The Savior's Sister

by Jenna Moreci

  You are a murderer.

  “Your Holiness?”

  She spun toward the plump man in striking fuchsia drapes standing in Her doorway. “Wembleton…”

  “Apologies for the intrusion.” He eyed Her over. “Is that a new cloak? It’s lovely. Sometimes the best pieces are understated.”

  Frowning, Leila slipped Qar’s rings into Her satchel. “I’m busy.”

  “Then I’ll make my presence brief. I’ve come to inform You of the results of the challenge.”

  The tournament. She had forgotten today marked the first challenge—that even more blood had been spilled within the fortress walls.

  “On this fine day, a man has fallen in the pursuit of Your hand,” Wembleton said. “In a short while I shall announce to the realm that the Poet died a hero in the Sovereign’s Tournament. We shall all honor his noble sacrifice.”

  Leila exhaled. Another man dead. Perhaps She should’ve ached for him, but this man didn’t have black eyes or a mop of wavy hair, and for that She was relieved.

  “And it seems another will be joining him in the next life soon enough,” Wembleton added.

  Leila started. “Another man?”

  “Yes. The Artist.”

  Her gut lurched.

  Tobias.

  She flung Her satchel over Her shoulder, shoved past Wembleton, and sprinted down the corridor.

  The sound of Her rampant breathing echoed in Her ears. All She needed was an empty corridor, the briefest moment of isolation. When the path ahead of Her cleared, the pitter-patter of feet sounded at Her side, and blonde hair bobbed in Her peripheral vision.

  “Where are we running?”

  “Pippa—”

  “I want to come too!”

  Groaning, Leila grabbed Pippa’s wrist as a blinding light burst around Her.

  The stench hit Her first—hot sweat mixed with sour spew, enough to sear Her nostrils. The brick walls of the sanctuary materialized, and She charged ahead, nearly stumbling into a puddle of vomit.

  “Boys!” Pippa squealed. “I’m so excited!”

  Haggard men were doubled over, clutching their stomachs, while others hurled without shame, cursing whatever had left them so ill. The wall beside Her was open wide, revealing a white room streaked with disarray. In its center lay Hansel’s dead body, his face covered in sick.

  “Healer girl.”

  A small group headed Her way, led by a burly man. Orion. The Hunter looked a mess, his long, ashy-brown hair hanging in damp tangles, but Leila was far more concerned with the body slung over his shoulder.

  Tobias.

  She hurried toward them. “Is he dead?”

  “Unconscious.” Orion laid him out at Her feet. “Has a pulse, but it’s faint.”

  As Leila knelt beside him, Her throat tightened. Wet curls were plastered to his feverish face, his lips and chin stained with blood. “What happened?”

  The Prince marched up to Her side. Flynn. “They poisoned our wine, of all things! Ruining one of the finest pleasures man has to enjoy!”

  “You’re telling me he’s poisoned?”

  “It was a challenge,” Orion said. “They poisoned our drink and tasked us with concocting the antidote.”

  “An antidote made of frog guts and ox piss.” Flynn shoved his hands onto his hips. “Did you hear that? Ox piss.”

  Orion looked Tobias up and down. “I believe he overdosed on one of the ingredients. Hipnayl? Whatever it’s called.”

  “Fuck the hipnayl, I blame the poison,” Flynn said. “He drank like a fish.”

  Leila frowned. “Well, his friend died.”

  “I know, that’s why I encouraged it.”

  Leila stiffened. “You encouraged a man in mourning to drink? Excessively?”

  “What? It numbs the pain.”

  Leila growled under Her breath. She planted one palm on Tobias’s forehead, the other on his chest, and nausea plowed through Her, nearly sending Her heaving.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Flynn said. “He’s going to be all right, yes?”

  “Does he look all right to you?” Leila spat.

  Despite the protests of Her gut, Leila weighted Her hands against Tobias. Saliva pooled in Her mouth, but behind the suffering She could feel it—poison snaking through him, an interloper seizing control.

  Flynn nudged Her. “Healer girl—”

  “Leave.” Leila spun toward the men. “All of you.”

