The Savior's Sister

by Jenna Moreci

  “What the…”

  The voice sounded from the back of the room. One by one, the men turned to stare at Her. Straightening Her back, She donned a stern look. “We come as ordered by The Savior. We’re of Her court. We’re here to assist.”

  “She can assist my cock.”

  Laughter bounced off the walls. Before Leila could react, Pippa tugged at Her sleeve, pouting. “You said The Savior. You said we weren’t supposed to.”

  “I have different duties than you,” Leila whispered. “Now go feed them, and don’t forget…”

  Pippa was gone before She could finish, darting into the mix without a care.

  Leila stood alone at the head of the sanctuary, the path before Her both compelling and overwhelming. Squaring Her shoulders, She plowed ahead. Find the assassins. Three bloodthirsty Beasts should’ve been easy to spot, and She scanned the space, resolved—until a man walked past, eyeing Her over before wiping blood from his abdomen.

  His hard, sculpted abdomen.

  Focus. But another man strutted into Her path, giving Her ample view of his brawny back, and a chill traveled through Her that nearly sent Her convulsing. Dear God, control Yourself. These men are filthy. They stink. They’re bleeding! But all such qualms disappeared once chiseled flesh swept Her periphery. This man was easily the most godlike creature She’d ever seen, and She watched in awe as he ladled a helping of water, pouring it over his head and flipping his long, wet locks from his face.

  A wall of muscle collided into Her, leaving Her pressed against a firm, sweaty chest. Her eyes widened. “Oh my God…”

  “Apologies.” The man offered a smile half-hidden behind a beard. “Nearly mowed you down, didn’t I?”

  Leila’s gaze locked on his chest, its smattering of hair, the hands on his pecs. Those are My hands. Oh My God, I’m touching him.

  “Be careful, Miss. Wouldn’t want you to get hurt.” He continued on through the space, but Leila stood paralyzed. Contain Yourself. You’re behaving like a fool. But She could still feel his flesh against Her fingertips, and the memory sent Her heart pounding. I touched his nipple.

  Leila cursed to Herself. Your father conspires against You, yet You waste Your time entertaining base thoughts. Her eyes narrowed, flitting across the sea of muscle. Your assassins. Find them. But She hadn’t a clue what they looked like.

  Shit.

  A huddle of men whispered nearby, watching Her. She remembered the satchel hanging over Her shoulder jangling with perfumes. You’re the Healer. Get to healing. She would find the assassins in time.

  “Excuse me.” She stopped at a man sitting on the floor. “May I have a look at your injuries?”

  The man nodded, his gaze locked on the wall. Leila took a seat on the hard stone beside him, trying to get comfortable before accepting it was futile. He was handsome but not godlike, wearing the same black harem pants as all the others, his eyes vacant, his slender arms lined in gashes.

  “Good God.” She examined the lacerations up close. “How did you manage to get all these marks?”

  The man let out a grunt. “Thorns.”

  “Thorns?”

  “Big thorns. And lots of them.”

  Leila hesitated, then dug through Her satchel, not entirely sure what She was looking for. She pulled out a purple vial—lavender perfume, one of Her favorites—and pressed it to Her fingers, hoping the smell was somewhat medicinal, that Her behavior was convincing. All the while the man’s gaze remained distant, as if his thoughts were far away.

  “Apologies if this hurts. It’ll only sting for a moment.”

  She pressed Her perfumed fingertips into the gashes, waiting for a reaction that never came. Her hands were warm as usual, radiating with power, but the man beside Her remained frozen.

  She eyed his chest, focusing on a large, red lump. “What is—?”

  “Spiders,” he muttered. “Big ones. And lots of them.”

  Grimacing, She squeezed the lump, recoiling as it oozed. Each wound that followed received the same treatment—a reluctant draining, a dab of perfume—but no matter how much time passed, the man didn’t say a word.

  “You’re awfully quiet, aren’t you?”

  Nothing. Against Her better judgment, She pressed Her hand to his flesh, taking the most tentative look inside. Flagrant shades of green bombarded Her.

  He was afraid.

