Sir Gregory stepped out from behind the overturned table, dusted the ash off his boots, and exhaled in relief. Not even a scuff on the shiny leather. He ran fingers over his cape made from a manticore’s pelt. That, too, was as luxurious as ever. He stared through the broken wall at the departing
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“Bert! Another.”
I throw my empty tankard against the wall, where it clangs and rolls under a table. The customers there give me a look of wariness and move to hide in a shadowed corner. They are the fortuitous ones. Shadows no longer hide me.
Bert gives me a look of disgust as he slams the fresh
I’d better get that blueberry pie. It’s the only reason I signed up for this ridiculous jousting tournament. Cielo di Spala loosened his hold on the horse’s reins and gripped his lance. A breeze fluttered the frayed, sky blue handkerchief tied around the pole. Alessia’s handkerchief. His ladylove sat in the front row,
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