AMIRA

Ufaris was ready for the tournament. Both ends of Loop Bend on the Isafaris River had been blocked by grates, allowing the water to flow unimpeded but keeping the twenty-four giant snakes inside the reservoir.

Thick pillars had been hammered into the marsh on both riverbanks inside and outside of the bend, and benches were constructed, with a tall podium for my throne in the middle.

I arrived by boat, escorted by the ever-present ladies-in-waiting, councilors, and courtiers.

By now, the golden season had come full swing. The grass and the leaves on the trees had turned golden-yellow. The temperature and the humidity in the air had lowered slightly, requiring clothing to be worn. The ladies’ dresses now provided far more coverage. And the shirtless look for the men had been mostly retired until the warmer days.

My gown of tea-green silk fully covered my chest and back. The long, voluminous sleeves gathered at my wrists, ending in wide embroidered cuffs. My skirts had a few more layers of tulle than before, swaying around my hips and legs like a misty cloud with the freshwater pearls for raindrops. My neck remained exposed, covered only by the folds of the veil gathered around it.

As soon as I took my place on the throne, a gong sounded the signal for the contestants to assemble. My heart sped up as the line of them paddled into the middle of the stream, then moved closer to the riverbank with the sitting area.

Since Kyllen had left my bedroom that night, I’d hardly seen him. He’d shown up to all official gatherings along with the other High Lords but remained distant. He’d been courteous and polite without seeking my company or special attention.

I knew his behavior had nothing to do with the way he felt about me. He’d warned me we needed to pretend we shared nothing special, so I did. I treated him the same way I treated the rest of the High Lords. Or at least I tried very hard to pay him an equal amount of attention as to everyone else.

All I’d gotten from him lately was a cool half-smile or a courteous bow. But I missed him terribly. Whenever I saw his easy-going grin, it was all I could do not to jump on him and kiss him into oblivion in front of the entire court. I felt him in my heart, but my body also craved him. Every time I glanced at his hands or senties, I thought about all the places they had touched me.

He was seventh in line of the contestants, and I spotted him long before it was his turn to greet me. Keeping a wide stance on his board for balance, he held the paddle in his left hand.

Despite the cooler temperatures, the contestants wore only calf-length olive-green pants, no shoes, and no shirts. Many had daggers and swords strapped to their bodies. Kyllen had a short sheath with a dagger around his right thigh and a long sword across his back.

He looked relaxed and exuded confidence, which eased the tightness of worry in my chest somewhat.

A smile played in the corners of his mouth. When it was his turn, he brought his board forward with two long strokes of his paddle and stopped it with one dip in the opposite direction, turning to face me.

His smile grew wider.

“Greetings, my queen.” He made up for his rather casual tone of voice with a deep bow, somehow managing not to fall off the board in the process.

“May luck be with you, my lord.” I said one of the responses I had ready for today.

I wanted so much to say more, to do something to show how much I rooted for him. But that would be like painting a bull’s eye on his back and making him a target for every other contestant during the tournament. Instead, I discreetly touched the dragonfly barrette clipped to one of my braids.

A twinkle of recognition flashed in his eyes, then he had to move aside to make room for the next contestant in line.

Only eight of the twenty-four were High Lords. Seven were the heirs, taking the place of their married or aging fathers. The other nine were champions, sent in their lord’s stead.

A High Lord could select a lower lord or even a commoner as his champion to represent him at a tournament. If the champion won, the High Lord was declared the winner and reaped all benefits of the victory. If the champion lost, he’d end up either wounded or killed, saving the High Lord’s life. Using a champion was considered less honorable than competing themselves, but many obviously preferred safety over honor.

Councilor Delahon walked to the front of the seating area where the sound amplifiers were positioned. He produced a scroll from one of the long, wide sleeves of his robe and unfurled it, then read the rules of the tournament out loud.

There weren’t many rules. Each contestant was to select one of the giant water serpents. The yet-undisturbed creatures peacefully glided under the surface, their wide dark backs glistening in the sunlight.

“A contestant loses if he is dead or wounded so gravely he is unable to proceed. The last man standing will be declared the winner.” The councilor reached for the large gavel positioned next to a table-sized gong hanging nearby to signal the start of the tournament.

“Wait!” I rose from my throne.

Everyone turned to face me.

“I wish to make a change to the rules,” I announced.

“Your Majesty,” the councilor mumbled cautiously, shifting my way. “It’s not prudent to alter traditions, especially ones as important as the rules of the Royal Tournament.”

He was right. I was pushing it. The spectators on both riverbanks stirred unhappily, a grumbling noise rising from the benches.

I wished I could just stomp my foot and yell, “That is my royal wish!” However, I was so new to the throne, I had to tread carefully. But I’d also just gotten Kyllen back from the dead, and I wouldn’t risk losing him again in this stupid contest, just to appease the public.

I walked down the stairs to the voice amplifying devices.

“People of Lorsan,” I said loud and clear. “The kingdom has just lost its king. My heart is still filled with sorrow. Let us not add more death and loss so soon. Today, falling off the serpent will be enough to be declared a loser. One does not need to die to exit the competition.”

The unhappy noise grew louder. People hurled shouts like stones in my direction.

“That’s not how it works! The losers die!”

“We have rules!”

I glanced at the row of contestants. Kyllen frowned, scanning the crowd. He seemed concerned for my safety.

“The rules state ‘the last man standing is the winner.’” I raised my voice. Even with the device’s help, speaking over the noise of the agitated crowd proved challenging. “I’m not changing it much. The last man standing on his serpent will be my husband and your king.”

I swept the crowd with my gaze, trying to gauge their mood. The noise had quieted to a rumble.

I continued, “It’s a tournament, not a life-or-death battle. Do you want a king who’s been fished out of the river? The only one alive and therefore the winner?”

A few shrugs and some muttering came from the crowd in reply. They obviously didn’t care about the condition of their future king, as long as they got some good entertainment today.

“Well, I don’t feel like searching in the river full of dead High Lords for one alive enough to be my groom.” I gave them a smile. “I want my future husband to be well enough to perform his marital duties on our wedding night.” I slipped a playful note into my voice. “Is that too much to ask?”

That seemed to work. Some men guffawed, but many women nodded in understanding.

Tags: Marina Simcoe Serpent's Touch Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net