The first knight to enter was named Grenville. He was dressed in black velvet over armor painted gold, and he was surrounded by half a dozen young pages also wearing black and gold. Before him went four trumpeters announcing Grenville's arrival. Behind the trumpeters were fifteen pretty young girls wearing saffron-yellow gowns, baskets in their arms as they spread rose petals on the ground for Grenville's horse to tread upon.
"The horses will make a mess of the roses," Severn said, and Zared joined him in his ridicule. She wanted some way to feel superior, but as Zared looked about and saw merchants dressed better than the Peregrines she wished she had not been allowed to attend the tournament.
As the procession continued Zared realized that Grenville's show had been one of the tamest. Some men entered with plays being performed before them. Others had entire orchestras. One man had a long, flat wagon pulled by six beautiful black horses, and on the wagon was a man dressed as St. George who was trying to slay a twenty-foot-long green dragon that hissed at him.
With each entry Zared sank a little lower in her saddle. Perhaps if she closed her eyes and wished hard enough she would find herself safe at home, away from the humiliation she was going to face. The people in the stands were applauding each entrant as he rode past. Would they laugh when the Peregrines came by?
"You!"
Zared turned to see a boy near her own age looking up at her. He was holding a lovely tunic of red velvet up to her. "What is this?" she asked.
"It's from my master," the boy said angrily. "He said to give it to you."
Charity, Zared thought, and the steel returned to her spine. "Tell your master I want nothing from him."
"From the look of you, you need everything."
Zared didn't think what she did, but she took her foot out of the stirrup and hit the boy in the chest, sending him sprawling.
"Behave yourself!" Severn bellowed at her, taking his anger about the procession out on her.
"But he offered me—" she began, stopping when she saw a man bend to help the boy from the dirt. He was the most beautiful human she'd ever seen: blond hair, white skin, blue eyes, armor of silver that was draped with white silk
embroidered with silver roses.
Zared's mouth fell open as she stared at the man.
"Forgive my squire," the man said, and his voice flowed over Zared like hot honey. "I sent the tunic. I thought perhaps, through an accident, all of your garments were lost. I meant only kindness."
"I… we…" Zared could only gape, not able to say a coherent word. She didn't know men could be so beautiful.
"We need no charity!" Severn bellowed at the stranger. "We have all we need to fight. I am no popinjay who must wear flowers in order to fight," he said sneeringly.
The boy whom Zared had knocked down turned into a fighting cat. "You know not who you speak to!" he yelled. "This is Colbrand. He will knock you off your horse before you enter the lists."
"Jamie!" Colbrand said sharply. "Leave us."
The boy Jamie gave Zared a defiant look, then turned away. "Forgive him," Colbrand said to Severn. "He is young, and this is his first tournament."
Severn didn't answer, just glared.
Colbrand smiled at Zared, and she nearly fell off her horse. His smile was like a ray of sunshine on a rainy day. "I did not mean any offense. Good luck to you all."
She watched as he turned away. He bolted into the saddle of a white horse that was clothed in white that had been embroidered with more silver roses.
She was still gaping at him, her chin down about her waist, when Severn hit her on the shoulder so hard she almost fell out of her saddle.
"Get that look off your face," he growled.
Zared tried, but it wasn't easy. She watched Colbrand enter the procession. Before him went six men carrying hand-held harps. Behind them came six more men with trumpets. Then came six knights on white horses carrying Colbrand's weapons. Colbrand rode alone, his squire and more retainers behind him.
All of Colbrand's people, from musicians to knights, wore white and silver. Zared thought his group stood out splendidly from all the colorful spectacles that had gone before him. She sighed, for not only was he beautiful, but so were his horse and his clothes and his—
"We ride," Severn said, and Zared could tell from his voice that he was angry. She straightened. It was better to get it over with, she thought.
Severn was indeed angry. Theirs were the last name to be called to enter the procession, and already he could see that some of the people in the stands were beginning to leave. It was time for dinner, and they'd looked down the line, seen that the Peregrines lacked the sumptuous attire of the others, and decided they were not worth seeing.
Anger raged through him. People were judging men on the sparkle of their clothes and not on their skill at arms. Since when was a man's worth based on what he wore instead of how he acted?