed in monstrous relief when the next two fallen contestants proved to be strangers. Only belatedly did it occur to me that Harwin was not among the losers, either.
The crowd in the hall had grown to sizable proportions by the time we were down to the last two suitors. By late afternoon, even my father had stopped by to see how the competition was progressing. Neville and Mellicia trailed after him.
“How many are left?” he asked Gisele. The queen had waited with me all day, not that I had wanted her company.
“Two,” she replied. “I believe we will have results soon.”