The Savior's Sister

by Jenna Moreci

  The Prince furrowed his brow. “Why?”

  “Helps with the pain. Close your eyes while you’re at it.”

  Wincing, the Prince struggled to cover his ears. After he was a ways into counting, the Hunter spun toward Leila. “You’ve never done this, have you?”

  She faltered. “What makes you say that?”

  “You can’t just yank an arrow out of someone’s chest.”

  “You can’t?”

  “Son of a bloody bitch fuck shit cunt!” The Prince dropped his hands. “It’s not working. It hurts more. I think I’m dying.”

  “Keep going.” The Hunter waited for him to resume his count. “We haven’t much time. Do you know what you’re doing?”

  “Of course I know what I’m doing. I’ve healed plenty of wounds, mended injuries of all kinds, and I’ve never failed, not once.” Leila’s words lost their power, and She played with Her dress. “It’s just, in this particular instance, I’m a bit out of my depth, as I’ve never actually removed an arrow from someone’s body—”

  “He’s losing blood.”

  “I don’t know what I’m doing,” She said.

  The Hunter cursed under his breath, and Leila winced. “Should we fetch the Physician?”

  “God no, definitely not. I’ll guide you.” He gave the Prince a squeeze. “Brother, relax. I’m going to tell you exactly what our good Healer is doing while she does it. That way you can brace yourself.”

  “Brace myself? For what?”

  The Hunter eyed Leila sidelong. “Our Healer is going to make an incision.”

  “An incision?” The Prince said. “There’s already an incision, there’s a hole in my chest with an arrow sticking out of it!”

  “She’s going to expand the wound.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “Her fingers.”

  “Her fingers?” The Prince shook his head. “No, I refuse. I fucking refuse.”

  “Brother—”

  “No one is sticking their fingers in me!” The Prince thrashed on the floor, blood pumping from his wound. “Not you, not her, not anyone! I will not have it!”

  The Hunter grabbed his shoulders. “Keep still! You’ll hurt yourself!”

  Leila grabbed his arms only for him to yank himself free. Frantically, She glanced across the sanctuary. “Intellect, Cavalier! Hold him down!”

  The Intellect dashed Her way, while the Cavalier hesitated, eyeing the hulking man beside him. “Can Enzo help?”

  “Now,” She growled.

  The two men appeared at Her side, latching onto the Prince.

  “Hold firm,” the Hunter ordered.

  The Prince was relentless, until a beast of a man loomed over him, grabbing him by the shoulders and slamming him down. The Prince glared at him. “Who the bloody fuck are you?”

  “Do it now,” the Hunter said.

  Leila rummaged through Her cloak, snatching up Her blade. Cringing, She brought the tip to the Prince’s chest, pressing it against the wound—

  “No, wait, get away from me!”

  —and dug Her blade into his flesh. It was the smallest incision, yet the moment chilled Her, the Prince’s cries echoing in Her ears as She dragged the steel through his skin. Blood trickled down his chest, and when She dropped Her blade, Her only comfort was that he finally stopped screaming.

  The Prince fought to slow his breathing. “Oh my God, that was awful. Is it over?”

  “We’ve only just begun.” The Hunter cast Leila a knowing glance. “The Healer needs to make sure the arrow hasn’t struck bone. She’s going to enter the wound—”

  “Oh no no no, that is not happening.” The Prince glared at Leila. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

  The Hunter offered Her a nod—a hint of reassurance—and She plunged Her fingers into the wound.

  Howls tore from the Prince’s throat. Leila clamped down on Her lip, biting so hard She was sure She’d draw blood, all the while following the path of the arrow shaft. Something hard grazed Her fingertips—glassy and sharp, pointed at the tip.

  “I found the arrowhead.” She pulled Her fingers from the wound. “It’s completely free, nowhere near bone.”

  “Good.” The Hunter smiled at the Prince. “It’s almost over, brother.” As his gaze panned to Leila, his smile disappeared. “There’s going to be a lot of blood.”

  A lot of blood. But there was already so much on his chest, the floor, Her hands.

  Hands. Heat pulsed from Her open palms—Her light begging to be wielded. You can’t bless him. You’ll expose Yourself. But perhaps She wouldn’t, not in these darkened conditions. It’s a foolish move. But She was already digging through Her satchel, snatching up a vial of perfume and dousing Her palm.