  Find the assassins. But upon finishing with the last wound, She stayed put, eyeing the man’s stony face: chestnut eyes, umber brown skin, coarse, black hair.

  “You’re the Intellect, right?”

  He nodded, and She dug through Her pockets, fishing out two stacks of cards. “Here. To pass the time.”

  The Intellect stared down at the offering, reluctantly taking it from Her.

  “It’s a memory game. You lay the cards face down, flip one, and match it with its partner. If you draw an all-seeing eye, you move on to this stack”—she pointed to the second set of cards—“and solve a riddle. It’s probably quite simple for someone of your station, but I suppose it’s better than sitting here and staring at the wall. Maybe you can ask someone to play. Someone of an inviting nature.”

  His gaze met Hers for the first time. “Thank you.”

  “You didn’t get those from me. Do you understand?”

  He nodded, and Leila hopped to Her feet, walking off.

  “I’m sorry,” the Intellect called out behind Her.

  Leila spun around. “For what?”

  “For the way these men will undoubtedly treat you.”

  Her stomach sank, and She glanced across the sanctuary, the sea of flesh no longer enticing.

  There wasn’t time for apprehension. Drumming up Her courage, She marched up to the next man. “Excuse me.”

  A vibrant green gaze connected with Hers. “Why, hello there.” Next came a white smile. “You have the loveliest eyes. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  Leila’s cheeks flushed. “I’ve come to look at your injuries.”

  “Oh, that’s very kind of you. Please, sit.”

  Leila nestled beside him, at ease. Clearly the Intellect was wrong. This man is delightful. She tried to assess his wounds but instead lost Herself in his features. He was small in stature but lean and carved, with golden skin, a head full of shining black curls, and God, those emerald eyes. The Cavalier. She recognized him as if his scroll was right in front of Her.

  “You’re not quite as marked as the last man I saw.”

  “Then I count myself lucky,” he said. “It was awfully precarious today. Three men were killed, you know.”

  This is it. This is Your opportunity. “Did you see who did it?” She dabbed at his injuries. “Who killed them?”

  The Cavalier’s gaze zigzagged the sanctuary. “That man, right there. He’s hard to miss, wouldn’t you agree?”

  He stood like a monument, his massive frame an eyesore in the corner of the room. How She hadn’t noticed him sooner, She couldn’t say, but now She was taking in every detail: his wall of deep olive skin, his full-lipped scowl, the black stubble lining his head. She would’ve remembered a man like him from the records.

  “Who is he?”

  “The Giant,” the Cavalier said. “You wouldn’t believe what he did. I dare not speak it. It would only scare you.”

  “Tell me.” The words came out sharper than She had intended. “I mean, I’m intrigued, is all.”

  He lowered his voice. “He shoved a man’s face right into a giant thorn. And for no good reason. All the man did was defend The Savior’s name. A kind, noble man, I’m sure—killed for honoring Her Holiness.”

  Leila’s chest pinched. “What about the other two? Who killed them?”

  Squinting, he scanned the room. “He’s somewhere in here. An ordinary fellow, not particularly fearsome to look at. I think he was called the Shepherd.”

  Leila tended to his wounds while eyeing the sanctuary, skeptical of each man who crossed Her gaze. The Shepherd. There had been no record bea
ring that laurel.

  “I suppose all this is to be expected,” the Cavalier continued. “Killing for love. For passion.”

  Pinpricks of color tickled Leila’s fingers. Pink.

  Pink?

  She flattened Her palm against his ribs, and color swam through Her like rivers of sugar. She almost never saw pretty colors in people, certainly not pink. Pink was for affection. Pink was for lust.

  “Men are so willing to stick their necks out for the sake of romance,” he said. “Some say it’s a flaw in our design, but I disagree. Life is meaningless without passion, after all.”

  What does this mean? The color danced from his pores, filling the space around them. Is this for Me? Leila’s heart raced. Don’t just sit here, play along.

  “Well if you ask me, the whole thing’s a mess.” She rubbed Her perfumes across his skin. “Love isn’t about brutality. It’s about connection. This entire tournament would be better off if The Savior could just sit down with each man and perhaps get to know him as a person, not as some barbarian…”

  Her voice trailed off once She took in his emerald gaze. He stared at the side of the room—at a lone man with a sinewy build—and Her excitement withered. The cloud of pink had become dense around them, but it wasn’t for Her. It was for him.

