The Robber Knight's Protege

12 - How to Get Hooked

Fortunately, Xander could read. The tournament would begin in two months, at the beginning of autumn. It would last for one week, beginning with a ball on the first evening and ending with another ball after the winners were announced. Fye listened as Xander read the rest of the details, which outlined the schedule for the different events and penalties for breaking the rules. The document also had a rough map of the tournament grounds that were being constructed at Winterhaven as well as suggestions on etiquette, etc.

Two months! That ought to be enough time for Fye to prepare adequately. She might even be able to master jousting in that amount of time.

In a little over two months, Fye might be appointed as a knight. At the very least, everyone in the region would know the name Fye Underbush.

Her glee carried her through the rest of the day and all the way home. Xander, her fake suitor, rode with her to the house—which was where a beaming Margaret met them.

"I defeated a real knight today!" Fye sang as she got off Titan's back.

"How nice, dear." For all of Margaret's enthusiasm, Fye might have just announced that she had found a tree in the forest—a tree made out of wood! But Margaret's sunshine-bright smile returned when she looked at Xander. "Xander, will you join us for supper?"

"I, er—"

"Of course he will!" Fye said as she latched onto Xander's arm. "We have to celebrate."

"Celebrate?" Margaret asked. She gasped. "You're engaged already? My dear—"

"No!" Fye shouted. "No, no, no. I mean...er...not yet. I was talking about celebrating me defeating that rotten Sir Antwerp."

"Oh." Margaret frowned. "I see. Well, go get yourself cleaned up. And brush your hair!"

Rolling her eyes, Fye did as instructed. She changed into a simple gray dress and, much to her own chagrin, brushed her hair. She began at the ends and tried to tug all the knots, rats, and other mysterious objects out of it. By the time she finished, her hair had gone from wild, free, and neglected to slightly less wild, slightly less free, and entirely boring. Why did any women ever brush their hair, anyway? She pulled the recently tamed mane into a knot at the back of her head and went into the living room, where Xander sat on a bench, sipping wine.

Without his armor, he was even more imposing than usual—if that was possible. The soft fabric of his clothes hinted at the untold wonders underneath.

Untold wonders? I'm losing my mind! He is a man. A man who is useful for two things. Well, perhaps three things: reading, training, and making my mother happy.

Fye sat in an unoccupied chair. Her mother, who knelt in front of the pot of stew over the fire, cleared her throat.

"Are you all right?" Fye asked.

"Yes, dear." She cleared her throat again and looked at Xander.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"Quite well, dear." She cleared her throat even more loudly and jerked her head in Xander's direction.

Fye frowned. Her mother was trying to tell her something, she was sure. If only Fye spoke "woman."

Finally, Margaret let out an exasperated sigh. "Dear, why don't you sit next to Xander?"

Oh. That was the translation for throat-clearing and head-jerking. Obvious. Fye should have known that from the start.

"I don't see why I should," Fye said. "He's just..." Just my fake suitor, and according to Xander, courting couples always want to be close to one another. She moved to the bench where Xander was, sitting close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. She liked him better when he wore armor; he was less dangerous that way.