  “I’m ready.”

  The Hunter looked down at the Prince. “Are you ready, brother?”

  “No, I am not ready!”

  His words fell on deaf ears. The Hunter turned to Leila. “Remove the arrow.”

  Protests spewed from the Prince’s lips, but Leila ignored him, staring at Her hands. No one will suspect it. No one will know. With gritted teeth, She grabbed hold of the arrow and slowly, gently pulled it from the Prince’s chest.

  Tearing flesh, agonized screams—each passing second was chaos, a cacophony of pain. The arrow popped from his body, blood gushing from the wound in torrents, and Leila planted Her hand over the injury.

  Slow the bleeding. The blessing repeated in Her mind, traveling through Her with the surge of Her power, a steady flux of burning light.

  “Hurry,” the Hunter barked. “Close the wound!”

  She didn’t falter, pressing Her palm deeper into the injury.

  “Close the wound—”

  “In a moment,” She spat.

  Mend the flesh. Slow the bleeding. The ensuing mayhem died around Her, leaving Her with the light filling the Prince’s veins, heeding Her control.

  The heat subsided, Her power still and calm. Leila pulled Her hand from his chest, revealing a soggy red wound that had ceased spilling over.

  “Good God…” The Hunter examined the injury. “How did you do that?”

  “It’s the tonic.” Wiping Her hands dry, She cocked Her head at the perfume vial. “Very effective. Simply needs a bit of time and pressure.”

  The Hunter plucked the vial from the floor, inspecting it. “It smells lovely. Not like any tonic I’ve ever heard of.”

  Leila snatched it from his grasp. “It’s special.”

  “I was complimenting it, you know.”

  “Is she done?” The Prince’s eyes fluttered open. “Is it over?”

  “Yes, brother.” The Hunter patted him on the shoulder. “You’re fine now.”

  Relief washed over Leila, Her gaze drifting to the hole in the Prince’s chest. A foolish move. But Her façade remained intact, and that was all that mattered.

  “Fuck, I’m alive.” The Prince exhaled. “I can’t believe it. I’d pinch myself if I weren’t so exhausted.”

  “You have our Healer girl to thank for that,” the Hunter said. “And you can’t forget the Artist. You’d still be floundering in the labyrinth if it wasn’t for him.”

  The Prince wrinkled his nose. “Who’s the Artist?”

  Leila’s eyes darted across the space, stopping at that unmistakable black cloud. The Artist sat on a bench engulfed in misery, but visions of him storming into the sanctuary replayed in Her mind, reigniting Her heartbeat.

  “Can we go now?”

  She flinched. She had forgotten about the Intellect, but there he sat staring right at Her, along with the Cavalier and whoever lingered at his side—a thick, sinewy man with a bald head and an unsettling slate gaze.

  “Nonsense, the poor fellow’s had such a trying day. Surely we ought to keep him company.” The Cavalier nudged the burly man beside him. “Enzo here is from Kovahr. Realm of warriors, of all places, and he serves as a guard to the Queen herself. He has so many stories. I’m sure he’d love to share some.”

/>   The mound of muscle at the Cavalier’s side kept quiet. His skin was nearly pale enough to rival Leila’s, and his thin lips were pulled into a perpetual snarl, a contradiction to the pink fog encircling him—a perfect match to the Cavalier’s. So this is Enzo. She nearly smiled, until She eyed the other men around Her—men with names She hadn’t bothered to learn.

  The Hunter laughed. “I think the story we’re all eager to hear is how this man got himself into this mess in the first place.”

  The Prince flashed him a glare. “You think I did this to myself?”

  “I think you pissed off the wrong man.”

  “The Dragon.” The Intellect rolled his eyes. “This fool was taunting him throughout the entire obstacle.”

  “Fuck the Dragon. It was the damn Shepherd,” the Prince grumbled.

  Leila’s head perked up. “Kaleo did this? Why?”

  “Hell if I know,” he said. “For his own bloody amusement, no doubt. But I’ll tell you one thing—that man’s a menace. I’m not one to shy from a challenge, but I’ll be keeping my distance. Cross that man, and mark my words, it’ll be your end.”