  The Cavalier’s eyes darted back to Leila. “Were you saying something?”

  “Just that I’ve finished.” She grabbed Her satchel and stormed off.

  Heat flooded Leila’s face, and She fought to shake the humiliation. You’re not here for fun. You’re here for the assassins. The Giant still hovered in his corner, glaring at all who passed, and Her resolve became fierce.

  Find the other two.

  She stopped beside a man curled up on the floor. “Let’s have a look at those injuries, shall we?”

  She didn’t wait for a response before plopping down beside him. This man certainly wasn’t an assassin, as his cowering frame painted a less-than-fearsome picture. Scrapes covered his chest, and when She touched them, he jerked away.

  “Mother of pearl!”

  “Apologies,” She mumbled.

  As She pressed Her fingers to his skin, he flinched. “Apologies,” She said, moving to a swollen spider bite, only for him to recoil. “Apologies.” She reached for the bite a second time, and when he yanked away, She scowled. “If you keep jumping, I can’t work.”

  “If you keep hurting me, I’ll keep jumping,” he spat.

  The Poet. She recognized him by his fair skin and white-blond hair, but what truly gave him away were his violet eyes—or rather his one eye, as the other was hidden behind his hands.

  “Did something happen to your eye?” She said.

  “You’ll just make it worse.”

  “Or I’ll make it better. That’s my job, after all.”

  The Poet shot Her a sideways glare before lowering his hands. Leila gasped.

  “Careful,” he grumbled.

  His swollen eye was a raw shade of red, and his brow sat crooked on his face. A broken socket.

  “It’s a broken socket.”

  The voice startled Leila. A round, tawny face lingered behind Her, far too close for comfort. Black ringlets jutted from his head, and large, brown eyes stared into Hers, overflowing with criticism.

  She glowered. “I can see that.”

  “Nothing in your satchel will fix it. The man requires treatment from a professional.”

  The Physician. It has to be him. Her scowl deepened. “I am the palace Healer. You question my competency?”

  The Physician fell silent, and Leila turned to the Poet, nearly wincing at that horrid eye. “Who did this to you?”

  “The Shepherd,” the Physician said.

  “Don’t say his name,” the Poet snapped. “He might hear!”

  Leila lathered Her hand in a citrus scent and pressed it to his eye. “The Shepherd… Is he frightening?”

  “He’s the most terrible creature I’ve ever met.” The Poet whimpered. “How the Sovereign gave him his blessing, I’ll never understand.”

  “The Sovereign blessed him?”

  “Today, at the ceremony,” the Physician said. “The Sovereign chose his three blessed ones. Bestowed upon them his favor. Naturally he chose the fiercest warriors to protect The Savior.”

  Leila’s shoulders tensed. “Was the Giant among them?”

  “And the bloody Dragon. He may not have offed anyone, but mark my words, he will.” The Poet lowered his voice to a whisper. “I don’t care what the southerners say. You can’t trust a man with that many tattoos. It’s witchcraft.”

  With Her palm in place, Leila searched the sanctuary, locking onto a mess of inked flesh. A man paced beside the wall, his pale body covered in black, foreign text streaming from his neck down to his feet. His steel blue eyes panned the room as he walked, his ashy blond hair pulled back into a wet ponytail.

  The Dragon. And he was blessed by the Sovereign. The audacity.

  “I don’t see how that’ll solve anything.”

  The Physician’s voice jolted Leila, ending Her trance. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re just pressing your hand against it. What good will that do?”

  She nervously eyed Her hand—Her warm, healing touch. “I’m applying a soothing tonic.”

  “It smells like oranges.” The Physician hovered close, breathing into Her ear. “I’ve seen no study suggesting that oranges produce any restorative properties.”

  “Oh God, is she making it worse?” The Poet glowered. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

  “I know exactly what I’m doing. I’ve been a healer all my life.”

