Suriax by Amanda Young Page A

she
handed him her marked hand. To his credit, he took it, placing a
kiss directly on one of the flame marks.
    “Your Highness,” she returned in kind,
speaking softly to avoid distracting people from the fight. “I’m
pleased you could make it tonight.”
    “I missed you at the celebrations the past
two days.”
    Maerishka smiled apologetically. The first
day after her pact was made, she could barely move from the pain.
Once that subsided, she felt stronger, more energetic, but she
still did not know what to do about her markings. What, if anything
should she reveal to her subjects? Should she hide them from her
visitors? Royals and lords were notoriously easy to spook when
other leaders gained a substantial amount of power. Blessing from a
god would definitely fall into that category. She did not want to
scare any of her trade partners away or provoke a fearful attack.
And if anyone found out why she made her bargain, it could mean the
end of her reign. She needed to handle this situation carefully to
avoid unwanted consequences. Finally, she opted to wear them
proudly. Should anyone have the guts to question her about them,
she would say they were a blessing from Venerith. That was all
anyone needed to know. If she was too afraid to show the markings
she did not deserve to have them. “Are you familiar at all with the
Tournament of Fire?” she asked.
    “I’ve heard of it of course, but I’ve never
had the pleasure to witness it. Is it true it only comes around
once a decade?”
    “That is correct, however, we do hold many
other competitions and smaller tournaments regularly. They are
usually only for locals. The Tournament of Fire invites people from
all over the continent to participate. Winning is a very high
honor.”
    The crowd cheered and Maerishka turned her
attention back to the match. Zanden was performing very well. She
would need to keep her eye on him.
     
    * * *
     
    “Just sit tight. We will be on the way,
soon.” The merchant dropped the blanket covering the produce on his
wagon, leaving Thomas, Marcy and Frex in darkness. The wagon was
specially designed for transporting restricted items. It had a
false bottom with a hidden compartment roughly six feet long by
five feet wide. It was only deep enough to allow a person to lie
flat and to fit all three of them, Marcy had to lie halfway on top
of Thomas, not that either of them really minded. There were narrow
slits cut for air holes spread throughout, though most were covered
by the produce and blanket. A couple along the sides allowed them
sporadic views of people walking by.
    They waited in silence for what felt like
hours. Just when Marcy was about to fall asleep from boredom, the
wagon would jar them by roughly rolling over the uneven, graveled
road. Hinges and tools clanged loudly in their ears. Whenever that
happened, Thomas would tighten his arms around her, bracing them
both against the movement. Instinctively, she would reach an arm
out to do the same for Frex. For his age, he handled the rough
journey well, without complaint. After a few stops and starts, the
wagon settled into an even pace. She was about to fall back to
sleep when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Thomas motioned silently
to the air slot by his head and grinned. Scooting up a few inches,
Marcy squinted to look through the narrow opening. Purple and pink
covered the sky. It was sunset. Looking back at Thomas, their faces
barely an inch apart, she felt a tear roll down her cheek. She
looked back out at the sunset until all the colors faded into
darkness. Then she sighed and laid her head on Thomas’ chest,
letting herself sleep at last.
     
    * * *
     
    Maerishka wiped the sweat from her brow,
grabbing a fan to cool off. The stadium wasn’t usually so warm,
especially not at night. The roof was open to the sky, allowing in
a breeze. She saw the flags wave, but the wind did not have any
effect on her. Looking around, she noticed no one else seemed
bothered by the temperature.