  Kaleo stood with his like-minded associates at the opposite end of the sanctuary, and the sheer sight of him rattled Her. You came here to kill them. Assassins, of all people. She abandoned the idea, as much as it wounded Her pride.

  “Healer girl.” The Hunter nodded in the Prince’s direction. “A gentle reminder that our good man could use a dressing.”

  She rummaged through Her satchel knowing full well its contents were useless. “How careless of me, it appears I’ve left the bandages in my other satchel. Let me go fetch it. Intellect, didn’t I hear you mention something about a card game?”

  “Um…” The Intellect’s eyes darted from side to side. “Yes, but—”

  “Why don’t you teach them how to play? Seems as though you could all use a distraction.”

  “Actually, I was hoping to turn in—”

  “Play the game.”

  The Intellect studied Her hard stare before fishing the cards from his pocket. “So, it’s fairly simple…”

  While the men busied themselves with the cards, Leila headed off on Her errand. Perhaps it was for the best—She’d need plenty more supplies, as the Prince surely wouldn’t be the only man to end up lying in Her lap.

  The Artist.

  She lurched to a stop. She ought to thank him. It was only proper. Nervous excitement surged within Her, and She spun toward his bench.

  Nothing.

  The Artist was gone, taking Her excitement with him. Deflated, She turned on Her heel and walked away.

  6

  The First Impressions

  Enzo, the Dog.

  Raphael, the Intellect.

  Caesar, the Regal.

  Leila flipped from scroll to scroll, absorbing each name before Her. Orion, the Hunter. She read it once, twice, then moved on to the next, determined to ingrain them in Her mind. Neil, the Noble. She shuffled the stack, thumbing through the parchment before stopping at a single page.

  Tobias. The Artist.

  A glint flashed in Her peripheral vision. Delphi stared into Leila’s mirrored wardrobe cinching her dress, a glowing handprint beaming from her chest.

  “You really don’t have to go down there,” Leila said.

  “Nonsense. Why should You get to have all the fun?” Delphi smiled over her shoulder. “Besides, I said I would. And I’m a considerably better judge of character.”

  Leila frowned. “You lie.”

  “Was Your last visit fruitful? Any new tidbits to share?”

  The chaos of the previous evening invaded Her mind. “No. I got preoccupied.”

  “Gazing longingly at their beautiful flesh?”

  Leila’s frown deepened. “Just get them talking. Gather whatever information you can. Maybe one of them will be helpful.”

  “Sounds like someone’s changed Her tune.”

  “We still know nothing about Kaleo, except that he’s mad. What a shock. But he’s dangerous, and I don’t want you getting too close to him. Or the other two. But especially him.”

  “As You wish.” Delphi plucked a silver cloak from Leila’s wardrobe, glancing across the room. “What about you, dove? Have you nothing to contribute?”

  Cosima lay across Leila’s bed, fiddling with a string of emeralds. “Hm?”

  “Any pearls of wisdom to aid against your sister’s murder?”

  “It seems the two of you have it covered,” Cosima said. “You’re positively marvelous at this.”

  Delphi’s eyes narrowed, and Leila quickly cut in. “Our next step is to determine Brontes’s plan. We know I’m to die, just not how, when, or where.” She threaded a satchel over Delphi’s shoulder. “So while you pretty them up—”

  “Wait.” Cosima dropped her jewels. “Are you bathing them?”

  “I’m making them presentable,” Delphi said. “That’s the most reasonable cover we could agree upon.”

  Cosima held up a finger before scuttling from the room, returning with a bevvy of glass jars. “Here.” She shoved the jars into Delphi’s arms. “Use these.”

  Delphi inspected her new burden. “Oils?”

  “Does wonders for the male physique. Just something to do while you’re down there.”

  “You’re giving me orders now?”

  “I’m just saying, you’re preparing them anyway, might as well do it right. We’ll all enjoy it.” Cosima gave Leila’s waist a pinch before heading for the door. “See you at the First Impressions, doves.”

  As the door shut behind her, Delphi pursed her lips. “That woman is an oozing boil.”

  “Delphi…”

  “You can hold out as much hope as You’d like, but Cosima’s more cyst than sister.”

