One hour later, Lyssia was still suffering dizziness from her double vision, and her ears were exhausted.

Sidne had wasted no time in proving Lyssia’s assumptions correct. She kept up a soft, constant commentary as the boys brandished spears and staffs and chased each other back and forth across the yard. She directed most of her comments to Nimeah, but every once in a while, she would attempt to pull Lyssia into the conversation. Lyssia stuck to two word answers, her attention riveted by the display of brutality before her.

Lyssia had to close her eyes at times to protect herself from her dizziness. She suspected that she would be better off if she'd gotten a chance to eat the pastry Azerian had brought her. She'd left it on the ground by the performer's bench. Her stomach turned at the thought of sweet things. Some bread would be nice though, and water. She was parched.

There was nothing to be done about it now unless she wished to call more attention to herself and risk disturbing the bout. She imagined her father standing above her and issuing a challenge to practice patience and fortitude. Even as a figment of her imagination, his look of disappointment was piercing. She dared not risk it.

There was little finesse in the boys' movements. Jarlsons were raised to protect their homes. They would have had need to use their skills for anything besides hunting and sport, but she knew that one and all had been educated and trained and likely had it in them to try to use their heads.

They just seemed to prefer blunt hacking and muscle flexing. There was no shortage of glances thrown her way, but she tried to avoid locking eyes with a participant until they fell. She rewarded every boy who was forced out of the arena with five seconds of eye contact and a wide smile. Hopefully, some show of appreciation - heartfelt or not - would help soothe the young men's bruised prides.

In Lyssia's opinion, Azerian alone displayed any power of the brain. That was why he kept in the game while being set against older opponents, equipped with more training and muscle.

He was quick.

He was nimble.

He was devious.

The rule set forth by Roakev - the organizer of the bout - was that a win be called if an opponent was disarmed or made contact with the yard's railing. Lyssia only saw Azerian face an opponent in actual combat once. He avoided the direct approach, choosing instead to pick off those Jarlsons who ventured too near the edge. A well-placed boot and a low jab from the butt of a staff was all he needed.

One by one, contenders were thrown to the ground until only three remained armed in the wooden circle - Roakev, Azerian, and...Magnor.

Kongr Magnor.

A look passed between Lyssia's cousins. They had to be thinking the same thing Lyssia was thinking. If Kongre Magnor stood before them, they would not hesitate. But was it wise to attack a visiting Kongr, even in jest?

Neither Roakev nor Azerian advanced, but neither did they lower their weapons. Magnor surveyed them, an odd tilt to his head, and then he turned and looked at Lyssia. A smile teasing the edges of her mouth up, she nodded. It was a small, inconspicuous movement, but she knew he saw it when he turned back to shake his staff at Roakev.

“Come on!”

Roakev uttered a wordless cry and advanced. Azerian followed a step behind. They attacked Magnor together, Roakev from the right and Azerian from the left. Magnor held his own, refusing to allow either of them to get to his legs, and Azerian soon backed off.

He circled around behind Magnor and left the fight to Roakev. Magnor tried to keep Azerian in his sights, but Roakev increased his attacks, and Magnor was stuck fending him off. Lyssia waited for Azerian to strike, but long minutes passed while Azerian watched from his crouched position across from her. He stretched his back, dropped his spear, and rubbed his calf muscles.

He’s letting them tire themselves out, Lyssia thought.

When he finally chose to strike, it was fast. One moment he was rolling his spear in the dirt, his head tilted toward the ground and his hand kneading the back of his neck. The next moment he was springing forward and driving the butt of his spear into the back of Magnor’s legs - left, right, left - dropping the Dunival Kongr to his knees.

Magnor rolled out of the way, narrowly avoiding the double strike that would have knocked him onto his back. But he was off balance now. It didn’t take more than a few whacks from Roakev’s staff to send him tumbling back to the ground. His weapon went flying.

