Across

by Elizabeth Edson

  Chapter Thirteen:

  Three cups of fernigh and a dinner of dessert put Marie in a ridiculously good mood, and oddly enough, the fact that Pamela hated her only made Marie happier. It meant she no longer had to feel bad about disliking the woman. Marie ate dinner in her nightgown, lazed around in bed, and propped her feet up on the table while eating. It was like having a sleepover, except without any other girls or a movie. If being allowed to skip formal dinner was a punishment, Marie was going to get into trouble more often. She was in such a good mood she didn’t even let the pain in her shoulder bother her.

  Marie sighed contentedly as she rose out of bed. She approached Max and brought his fingers to her lips. “Thank you for bringing me dinner. It was delicious. You are dismissed for the evening. Good night!”

  Max bowed and backed out of the room. Marie flopped back onto her bed. She raised her feet in the air and wiggled her toes, scrutinizing them. She didn’t think they looked too bad, especially considering they hadn’t undergone a pedicure for a few months.

  She rolled onto her side, but she was too awake to go to sleep. Her mind still buzzed from the day’s activities. Every time she remembered that man’s face when he heard Terrah’s scream, she had to bury her face in her pillow as she burst into a fit of giggles.

  Someone knocked on her door. “Marie!”

  Marie’s laughter faded. She shot up, her pulse leaping.

  “Marie! It’s me—Terrah!”

  Marie’s eyes bugged. She stumbled out of bed, crossed the room, and opened the door in one stride. “How did you get…in?”

  Behind Terrah, Rheidan smirked at her. “Laewin know how to get into rooms even when the doors are locked. Trick all noble children learn as soon as they can walk.”

  Marie peered down the hall. “Come inside! Come inside!” she hissed, waving them in. “Pamela will murder me if she finds out you two are here!”

  She locked the door behind them and stared at them, barely caring that she was wearing her nightgown. In front of Rheidan. She gulped. “What are you doing here?” She didn’t know whether to be pleased or upset. Her heart raced inside her chest.

  Terrah rolled her eyes. “When Rheidan found out what happened today, he was…”

  “Furious,” supplied Rheidan.

  “Furious.”

  His eyes glittered. “Because it was incredibly stupid—”

  “Rheidan, shush.” Terrah glared at him. “I agreed to bring you here to talk with Marie, not lecture her.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Yes, and you’ve done as asked,” Rheidan pointed out. He gave her a significant look. When she arched an eyebrow, he amended, “So you can go now.”

  “Hmm,” sniffed Terrah. “Well, I suppose my work is done. I’ll go to the library and wait for you there.” She turned to leave, then turned back. She wagged her finger at him. “Don’t do anything inappropriate!”

  He narrowed his eyes at her, and she smiled brightly before dancing out the door.

  As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, Marie shifted nervously. She glanced down at the ground, then back up at Rheidan, who gave her the smile she liked so much. Her heart did a little flip-flop.

  “I had just wanted to see you were still in one piece,” Rheidan told her. His eyes swept over her, glittering, and Marie mock-glared at him. He smirked. “It appears you are.”

  “And this couldn’t wait till morning?” She was ridiculously happy he thought it couldn’t. Her heart flip-flopped again. She had never been alone with Rheidan before. Every inch of her skin felt hyperaware.

  “No, it couldn’t.” His face turned serious, and he grimaced. “Tomorrow I will be leaving at the crack of dawn with my regiment. Training exercise. It will last a week, so you won’t see me around the palace. I’m sorry. I only received word a few hours ago.”

  Marie deflated a little.

  Rheidan’s hand cupped her cheek. It burned where it touched her. He smiled fondly and stepped closer. Marie’s heart fluttered. When he leaned down, Marie’s heart raced even faster. She opened her mouth to say something, but all she managed to blurt out was, “Nothing inappropriate, Rheidan!”

  Rheidan threw back his head and laughed. “Nothing too inappropriate, I promise.”

  He kissed her. Marie’s toes curled.

  “Marie? What was that?”

  The two broke apart guiltily. Marie groaned. Pamela’s timing was impeccable, as always. The woman existed to make her miserable.

  “You have to go,” Marie hissed, shoving Rheidan away.

