Marks returned to his seat, satisfied that he had solved the problem once he saw the girl instead of the older monk being taken down the stairs.

He knew she would choose herself because that was the person he saw in the vision. Relief filled his chest to know that she would no longer be an issue when her brains and guts were part of the vorago backdrop as much as any stone, rock, or tree.

There were champions competing in this Tornetum. They would make short work of a passive forest dwelling monk who obviously didn’t know what kind of game she was signing up to join. Yes, a large quantity of people from other factions would die, but what did Damius Marks care?

“Where did you go?” Marcus asked him. “And why did they start gathering these people to compete?”

“I wanted to spice up the Tornetum a bit,” said Marks. “Who wants to watch a handful of skillful warriors duke it out when we could watch a score of individuals who’ve never fought a day in their life clash blades with the champions?”

“That sounds nightmarishly sadistic, but I like it.” Marcus put a hand to his father’s shoulder. “Just when I didn’t think you had any malice left in that dead heart of yours, you go and surprise me with a gesture like this.”

“Are we celebrating these people?” asked Ersonia.

“Yes of course, we’re celebrating them by brutalizing them.” Marcus rolled his eyes and smirked at his father.

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

A creep of concern met Marks’s chest as he recognized the impatience, the exhaustion Marcus relayed when communicating with Ersonia. The two were barely a year in and he already dismissed her at every clash of communication like a couple who’s been married for decades.

It wasn’t Marks’s concern. The idea that Ersonia was anything more than a wealthy pair of breasts and an incubation chamber for Marcus’s future son was laughable to him, and Marcus could use or disregard the girl if he wanted.

But right now? Somehow that destiny of the monk girl finding her way to the throne still seemed an obscure but very alive possibility.

He didn’t like any of this. As if to continue to confirm his irritated suspicions, Marcus looked back across the vorago and asked, “Hey, where’d that girl disappear to?”

“What girl?” Ersonia clued in and realized that her man was seeking out another woman. Whether it was out of curiosity or otherwise didn’t matter in the moment to Ersonia.

“The female Talea monk,” Marcus waved as if this curiosity should have been obvious. “Have any of you ever seen a female Talea monk?”

He waited and no one answered, but they rarely took notice of such classless things as the religious observers of the Talea.

Damius Marks felt odd to have seen and known so much in his life, but he had never witnessed someone with long hair amidst the Talea members he had seen. A lot of Talea observers shaved their heads which would have immediately made them look exactly like the men regardless of their gender.

All this sudden talk of a subject—and individual—he wanted more than anything to be rid of was beginning to make Marks feel nauseous. He rarely ate or drank, and the orb largely eliminated his need for sustenance so the feeling could be nothing but stress in his gut. No matter what he did, he could not derail this course which meant he needed to tread with caution.

If that girl was not dead within the hour, they would have a serious problem on their hands.