Peyn still looked irritated as he took the center once again to deliver his final return:

“Would it please for me to speak,

Of snapping vines and gnashing teeth?

Of cutting ferns splitting flesh,

And blood upon the ground?

Would it seem repentant,

To glorify screams and death?

Very well, I shall regale those here

With visions of bodies torn and entrails laid bare

Of blood upon leaf and bough

And perhaps then my apology will feel sincere.”

Messo sighed, “He got more caught up being mad at Klesmi than staying on theme…”

“Do you have a favorite, Lord Braelin?” Ieresti asked, leaning back again.

“Well,” Braelin hummed a little, “Klesmi actually knew the names of the plants, and I thought the rhyming was nice, so probably cer.”

“It pays to stay on topic,” Ieresti chuckled.

Klesmi nodded to cer opponent before taking the center for cer final lines:

“As you have appeased my desires,

So too shall I honor yours -

At night I wish to bask in blossom fire,

And now I can during a casual tour

I apologize for rudeness ignorantly given,

Unearned for those who kept harm at bay

And I hope I will be forgiven

While I share a meal someday

I’ll feast with these our fierce protectors,

And so honor them in all sectors.”

As Klesmi stepped back, the crowd offered applause for both performances.

“A very classy response from cer,” Ieresti commented.

“Indeed, indeed,” Messo nodded, “Even without the preference for accuracy of the guest of honor, I think ce had a stronger showing tonight.”

“Was there a reason they got shorter as they went?” Braelin asked.

“Ah, yes,” Ieresti replied, “It’s generally expected to keep each return slightly shorter than the last, or else the event can really drag on all night.”

“And some combatants can use too many lines attacking their opponent instead of focusing on the subject,” Messo sighed.

“That can be pretty entertaining in its own right,” Ieresti snorted.

“Thank you both for a wonderful performance!” Dajor grinned as she stepped into the center herself, ignoring the way Peyn was glaring at Klesmi while ce smiled in self-satisfaction. Their host went on, “Now, please enjoy more refreshments and talk amongst yourselves whilst I decide which performance was stronger tonight!”

“Here she comes,” Ieresti chuckled.

“Be nice, or I swear I will stab you again,” Messo threatened.

Ieresti rolled their eyes.

“Your highness, how did you enjoy the performance?” Lady Dajor asked, shooting Ieresti a glare.

They smiled banally back, fluttering their hand fan.

Messo offered a much too strained grin to their host.

“A good showing from both combatants,” Jurao nodded.

“Excellent, excellent!” Dajor nodded, “And you, Lord Braelin?”

“I enjoyed it,” Braelin replied, “My brother used to be an avid poet - I think he would enjoy trying his hand at this style.”

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“Ah, yes, the elven brother?” Dajor inquired, “I’ve seen him in the library quite frequently!”

“I hope it’s the petty prince,” Ieresti snorted.

“My older brother - Malson, who is the, ah, petty prince,” Braelin chuckled.

“The one courting Lord Goyl?” Messo gasped in delight, apparently forgetting her own intentions to seek Dajor’s favor.

“That’s the one,” Braelin nodded.

“I… see,” Lady Dajor nodded, “Well, I suppose many… physical duelists also spar verbally…”

“And projection won’t be an issue at all,” Ieresti smiled.

“In any case,” Dajor cleared her throat, “Did you, as the guest of honor, perhaps have a favorite…?”

Braelin hummed and replied, “Not particularly.”

Ieresti and Messo shared a look of raised brows but didn’t comment. The others in their immediate vicinity also shared looks of confusion.

Why would he not say Klesmi? Jurao wondered, but only said, “Both combatants did very well, it is difficult to choose. I am sure your job as a judge is often so.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Dajor nodded, then bowed, “Well, excuse me as I deliberate!”

When she was far enough away, Jurao asked, “Why did you not say who your favorite was.”

“Well,” Braelin sighed, petting Petal’s tendrils, “She only wanted to know because she thinks making my favorite the winner will make me like her more. I don’t particularly dislike her, but that seems unfair to Peyn and Klesmi. Even if others also think ce had a stronger performance.”

“How very noble of you,” Ieresti chuckled good-naturedly, “The court could use more of that, sometimes.”

“It can be very frustrating to see a stronger poet lose due to favoritism,” Messo sighed, “Even if, in this case, I would agree with the choice, I support the principle.”

“What kind of poet is your brother, though?” Ieresti asked, “Something to do with syllables?”

“We only really had one form of poetry in Jost,” Braelin agreed, “Malson explained it to me on occasion, but there was definitely something about the amount of syllables and… stresses…? It seemed complicated, but it sounded nice.”

“I’d be excited to hear it!” Messo nodded, “Northern Reaches poetry has such a distinct cadence, but I didn’t realize there was an actual rule that made it that way! I thought it was just how that language group sounded!”