  “Already?”

  “You laughed, remember? You drew her here!” He turned to the door, but Marie tugged him away from it. “No, not that one! She’s out there! Use the laewin corridors.” She shoved him to Max’s door, and he disappeared through it.

  Pamela poked her head into the room. She narrowed her eyes when she saw it was empty. “What are you doing?”

  Marie gave her a weird look. “Going to bed.” Duh.

  Pamela appeared suspicious, but closed the door.

  Marie slumped down on her bed. A flush settled over her cheeks. She wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight. Damn Rheidan.

  The day of the death match dawned cool and misty. Max woke her up as usual, but Marie laid in bed for several minutes before forcing herself out of it. “You know what, Max?” she said, sliding out from beneath the covers, her feet brushing the thick carpet. “I really hate the idea of combat fights. In fact, I really dislike slavery in general.”

  She fingered the green-gold dress he had lain out for. “I wonder how long you’ve been a slave. Have you ever known anything different?” She sighed. As always, he didn’t answer, just stood there in silence.

  She ate her breakfast quickly, a steaming bowl of something resembling mashed potatoes, and was surprised to see a small cup of fernigh. But the drink didn’t have the usual calming effect. Instead, the influx of sugar left her jittery and hyperaware. When she finally met up with Barnabas, Darius, and Pamela in the common room, her stomach was churning and her hands felt clammy.

  She must have looked ill, because Barnabas gave her a dark look. “Try not to be sick, Marie.”

  Marie shot him the most poisonous look she could muster.

  They took a series of chariots to the stadium. They made a thundering, clattering, self-important herd in the street. People jumped out of their way as they passed. They rounded the amphitheatre, coming to a stop next to a huge, elaborate entrance on the long side of the oval.

  Marie clambered out of the chariot she had shared with a large, potbellied man and peered around. Droves of people were already entering the amphitheatre through various gates along its side. She could hear the dim roar of hundreds of people chatting. The games hadn’t started yet, but they would soon.

  “Come along!” Barnabas commanded harshly, and Marie stumbled after him.

  A stern man with a wicked-looking knife on his belt took her ticket and inspected it before allowing her to pass. Marie’s gaze was immediately drawn upward. The ceiling stretched impossibly high above them, several stories tall at least. The far wall of the antechamber angled outwards and met up with the wall she had just passed through. Marie felt incredibly small. In front of her, men ran around carrying steaming glasses of wine and fernigh for anyone willing to pay. Darius bought a glass of wine, but Marie’s stomach lurched just at the sight of the drinks.

  They barreled through a small tunnel, emerging near the bottom of the amphitheatre. The misty cool air felt good against Marie’s skin. She closed her eyes, trying to pretend she was anywhere but here. She opened her eyes again. The stadium was impossibly huge…so many people were already there, a vibrating sea of different colored robes.

  “Come along, Marie!” Barnabas sounded annoyed.

  Marie blinked and followed him. Up ahead towered a large tent set in the middle of the long part of the oval and at the base of the seats. The seats weren’t level with the sand arena, but a couple of feet up—far enough up to ha
ve a good, unobstructed view of the fight.

  Of course they sat in the tent. Parvenin had bought them the best seats in the stadium. Every chair in it filled up, except for the one in the center. That chair was a throne, large and grandiose. Symbols Marie didn’t recognize had been etched into it. It looked ancient.

  “It is Sidriel’s Seat,” explained Parvenin unnecessarily. “It stays empty for most matches, but the consequence of sitting in it is your participation in a match.”

  Mare shuddered and found her seat. The other chairs inside the tent were elaborate wooden things with golden framing. Nothing but the best for Sidriel’s guests.

  Three seats ahead of Marie, Barnabas and Pamela leaned close together and discussed the architecture of the amphitheatre. Darius was absorbed in a conversation with one of Parvenin’s associates, and Parvenin stood gossiping with someone dressed in elaborate robes. As she watched, the man left and found a seat not too far away, but Parvenin had only just sat down when he leapt to his feet again, greeting another person.

  “What do you think of Morian’s chances?”