  “But—”

  “Leave.”

  The men hesitated before walking off. Pain stabbed at Leila’s fingertips; second by second, Tobias’s insides dulled.

  He was slipping away.

  Pippa popped into Her line of sight. “Is he sleeping?”

  “Pippa love, keep the area clear,” Leila said. “Make sure no one comes anywhere near this man, do you understand?”

  “What for?”

  “So he can nap in peace, duckling.”

  Pippa bounded off, while Leila eyed the men in the distance. They’ll see Me. They’ll notice. Fear nipped at Her insides, but She fought past it, Her voice barely a murmur.

  “Slow the toxin. Give him strength.”

  Heat seared Her palms, Her light galvanized, spilling forth. The poison stirred within Tobias, and the fading of his body sent sweat beading along Her forehead.

  “Strength. For God’s sake, I said give him strength.”

  Power burst through Her hands, setting Her touch aflame. A war waged in Tobias’s body—Her holy command battling his frailty.

  “He has a fever.”

  A loud smacking punctuated the voice behind Her. Leila growled. “What do you want, Altair?”

  The Physician chomped at an apple, scanning Tobias’s body. “It’s a side effect of the poison. So you needn’t check his temperature, because he’s clearly burning up like the rest of us.”

  Leila yanked Her hand from Tobias’s forehead. “Thank you for your astute contribution. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to save a man’s life.”

  “You need ginger tea. Perhaps smelling salts.” Dropping his apple, he grabbed Her bag. “If you have any in this bag of yours—”

  She snatched Her satchel away. “Don’t you dare touch my things.”

  “I’ve treated many a sour stomach, and the solution is simple. I myself have developed a specialized treatment that works wonders on the gut…”

  Altair’s words dissolved. Her palm was still pressed to Tobias’s chest, taking in his haggard breathing, his tortured stomach, and his slow death.

  “…then you remove your finger from the anus, and just like that—”

  “You need to go,” Leila said. “Now.”

  “The man needs a proper physician. If only you’d listen to my instruction, I happen to know a great deal—”

  Leila ripped Her blade from Her thigh and slammed it into Altair’s apple, splitting it in two. Seconds of stunned silence passed, and he cleared his throat. “Well then, I’ll be on my way.”

  Altair vanished, and Leila returned to Her task. No more interruptions. It had to be now. With both hands situated, She was yet again flooded with sickness, suffering—every affliction plaguing Tobias’s body. Everything She had to end.

  “Slow the toxin. Heed your purpose, and do as I command: Give him strength. Let the antidote fulfill its role.” She clenched Her jaw. “Give him some fucking strength and peace. That is My will and order.”

  She dug Her nails into his skin, guiding every ounce of power within Her. His pulse thumped through Her like the blood in Her veins, and with it came a shift—his body answering Her call.

  The burn of Her touch died, reduced to its usual warmth. Nausea swirled in Her stomach, but behind it there was no darkness, no death—just a calm heartbeat, a battered body, and an antidote working its way through his system.

  “Thank you.” She exhaled. “Finally.”

  She scanned the sanctuary for prying eyes, but the men were oblivious, too caught up in their torture. Hoisting Tobi
as’s head onto Her lap, She brushed his wet curls aside.

  “Are you done with him?”

  A wreck of a man appeared at Her side with a legion behind him. Leila raised an eyebrow. “Come again?”

  “Are you done with him? The rest of us are sick too, you know.”

  “And why is that any of my concern?”

  “You’re the Healer.”

  Right. Dammit. “Fine,” She said. “Line up.”

  One by one the men sat at Her side eager for assistance, and assist them She did—with perfumes and incense, Her sham a Godsend to the stench. The challenge became clearer through their company. Bjorne was certain he hadn’t prepared his antidote correctly, while Caesar barely spoke a word, only opening his mouth to spew on more than one occasion. Most of the men left claiming they felt restored, and while they swore of the healing properties of Her sweet-smelling vials, She kept silent of the warmth of Her hands—hands that were once again pressed to Tobias.

  Strength and peace.

  “Hello, Healer girl.”