  A knot wound in Leila’s stomach. She turned away, fiddling with the crystal rose on Her desk.

  “All right, I’m ready.” Delphi spun toward Leila, her cloak swirling in a circle. “Any additional instructions? Parting words?”

  She was beautiful, the silver cloak shimmering against her rich brown skin. Such a vision belonged anywhere but the labyrinth. “Just be safe,” Leila murmured.

  “Anything else?”

  A dark cloud swept through Her thoughts. “No.”

  Nodding, Delphi headed for the door, while those black swirls filled the corners of Leila’s mind.

  “Wait.”

  Delphi stopped, turning on her heel.

  “There is one man…” Leila said.

  A smirk crept across Delphi’s lips. “Is there?”

  “Brown hair, black eyes.” Leila cleared Her throat. “His name is Tobias. The—”

  “Artist. I remember.”

  “Help him.”

  “Help him?”

  “See to it that he has an advantage of some kind,” Leila said. “In as subtle of means as you can maintain.”

  “And what’s triggered this decision?”

  “He saved a man’s life yesterday. I believe such action deserves recompense, don’t you?”

  “Interesting.” Delphi’s smile widened. “Didn’t You expect him to die? Yet instead he comes out a hero. Who did he save?”

  “Flynn. The Prince.”

  “A man above his birth? It seems our Artist is rather impressive, isn’t he?”

  Leila waved her away. “Oh, just go.”

  Chuckling, Delphi continued on her path.

  “One more thing,” Leila called out. “Be gentle. With Tobias, I mean. His dear friend was brutally killed by Kaleo, of all people. He’s in a delicate state, so…be gentle.”

  Delphi raised an eyebrow.

  “I may have upset him when we first met.”

  “Ah. There it is.” Delphi laughed, heading for the door. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle with Your Artist.”

  “My Artist?”

  “Slip of the tongue. But I will say, if he saved a man’s life in this delicate state of his, I can only imagine how admirable he is in
full form.”

  Leila rolled Her eyes, then glanced over the handprint on Delphi’s décolletage. “Don’t forget. If at any moment you feel endangered—”

  “Poof.” Delphi threw the door open. “I’m gone.” She glided away.

  Leila stared at the door, racked with worry. Desperate to divert Her thoughts, She turned to Her desk, only to be met with the pile of records.

  Tobias.

  “Leila?”

  The voice startled Her. Faun stood in the doorway, grinning. “It’s time for Your bath. Today’s the big day.”

  Leila shoved the scrolls into Her drawer and followed Faun from Her chamber.

  “Pleasant day, Your Holiness,” Asher chirped.

  She growled. “My name is and will forever be Leila.”

  Soon the periwinkle walls of the bathhouse surrounded Her, and Her nakedness set the pool aglow. Her four favorite servants paid extra close attention to the softness of Her skin, the shine of Her hair, as Leila was to look especially beautiful.

  Today was the First Impressions.

  “You absolutely must tell us all about them,” Hemera said.

  Leila flinched, sending ripples through the pool. “Who?”

  “The competitors. Who else?” Damaris chuckled, massaging Her tight shoulders. “You’re finally meeting them, after all.”

  “I’m so excited.” Hemera plopped down at the edge of the pool. “I bet they’re all handsome. And noble. And kind. They must be.”

  Leila let out a snort and sank into the water, only for Nyx to yank at Her arms, hoisting Her upright. “Sit up straight, You’ll wet Your hair.”

  “Is there anyone in particular You’re excited to meet?”

  A dark cloud slinked through Leila’s thoughts. “No.”

  Damaris laughed. “Oh, these men will have a hard time impressing Her.”

  “Good.” Faun winked. “They wanted a challenge, after all.”

  The grooming went on for much longer than usual, and hours of dressing followed. Once the whirlwind of silks settled, Leila headed to the labyrinth, nerves wrestling in Her gut.

  Black bricks dissolved before Her, revealing a dreary room made of chipping stone. A long mirror in a florid gold frame leaned against the wall beside a rack of familiar cloaks. Her sisters waited expectantly, but Leila’s eyes went straight to Cosima, her painted lips, and her emerald dress, the ideal fit for her curves.