Lucien looked satisfied. Owen could see it in the way he stood, the faint lift of his chin. He looked like a man who already knew how tomorrow would end.
Alaric took his brother by the arm.
"This stopped being a petty quarrel the moment you opened your mouth about the wager," he said, low enough that only those closest heard it. "Whatever happens tomorrow, you’re the one who has to live with it."
Lucien shook his hand off and walked away. Alaric followed him without another word.
Owen watched them go. What had started as Clara turning down a dance had become something far more serious than he had ever expected.
Slowly, the crowd began to drift apart again, though the whispers followed it.
Owen found he had had enough of the ball for one night.
"I think I’m going back to the inn," he said to Clara and Elise.
"So are we," Elise said, and Clara nodded.
William came over before they left. "Ten o’clock. The East Martial Court."
"I know."
"Good." William didn’t say anything more about it. He seemed to understand that Owen didn’t need another conversation about it tonight.
"Thank you for staying close back there," Owen said.
"Any time." William clapped him on the shoulder. "Get some sleep."
Owen offered Clara and Elise each an arm, and the three of them made their way out of the ballroom.
Hugh was waiting with the Ferrers escort just outside the reception hall. He looked up in surprise as they came out.
"Young Master. You’re early. Has something happened?"
"There’s been a dispute with Lucien de Clare," Owen said. "I’ll explain when we’re back at the inn."
Hugh’s eyes went to the sisters’ faces. He didn’t ask anything else. He simply turned and signaled for the carriage.
The coachman brought it around. Owen handed Clara and Elise up, then climbed in after them, and Hugh took his place with the mounted escort.
The carriage rolled out through the palace gates and into the lit streets of the capital. Little by little, the noise around the palace fell away behind them. Shops were closing their shutters, and the people still out were heading home.
Clara was unusually quiet.
"I only said no," she said finally, looking out of the window. "And now someone could lose a hand. Or you could lose a year."
"Lucien chose to make it this," Owen said. "Every step of the way. Accepting the wager was his choice too."
Elise had been watching him across the carriage. "If you win," she said, "do you really mean to hold him to it?"
"I meant it when I said it," Owen said. "I haven’t decided what I’d take."
Neither sister said anything after that. Clara turned back to the window. Elise kept looking at him a moment longer, then looked away.
The carriage drew up in the courtyard of the Imperial Laurel Inn. Hugh saw to the escort while Owen walked the sisters inside.
"Good night, my lord," Clara said at the foot of the stairs. "We’ll be coming with you tomorrow."
"Both of us," Elise said.
Owen went up to his suite.
Agnes was waiting for him, sitting carefully in one of the chairs with her injured shoulder supported. She looked up as he came in.
"You’re back early, Young Master. How was the ball?"
"Good," Owen said. "Until I ended up in a dispute with Lucien de Clare."
"That sounds unpleasant." She said it the way someone would about a rude guest at dinner. "What did he do?"
"I’ve agreed to fight him tomorrow morning."
Agnes’s face changed completely.
Owen told her the rest. When he got to the wager, she sat up so quickly that she winced and had to put a hand to her side.
"Young Master. Do you understand what you’ve agreed to?"
"I do."
"A year in de Clare service. And you’re still recovering." She looked at him, and there was no reproach in it, only worry. "I’ve seen how you’ve been holding yourself since the forest. I don’t doubt what you can do. I’ve watched you do it. But your ribs haven’t healed."
"I know," Owen said. He didn’t brush it aside. "The match is supervised. There’ll be physicians there, and the captain can stop it. I’m not going into it carelessly."
Hugh knocked and came in a short while later, once the escort had been seen to. Owen told him what had happened, and Hugh listened without interrupting. Then he asked what he needed to know.
"Where, and when?"
"The East Martial Court. Ten o’clock."
"Who’s supervising?"
"Captain Halden Voss of the Imperial Guard."
"Armaments allowed? And powers?"
"Both."
"Who’s allowed to watch?"
"Guests from the ball, recognized household representatives and authorized attendants. They’re controlling entry at the East Gate."
Hugh nodded slowly. "Then I’ll arrange for us to go in through the East Gate, and I’ll make sure the escort keeps to the restrictions."
"I’m coming as well," Agnes said.
Owen looked at the hand still resting against her side.
"I can manage a carriage ride, Young Master," she said, before he could say anything. "I’m not asking to do anything else."
"Then you stay with the rest of the party," Owen said. "You don’t try to help once it starts. Whatever happens."
Agnes held his eyes for a moment. "Yes, Young Master."
Hugh went to finish the arrangements. Agnes made sure Owen had everything laid out for the morning, then told him firmly to rest before she left.
Owen sat alone for a while afterward.
Lucien came from the de Clare axe lineage. That much he knew. But he had never seen him fight. He didn’t know what his armament could do, or how good he really was. There was no point making up answers he didn’t have.
What he did know was how much reach a heavy axe could have, and how hard it could hit. And someone willing to bet a part of his own body on the result was either very good or very sure of himself. Probably both.
His ribs were the other problem. He would have to be careful about taking heavy blows directly, and about overextending.
He thought about going down to the courtyard to train. Then he thought about how his side had felt halfway through a single dance.
Rest would do him more good than wearing himself out tonight.
He went to bed.
The next morning, the inn was busier than usual.
As Owen came down through the dining room, he heard two guests at a table by the window.
"—a Ferrers and a de Clare. In the palace itself, this morning."
"And the wager. Have you heard what they wagered?"
"I don’t believe anyone will actually be allowed to go through with it."
Owen kept walking. News of the challenge had clearly travelled well beyond the people who had been there to hear it.
Hugh was in the courtyard, overseeing the carriage and the mounted soldiers. Agnes was already waiting by the carriage in plain travelling clothes, moving carefully.
Clara and Elise came down shortly after.
"Are you ready?" Clara asked.
"I am."
Elise looked at him for a moment. She seemed to notice how calm he was. She didn’t ask anything else, but she climbed into the carriage like someone who fully intended to see this through.
"The way to the East Gate is clear, Young Master," Hugh said. "And we have authorization for the East Martial Court."
The coachman opened the door. Owen handed Clara and Elise up, then helped Agnes in after them, taking her good arm so she wouldn’t have to use her injured shoulder. Then he climbed in himself.
Outside, Hugh mounted and signaled to the soldiers.
The carriage pulled out of the courtyard and into the streets, heading for the East Martial Court and the match at ten o’clock.