“Especially taking translation into account,” Ieresti nodded, “The Mutual Understanding Wish must have been some task for the deities, to even keep things like rhyming schemes intact.”

“It is very convenient, though,” Braelin said, “I’ve very little head for languages.”

“Alright, it’s time to announce the winner of the first match!” Dajor called once more in the center of the room.

Those who had left their seats returned, as did the combatants.

“After much deliberation, I have chosen…” Lady Dajor not so subtly glanced their way before sighing, “Klesmi as this match’s winner!”

There was applause for the winner, of course, and soon the next two combatants were brought forward. There were only two more matches that night - Ieresti and Messo continuing to provide commentary through the matches and Braelin never revealing his favored combatant in any match to their host.

After the last match, the guests and combatants remained to mingle.

“It’s nice to formally meet you, by the way, Lord Braelin,” Ieresti said, having turned around on their bench so they could all speak face to face, “I didn’t join the line at the end of your ceremony, but I’ve seen you about the gardens before.”

“You can say hello to me then,” Braelin said.

Ieresti waved a hand, “You always seemed busy with something, and I’d heard you were shy and didn’t want to impose.”

“I appreciate the consideration,” Braelin sighed, “But it’s really only crowds paying attention to me that bothers me.”

“Oh, is that why this is your first court event?” Messo asked, then coughed, “If you don’t mind my asking.”

“It is,” Braelin sighed, “More or less.”

“Lordis Gavven was kind enough to set up smaller events like this,” Jurao nodded, “To… familiarize the court slowly.”

Ieresti snapped their fingers, “That’s why we were invited!”

“Oh, you’re probably right,” Messo nodded.

“What do you mean?” Braelin asked.

“Due to someone not being able to hold their tongue,” Messo said.

“I’m not sorry,” Ieresti snorted.

Messo sighed, “Lady Dajor hasn’t been inviting us to her poetry battles lately - we were surprised to be invited to this one, but if Lordis Gavven had a hand in it…”

“We’re queerplatonically married, by the way,” Ieresti said, “I’m sure Dajor would have been happy to try and steal Messo away from me otherwise.”

Messo smacked her comaes with her fan, but with a fond smile as she remanded, “Oh, we were inseparable long before we wed.”

“That’s why I said, try, spitfire,” Ieresti smirked.

“Oh, you,” Messo rolled her eyes and shook her head, “I can’t take them anywhere, but the funniest thing is, I can’t go anywhere without them!”

Braelin chuckled, “I can’t see why you’d want to.”

“See?” Ieresti snorted, “You’re not the only one who can recognize my charm.”

“We attend a few other poetry circles that are… mm, more exclusive,” Messo smiled, “I’m sure Lordis Gavven was sticking to the more public events for the court introduction, but when your schedule clears, we could get you an invitation. If you’re interested.”

“Especially if you bring your brother,” Ieresti grinned lazily, “He seems fun, and he’d fit in with our rowdier circles, I’m sure.”

“I am interested - and I’m sure Malson would be happy to attend,” Braelin said.

After some more idle chatter with the pair, Jurao and Braelin excused themselves for the night. When they arrived back at Jurao’s suite, Feyl was waiting for them.

“So, how did it go?” he asked, lounging in one of the chairs. It was the first time in a while Jurao had seen his best friend dressed down since Braelin had started staying with him - he was surprised it was such a short interval, more than anything.

“It was nice,” Braelin replied, pulling the clip out of his hair as he walked over to the couch.

Since he was also dressed down, Jurao joined them right away, “We met a nice couple.”

Petal ambled over to their basin, flipping over to sink into the water happily.

“Oh?” Feyl asked, making his first move in the already set Ascension game.

“Ieresti and Messo,” Braelin replied, cupping his chin before scooting forward and setting up a third place.

“Ah, I can see why Gavven would throw them in your path,” Festi snorted, “Ieresti is head of the clay artisans branch - they oversaw the making of your irrigation pots. I think they’ve been intrigued since then.”

“I like that they’re honest,” Braelin said, making his own move.

“I’m sure,” Feyl chuckled, “Though it does get them into trouble occasionally…”

“I can see that,” Jurao said, taking his own move, “You’re acquainted.”

“We run into each other from time to time,” Feyl hummed, “They can be very entertaining at… duller events. Messo, too - if you can keep her away from anyone with the power to throw her out from overhearing.”

“They offered to get us invitations to other poetry circles,” Braelin said, “I think Malson would enjoy trying it.”

“He’s a poet?” Feyl asked, “I thought Forvi was making that up…”

“Used to be, at least,” Braelin replied.

This is nice, Jurao thought - not for the first time, and he doubted very much for the last.