Once a King by Erin Summerill

Author:Erin Summerill
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

* * *

Baltroit and I ride on top of shoulders with a banner hanging between us. A wave of people carry us to the row of traders’ tents where a makeshift tavern is packed with Malamians dressed in the colors of our flag. Our escorts lower us to the ground, and mugs of ale are pressed into our hands. Around the tavern tent, mugs are lifted and cheers follow. I shake a dozen hands and happily endure two dozen back slaps. Excitement has muted the pain. Leif, Lord Segrande, and a couple of royal guards who have come to Shaerdan for the All Kingdoms’ Festivities gather nearby, keeping watch. But I don’t feel the suffocating press of the crowd that I experienced after the first night of melee. Being around the Malamians’ gleeful faces and boisterous chatter is exhilarating.

I pull off my helmet and thrust it in the air. “Hearts, blood, lives for Malam!”

A chorus repeats Malam’s credo thrice more; each time the volume rises until it’s near deafening. The emotion coursing through me is as proud and resounding as their voices. It vanquishes any doubts I may have had about fighting in the tournament.

When more drinks start flowing, I move through the group, shaking hands and mirroring cheers as if this is who I’ve always been. It takes more time than I would’ve ever imagined to make my way to where Leif sits on a stool, half-slumped over the table.

“Feller’s had one too many,” says the barkeep.

I study Leif’s lined face and squinty eyes. He looks pained, not drunk.

“A good fight you put up, sir,” he says.

“Thank you. Are you ready to return to the castle?”

His brows rise, looking like brownish-red checkmarks. “The night is young, sir.”

“Yes, but I’ve had a beating, and you look like you’ve had one recently as well.”

“That is true.” He chuckles. “But don’t you want to enjoy your moment? Celebrate until dawn.”

The celebration is wonderful indeed, but while friends gather together, recounting stories of the melee, the one man in this tent I consider a friend is in desperate need of returning to bed. He’ll be competing in another few days. He needs all the rest he can muster. I point to the empty rows of shops beyond the tavern tent. “Other than Malamians, the crowd has cleared out. I’ve reveled in the moment. But should I need more celebration, a victory can be appreciated from any location as long as friends are nearby. Let’s return to the castle.”

“Good plan,” he says on a groan.

I inform Segrande that we’re leaving and help Leif to the champions’ tent. As soon as we part from the crowd, it’s obvious Leif isn’t inebriated. He’s in pain. He folds forward and winces as he walks. For the first time, I think that Gorenza might have done us a favor by insisting that I fight tonight. There is no way Leif would have been ready to compete.

Once we are inside the tent, Leif takes a seat.

Some of the competitors are still around.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.