Roakev was still advancing, but he backed off quickly when Magnor raised his hands in surrender, turning, instead, to confront Azerian. Lyssia clenched the edge of her chair to keep herself from jumping up. Roakev’s bared teeth made it look like he was growling, a bjurn staring down its nose at a wily little fovk.

Azerian did not wait for Roakev to attack him. As soon as Magnor had indicated his defeat, Azerian threw his spear into the center of the yard. Hands raised, he walked forward until he stood in front of Roakev, bent his head, and eased himself to the ground.

Roakev stared down at him, his lips twisted into a grim line. He stood there for a long moment, considering who knew what, before shifting his grip on the staff in his hand and rapping his younger cousin on the head. Azerian winced but took the beating without complaint.

Roakev stepped back, his staff raised again in victory. The crowd erupted into cheers. Azerian stood and waved his arms around to get everyone’s attention. Then he clasped Roakev by the shoulder and turned him to face Lyssia.

“Your champion, Drottine!"

Lyssia quirked an eyebrow at his choice of words. Releasing her chair, she stood and raised a hand to her heart. The gesture allowed her a moment to compose herself as she pretended to be overcome with emotion.

Awe would be appropriate given the circumstance, and some pride as well. Certainly a level of diplomatic hope was acceptable. A measure of reserved poise, but perhaps also a touch of youthful joy for the game.

There couldn't possibly be a facial expression that could convey all that. Given the chance, Lyssia would have had to give it her best shot. As it was, all she could do was will every appropriate emotion she could think of into her posture.

"I am overcome with pride for both your foresight in organizing this entertainment and for your victory, Roakev. You were quite impressive. Although...I think your mother agrees that this outcome is not surprising."

Lyssia smiled down at Nimeah who, despite her wide, startled eyes, managed to nod and turn a smile on her son.

"You make me proud to call you cousin. I will enjoy a special drink to celebrate your skill at supper tonight. I call for us all to enjoy a special drink!"

The men in the crowd shouted approval once again, and Lyssia paused to allow them their small celebration. The Dunival party, although they kept separate from the rest of the crowd, could be heard cheering above the rest.

Roakev shifted uncomfortably, and his hands clenched tighter around his practice weapon. Lyssia was surprised at how quickly his display of bravado ebbed. She was taking up too much time and attention away from him.

She threw him another smile before lifting a hand to wave for silence. It was so difficult not to reach out and steady herself on the rail before her. She closed her eyes for a moment, willing her troubled vision to settle at last.

"Do not think I take pride in our champion alone. Well done, Jarlsons of Ilvana, one and all. Azerian, my cousin. Kongr Magnor."

She inclined her head as she acknowledged the two left in the ring with Roakev. Azerian returned an enthusiastic bow. Magnor was still on the ground. He had shifted to a seated position, but he was either too tired or too distracted to stand.

Roakev followed her gaze and started when he saw the Kongr of Dunival sitting where he had been unceremoniously dumped. He rushed to offer Magnor a hand up.

Magnor clasped his shoulder once standing and began to praise his friend's skill in a loud voice as the pack of Jarlsons descended upon them.

Lyssia took that as her cue to slip away from the exercise yard. Walking as quickly as she dared, she returned to the bench where she had left her bowed lyra and Azerian's flutes. The squashed pastry was still there - a blood-red stain on the ground - but the instruments were gone.

"Drottine?"

She jumped at the hand on her elbow, but it was only Sidne.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked.

"No, I must return to my studies."

"Of course." Sidne bobbed a quick curtsy, her hands clasped atop her belly.

"Wait, could you..." Lyssia hesitated. It felt wrong to have a pregnant woman run her errand, but she had offered. "I would be very grateful if you could ask someone in the kitchens to bring a meal up to my room. Nothing heavy. Just tell them to bring whatever is on hand. Bread would be nice."

"I could use a snack myself," Sidne said, her hand inching lower to give her round stomach a pat. "I'll bring a tray to your room, and I'll make sure not to disturb you."