  “If you’re going to treat his eye, you’ll need a lot more than oranges,” the Physician said. “I can show you a proper course of care if only you’d move.”

  “She’s hurting me!” the Poet squealed.

  “I’m saving your eye.”

  “I’ve treated many injuries such as this, and the first thing you ought to do—”

  Leila spun toward the Physician. “Would you like to treat him?”

  “I’m just being helpful. Shouldn’t you be more appreciative?”

  “That you’re badgering me while I work? Oh, I appreciate it immensely. So much so that I think you should do the honors.” She packed up Her satchel, flashing one last glare the Poet’s way. “Do let me know how this works out for you.”

  Leila marched off, fuming. I hate this place. The stink of sweaty flesh had become unbearable, the muscle around Her grotesque, but none of that changed the fact that She had yet to fulfill Her purpose.

  Find the Shepherd.

  “Injures.” She stopped at a circle of men. “Let’s have a look.”

  A pair of wide eyes stared up at Her. “Do me first. This lump’s killing me.”

  A second man laughed. “I’m sure you’d love for her to do you first.”

  “Shut up, Neil.”

  “I’ll go second or third, so long as she has a look at my lump as well.”

  A third man chuckled. “Dirty bastard.”

  Leila sat among them, ignoring their laughter. Idiots. Albeit handsome ones, perhaps the most stunning there. One was built like a warrior, large and robust with a heavy brow, though his impeccable grooming was far from soldierly. The Regal. His small, chartreuse eyes gave him away, as did his sun-kissed skin, his long blond locks. The next man was smaller and sleek with golden skin and decorative swirls carved into his sable hair. The Noble. She could tell by his eyes, a sky blue. Then there was the Adonis, the most tempting man She’d ever seen: hazel eyes, warm, olive skin, long waves of golden-brown hair, and a body so sculpted he could’ve been cut from stone.

  “I still can’t believe it.” The Adonis pouted, numb to Leila’s touch as She assessed his scrapes. “Not one look at The Savior. We didn’t even get to see Her face.”

  The Regal scoffed. “Quit complaining. You’ve been at it all day.”

  “And I have every right. I’d at least like to k
now what I’m working with.”

  “What are you going to do? Chastise Her when you see Her?” The Regal let out a hearty laugh. “Sling Her over your knee and give Her a spanking?”

  The Adonis smirked. “I’d like that, actually. Maybe I will.”

  “You’d give Her the shock of Her life. I’ll bet She’s a spoiled thing, used to getting what She wants.”

  “Oh, I’ll give Her plenty of what She wants.”

  Leila went rigid, Her hands freezing in their ministrations.

  “Fuck what She wants,” the Noble said. “If She’s looking for a real man, then She’s looking to serve.”

  The Regal’s laughter climbed higher. “Serve?”

  “Someone’s daring.” The Adonis elbowed him in the ribs. “You’re toying with blasphemy.”

  “I’m stating facts. A true woman knows where She belongs: on Her back with Her legs spread wide.”

  Leila clamped down on Her lip, Her patience waning.

  “You’re all talk, I just know it.” The Adonis shook his head, turning to the Regal. “He says it now, but when the time comes—”

  “Piss off,” the Noble said. “When the time comes I’ll show The Savior who ought to be Champion.”

  “Please, you would never.”

  “I mean it. The moment I see Her, I swear to you, I’m dropping my trousers, whipping out the worm, and telling our Savior to get on Her knees and worship.”

  “Fucking pig,” Leila grumbled.

  The men fell silent, their eyes on Leila for the first time since Her arrival. “Did you hear that?” The Adonis glanced around the circle. “She called you a pig!”

  The Noble smirked. “Is that because you’re hungry for my sausage?”

  The Regal laughed louder than ever. “You slay me every time, I swear.”

  “Are you feeling left out, Healer girl?” The Noble eyed Her up and down. “I’d be more than happy to practice with your mouth. Your plump lips would look grand wrapped around my cock.”

  Leila spun toward his friends. “You’re perfectly content to hear him speak like this to a woman?”

  The Regal waved Her away. “Calm yourself. It’s all in fun.”

  “You’re supposed to laugh,” the Adonis said.