You Are Mine (Mine, #1)(15)
Cheers and laughter follow us as we nudge our way out of the throng. A few other women trudge in the direction of the tents. Why do they have to extend women's curfew on tournament nights? Balls I can understand, but this? I hope he never wants to take me to another tournament. Though, as a Chancellor's wife there is little hope of that.
He trips into a warlock at the edge of the crowd.
“Oops.” Thomas laughs. “Had a bit too much to drink tonight.” A gray apology spell, the kind I only ever see given to men, floats to the man he knocked into. I don't think the light means anything other than an apology, but maybe the spell does more than I know.
The man grins. “Win the tournament tomorrow and we'll call it even.”
“I will.” Thomas says, earning him a cheer.
I sigh as he pulls me from the crowd. We walk, rather I walk and he stumbles, as we move away from the buzz. The noise weakens, and for a few minutes, there is silence save for his greetings to those we pass. All seem to know him and call after him.
Eventually, we make it to the tented area. Most of the participants and spectators have been housed here all week. Father, and mother, always stayed in the tents before. Another reason for Father to adore having Thomas and his close house in the family.
The first tents are all around my height and gray. Men and women laugh and chatter as they dash in and out of sight. These shelters eventually give way to ones towering over them. The new tents are almost as large as my family home. Though I saw them when we were shown around earlier this morning, I still can't fathom why they are here. Who would bother with such bulky things? They would be a lot of work to put up, take down, and carry from place to place. As we move through the unreasonable-sized shelters, the noise of others fades.
The only people left in sight is a couple, embracing. This close, their height astounds me, but there's something more shocking. Their touch. A Master can touch his possessions, so I shouldn't be so surprised. Yet, this is different. It has a hesitance to it. His arms drape around her. Words pass between them too quiet for me to hear. The woman brushes her fingertip across the man's chin before dancing into a tent with a giggle.
“Stupid Envadi.” Thomas sways closer to me and trips over nothing, pulling on me. “Can't even party properly. Shouldn't even be here. They'll only spy on us more, try and steal our spells and our women. I'll show them tomorrow when I beat the last warlock they have in the tournament. I'll massacre him.”
I lean away from him as he chortles. Suddenly, he switches directions and hauls me between two of the tents. With his staggering, I didn't think he had much strength left, but the little resistance I give might as well be nonexistent.
“What are you doing? This isn't the way.” I tug harder, but he clutches me to him.
He moves closer, encircling me with the stench of alcohol and body odor. I want to scour everywhere he touches and breathes. With all the strength I can manage, I shove him. He falters back, taking me with him. For a moment we totter toward the ground, but I lean backward saving us from falling. He snarls.
“None of that, wench. My possessions don't get away from me. Besides, we'll be married soon enough, I just want a little taste.”
My pulse quickens. “No.”
The leer morphs into a snarl. “Don't you dare tell me no.”
Grabbing a fistful of hair, he yanks my head back. I scream. His hand clamps down on my mouth. Panic bubbles in me. I fight it and let anger boil from deep within. I didn't mean to steady him, as well. If only he would get his hands off me.
Punishments have never included such close contact. Tears build in my eyes. I can't let him compromise me. Even if I have to break other laws to do it. I just want him off. I get ready to knee him in the one place I know will weaken his hold. The one place a woman is never to harm.
A hand grabs my shoulder. I'm caught. Will they tarnish me if I didn't commit the offense? Time slows. A fist swings toward me. Before I can pull back, it slams into Thomas's face. He flies backward into the tent wall. It sags against his weight until he crumples to the ground.
I stare down at him. What just happened? Did someone accidentally hit Thomas instead of me? I look at the hand that steadies me, and move my gaze up. He's taller than any man I've ever met. About a foot taller than me. An Envadi.
“Why're you standing around?” He spits and kicks Thomas in the stomach.
I blink. He meant to hit Thomas? And kick him? What did Thomas do to him to cause such anger? If he's willing to do that to another warlock, what are the Envadi willing to do to me? I grasp my trembling hands together. Going to the tent should be my goal, but I can't move. Thomas is still motionless on the ground.
“He'll live. Get a move on.”
He shifts far enough to the side that I can skirt past him. If he wants to keep his anger directed at Thomas, I won't stop him. My feet can finally move. I need no more encouragement. Not looking at Thomas again, I dart past and break into a run. The large tents give way to orange tents my height. My breaths are short, painful gasps.
More people mill about, mostly women, but a few warlocks stand guard around the edges of the tents. While steadying my breathing, I slow to a fast walk until I'm safely inside my tent. A slew of women look up as I stumble in. The cots fill the tent barely leaving room to walk.
As soon as she spies me, Cynthia weaves her way to me. “What happened?”