"Yes, thank you, but please do not overexert yourself on my behalf."

Lyssia glanced one last time back at her cousins standing in the midst of their raucous group of friends. The pull to jump into the yard with them was undeniably strong. She turned her back on them before she did something that would embarrass them all. Throwing a parting smile toward Sidne and her aunt, she hurried off and didn't stop until she had reached the safety of her room.

**********

Lyssia fully intended to spend the rest of her day in private study. Bjarke had taken the time to make her a copy of the official treatise of peace he had penned twelve years ago on the day kinship was first proclaimed between Dunival and Ilvana. The only way to repay such a gift was to read it.

So with a heavy sigh, she retrieved the clay teapot she kept in her room for moments such as this, filled it with a measure of water, added a couple handfuls of Seaka's calming tea blend, and set it over the fire.

After the cacophony she had experienced outside, she wasn't sure if the quiet of her room felt oppressing or relaxing. She shook the thought from her head as she released the tie that kept her hair secured.

Relaxing.She stripped off her shoes and leggings, grabbed her copy of the treaty, and jumped onto her bed. She rolled over onto her front after tucking her feet under a blanket. Her hair hung half over the page, and she had to keep rolling her head from side to side to keep reading, but she couldn't bring herself to sit upright.

Definitely relaxing.

She was only three pages in before a knock sounded at the door. It was quiet enough that if she hadn’t been lying still with her head turned toward the door she might have missed it, but it startled her. Somehow between the exercise yard and the stairs, she had forgotten about her hunger.

Her stomach constricted painfully as she rolled to the side and out of bed. She hurried to remove the teapot from the fire and placed it on the floor beside the grate before turning to the door.

Sidne had managed to secure her a larger meal than she had asked for. It looked like a whole roasted chcken sat atop a plate surrounded by a hearty mash made out of potatoes, peas, and carrots. A small loaf of bread balanced on the edge of the plate, its end just touching the thick gravy that was served on the side of the chicken. She had included a drinking skin filled with what smelled like watered-down wine, and hidden underneath it was a small covered container of honeyed butter.

Lyssia's eyes locked onto the chicken, and her mouth began to water. She picked up the heavy tray and took it to her desk, moving carefully so as not to spill anything. She turned back to close the door, but the sound of footsteps shuffling along the hall between her room and her father’s made her pause.Surely, it wasn't Sidne returning with more food. One chicken was more than enough to feed one hungry girl.

Steeling herself, Lyssia hurried back to the door and peeked out into the hall.

“Drottine.”

Lyssia stared silently at the masked man who approached her. It took her a moment to place him. It was the man who had shadowed Magnor earlier. The man whom he had introduced as his second. She did not know his name, nor even what the position entailed, so all she could do was nod in reply to his brusque greeting.

“My Kongr has sent me on an errand to return these to you."

He extended his arms, and Lyssia gasped in surprise.

"My instruments!" She took the flutes first and tucked them carefully into the sash at her waist before accepting her lyra and club from the messenger. She cradled the large instrument to her chest. "Tha---"

"He also sends this. Take care. The ink will not have dried yet.”

“Yes. Of...of course. Thank you.” Lyssia shifted the lyra to her hip and took hold of the edge of the page he held out, angling it to keep it as flat as possible. “Thank you,” she said again, not sure what else to say.

The man nodded in response and retreated down the hall toward her father’s room. She stepped back inside her room and listened for the sound of his boots on the stairs before closing the door.

The meal sat, forgotten for the moment, on the desk while she set the instruments aside, climbed back onto her bed, and laid Magnor’s note beside the papers she had been studying. The words Handsome Little Songbird were scrawled across the top in large, blocky letters, but Handsome had been crossed out and replaced with Pretty. The rest of the page was filled with minuscule script written in a harried hand.........

**********

Lyssia’s eyes skimmed the page, trying to find meaning in the phrases. It wasn’t a note, it was a poem. No, not a poem. A lullaby.........