  “Oh, I’m sure he’ll beat Jaifer and Inagio in the first rounds, but I have a feeling Emathian will defeat him if they end up fighting in the final round…”

  They could have been talking about football, the way they chatted with each other. A few rows behind them a group of men haggled with a man in uniform—“Placing bets,” Parvenin explained to Darius. To Marie’s left and back, a husband and wife sat whispering into each other’s ears. The woman giggled loudly and turned, motioning for a wine bearer to bring them a cup of wine.

  Marie turned her back to them, her eyes falling to the sands of the arena. From what she could tell, it had six gated entrances. Each was wide enough for two chariots side by side.

  She didn’t know how much time passed. Barnabas continued chatting with the people sitting around him; every once in a while he would jump up to greet someone in the same manner as Parvenin. Out of nowhere he produced a bunch of programs. He handed one of them to Marie, but she crumpled it up without glancing at it.

  At last the crowd settled. Marie’s heart twisted. She swallowed, and her eyes fell on a figure dressed in green robes standing on a mini-podium not far away.

  “Welcome to the Varisian Amphitheatre,” boomed the man. Marie was stunned at how well he managed to project his voice. The acoustics were incredible. The shuffling of the audience died down. The whispers faded away. “As a Brother under Sidriel, I greet you.”

  The man revolved slowly on the spot, scanning the audience. The silence was audible. “Today we are pleased to offer you a special array of events, the highlight of which will be a combat tournament”—the crowd cheered—“featuring impressive fighters such as Morian, Emathian, Jeldilorn, and Haspara!” The crowd’s cheering grew more enthusiastic. Marie’s ears ached.

  “But first, to whet your appetite, a series of executions and a dramatic recreation of the Battle of Marcasis!” The crowd cheered, and the man smiled, satisfied, before turning and disappearing into one of the entrance tunnels.

  Marie turned away, determined not watch, but the sudden thunderous shouts of derision forced her eyes to the arena. Ten guards with spears poked and prodded a group of men in rags, herding them to the center of the sands, where they cowered against each other. Marie sat close enough to see the expressions on their faces; they looked ready to faint from terror. The crowd screamed and hissed at them, words Marie had never heard before but figured were profanities.

  The guards left the arena. One of the men tried to run after them, but a guard turned around and knocked him to the ground with his spear. The crowd laughed. The man rose unsteadily to his feet, his head swiveling around.

  Chains rattled, and the crowd suddenly rose to its feet, roaring. Two gates on the opposite side of the arena burst open, and in ran the strangest and most terrifying collection of animals Marie had ever seen: cats the size of horses, strange looking bear-creatures with clipped wings, overgrown lizards with two tails and eight legs. They started fighting each other before they even reached the prisoners.

  Marie closed her eyes. She heard the snarling and hissing and yipping of the animals. She heard the crowd roar. She heard the prisoners scream. She heard the screams end. A tear slid down her cheek.

  She kept her eyes closed the entire morning. She heard the man announce the battle recreation, heard the screams and roars and the clattering of chariots and the clashing of steel on steel. Later she heard the man announcing the combat fights, heard the crowd go from breathless to roaring. Nearby she heard a seat fall over, and she knew someone had jumped up to see something. Darius talked. Pamela cheered. Barnabas laughed. And Marie sat in darkness, wondering when the world had gone mad.

  They left the games early in the afternoon. Hannah dragged her up from her seat, and Marie allowed her to lead her out, ignoring the pain in her shoulder. She tried not to look at the arena, but she couldn’t help but catch a couple of glimpses. Blood soaked the sands; she could smell it in the air, could practically taste it on her tongue. A few feet away Darius stood chewing a pastry, and Marie wondered how he could do it without vomiting. Marie’s stomach churned.

  She made it out of the amphitheatre as if in a daze. She walked mechanically to her chariot and grabbed its railing with weak hands. Her eyes had dried out from all her tears. Her heart had sunk to somewhere near her toes. She dared one glance back, as the chariot thundered away. She saw the outline of the amphitheatre. She heard the echoing memory of the crowd screaming as a man was torn in half.

  She turned her head slowly to the street in front of her.

  Hate welled up in her: hate for the combat games, hate for their spectators, and hate for Sidriel, who allowed them to happen.