Jos waited alone on the practice green, arms crossed in frustration. A few servants flitted at the edge of the twenty-foot circle, pruning the surrounding bushes, running errands, or simply awaiting his needs, but he cared little for them. Aryn had healed just enough to spar, so today’s practice would be a best-of-five duel. Their match wasn’t scheduled for another hour yet--time Jos had planned to spend warming up--but now that he was here, he wanted it over with.

Despite his father’s grim promise and his mother’s concern over his appearance, he doubted either would attend. Not only were the two of them busy preparing the House to host a large number of nobility and commoners for tomorrow’s Festival of Birth, but both acted as if the beating had never occurred. Such behavior wasn’t surprising from his mother, who fastidiously avoided subjects she deemed improper. As for his father, it was possible the man didn’t even remember the exchange considering how deep in his cups he had been.

Empty threat or not, Jos had practiced every waking moment he could, sleeping and eating little. Yesterday evening at dinner, he had nearly cornered his cousin and begged him to throw the fight, but Jos had overcome the urge, resisting his cowardice last night and then again right before coming here.

He would see this thing through, the consequences be damned.

Unable to hold still any longer, Jos prowled the sparing circle. As he walked, he noticed the tell-tale marks of matches past and, without thinking, he placed his boot into one of the many indentations. Reflexively, Jos pivoted to the side, dodging an imaginary cut. He followed the move with a lunge, landing in another set of footprints, drawing the rapier from the scabbard at his hip, leaning in for the attack--

And then he stopped, pulling his limbs together and straightening. He looked up, seeing the rising sun, as well as the edge of the departing moon. It seemed that the Lords and Lady would be watching him today, even if his parents were not. His foot discovered another groove, still fresh from a few days prior, and he fell back into the rhythm; a duck, a riposte, a slash. He danced from dip to dip, recreating every weave, stroke, and slice. It was all there, everything from his fateful duel with Aryn.

Jos performed the final thrust perfectly and held there: his weight forward, grip firm, and sword arm arrow straight. He had cheated, following Aryn’s steps for the last few strides, so that this time he ended on the side of the victor. The moment passed, and he sheathed his practice sword, turning to a road-dusted runner who stood waiting expectantly nearby.

The man had kept a respectful distance while Jos shadow sparred, but now he hurried closer, bowing as he proffered a folded letter. The paper was smooth and sealed by green wax stamped with the House Arress crest.

Curious, Jos accepted the note and opened it:

Dear Cousin,

I didn’t expect to be called home to Tress so soon for the summer raids, but the summons came in the early hours of the morning and commanded me to leave immediately. In my haste to depart, I’m embarrassed to say that I forgot to pen a message to you. Fortunately, the carriage I ride in contained the necessary supplies, for which I must thank your mother. Not only did she deliver the news to me herself, but she also arranged my travel, her kindness be praised.

I’m very sorry to miss our last duel today and even more so your rebirth tomorrow, but as you know better than I, duty binds us both. I can only hope that our time together will prove useful to you at Kellingherth. May Silver’s light guide you as you walk this new path.

Warm regards, Aryn

If there had been a chair on the green, Jos would have sat. As it was, he stood stiffly, trying to absorb the fact that everything he had worked so frantically for was suddenly meaningless. He thought he should feel happy or relieved, but all he could manage was a sense of overwhelming emptiness.

Only belatedly did he realize how furious this news would make his father, especially if the man had been planning to make good on his threat. And then there was the strange bit about Jos’s mother playing courier and steward. Aryn was his mother’s sister’s get, and the two women wrote, so her knowing of the summons wasn’t surprising, but why not leave the particulars to the House staff?

Shaking his head, Jos tucked the letter away. Whatever the reasons, the result was the same.

It seems I get to live a little bit longer.

Jos unsheathed his rapier, taking hold of the sword at both ends before quickly bringing it down over his raised leg. The thin blade barely resisted, folding near in half. He stared at the useless weapon for a moment and then tossed it into the taller grass of the outer circle. It disappeared into the green with a soft thump.

Jos turned to leave, but not before giving a slight nod to the empty space across from him, which many times Aryn had filled.

Goodbye, Cousin.