Mariko

iv

─ CHAPTER FOUR

MARIKO HAD ALWAYS been overconfident.

She had been scorned and sneered upon for being a faerie with no magical prowess, but after practicing hard she had made her way to the top. She had bested them in sword-fighting, hand-to-hand combat and a verbal spat. She had a right to believe that she was the best, for she could achieve anything she wanted if she tried hard enough. If she lost this bout, then she would simply learn from her mistakes and try again (though maybe her ego wouldn't recover).

Mariko made her way over to the crowd, and saw that the men were taking a break from their workouts with a few scuffles. There were bets rippling through the circle, and when they saw her shoulder her way through the men, they gave her a wide berth as if she had the plague.

She couldn't help but feel nervous after she sized up their sweaty muscles and broad shoulders, but her pride urged her on.

To look confident is to be confident, Alaric had once told her.

Mariko rolled her neck with an audible pop and squared her shoulders. "I'll go against the winner of this round."

There was a silence and she thought she saw some open their mouths to refuse, but the presence of their king looming behind her silenced them. The men in the arena set their jaws and started circling each other.

One man was taller, but slimmer. There was an ugly scar across his eyebrow. The other man was slightly shorter, but much more broad-shouldered.

"What're the rules?" Mariko murmured to Ashryn.

"No weapons, jewelry, or any accessories that may injure your opponent in the ring. You may surrender, but you will be eliminated."

Mariko said nothing more, observing the two men. The shorter one had struck first with a solid punch to the face. It would've broken the blondie's jaw - if he had landed it.

The blonde one had ducked his head, corn-silk hair glinting in the sun. Sweat was already trailing down his temple and his chest; he had been fighting for awhile. He was skilled at ducking attacks, but he clearly had no power in his blows - it was evident when he landed a jab at the redhead's chest. The short one barely flinched.

Their bout lasted awhile.

It was clear that the tall one had the upper hand. His strategy was to tire out his opponent and dodge all the others offensives.

"His skill is with a dagger or a bow, isn't it?" Mariko asked Ashryn, and he nodded, surprise in his eyes. "No strength in his punches, but quick reflexes. I'd say he's better with a lighter weapon, and his aim is precise."

Ashryn dipped his head. "That's Langston. He's one of our most skilled archers. The redhead is Jansen. He's deadly with a sword, but no fist-fighter."

No fist-fighter, indeed.

Mariko had seen several openings, but Jansen had not. His movements were sluggish and he was panting heavily. Langston took his opportunity and pelted his opponent with a flurry of punches and kicks. Jansen went down. The crowd roared.

Jansen was smiling when he got to his feet and shook Langston's hand before joining the crowd again. Mariko saw someone hand him a towel, which he accepted gratefully.

Ashryn nudged her forward. It was her turn.

The crowd was unusually subdued as they watched her entire the makeshift ring.

"You know the rules?" Langston asked, flicking a piece of platinum hair out of his moss-green eyes. To Mariko's surprise, there was no condescension in his voice.