  Kaleo stood beside Her, the last man in line. Leila busied Herself with Her satchel.

  He took a seat at Her side, and She sighed.

  “Oh, was that a hint for me to leave?” he said. “I’ve never been all that receptive to subtleties.”

  “Go.”

  “I’ve never been receptive to orders either.” His cheeks turned up in a smile, but no amount of charm could fill the emptiness of his gaze.

  “You know, I don’t think you like me much.” His voice was smooth, at ease. “I haven’t a clue why. I don’t believe I’ve shared more than a few words with you.”

  “What can I say? I’ve a habit of judging vile cocks prematurely.”

  He laughed. “You’re funny. I’ll bet that mouth gets you slapped around quite a bit, but I appreciate a nasty little tongue.”

  “Shouldn’t you be off writhing on the floor with the rest of them? Or do you happen to be immune to poison?”

  “Not at all, I just didn’t drink the wine.”

  His words halted Her. “You didn’t drink the wine?”

  “Same as our good Dragon and Giant.” He gestured toward the other two assassins. “Never had much of a taste for spirits myself. Drinking is such a foul habit, wouldn’t you agree? It seems our Artist learned that the hard way. Though I suppose the Dragon is partly to blame for his situation.”

  “The Dragon?”

  “Oh, you should’ve seen it. He nearly destroyed the Artist’s antidote, and right at the end no less.” He chuckled. “It was hysterical, the look on the poor bastard’s face. I swear his life flashed before his eyes.”

  “Drake didn’t drink the wine, yet he sabotaged Tobias’s antidote.”

  “All’s fair in love and challenges.”

  Leila stared back at him, repulsed. Turning to Tobias, She pressed Her perfumed hand to his forehead.

  “I don’t understand why you’re working so hard to save him,” Kaleo said. “Let him die. Is that not what this tournament is for?”

  “Some men deserve the opportunity more than others.”

  “You think the Artist is deserving of The Savior? I mean, he is quite handsome, I’ll give you that.” His gaze brightened. “Say, you’re not fond of him, are you? Keeping him alive for yourself. Is that why you’re down here?”

  “I’m down here to work, a fact you’ve thus far ignored.”

  “Oh, come now, it’s human nature to mix work with pleasure. Tell me, once you’re done tending to the Artist’s tummy, are you going to go back to your bedchamber and think of him? Imagine the feel of his skin, the look of his muscular build? Are you going to touch yourself while visions of his cock dance in your head?”

  Leila’s jaw tightened. “You can be as abhorrent as you’d like. I’m not leaving until my work is through.”

  “A woman committed to her job. I admire that. I’m much the same way.”

  “Oh? You take shepherding very seriously?”

  “That I do.”

  Nausea filled Her gut, though She wasn’t sure if it was because of the sick man in Her lap or the one at Her side.

  “Would you like to know a secret, Healer girl?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “The first time I saw you, I thought for a moment you might be The Savior. You look like a little ghost after all, with that white skin of yours.”

  Her muscles tensed. “Drake is fair. Did you think he was The Savior as well?”

  “Yes, it was a foolish thought. I realized that upon meeting Cosima. She is far more poised than you. Plus those curves—the power of purity with a body for sin, the irony.”

  “Oh indeed. Isn’t She the most divine piece of ass you’ve ever seen?”

  Kaleo let out a hearty laugh. “I think I know your story. You’re a jealous one, aren’t you? The Savior gets all the attention, and meanwhile you’re down here sitting in the piss and shit with the rest of us.”

  “Well done, Shepherd, you’ve figured me out. I’m utterly green with envy. It’s as though you see right through me.”

  “Well, lamb, don’t you worry your little head. When the tournament ends and I win Cosima, know I won’t leave you behind. Her tits are enough to leave a man hard for days, but I’d wager your eyes are the most stunning I’ve ever seen.” Kaleo’s gaze lit up. “Say, I’ve got a proposition for you. Come our wedding night, I’ll fuck The Savior’s tits, as any good man would. Then, once She’s sound asleep, I’ll slip into your chamber, hold you down nice and tight, then slide deep into your cunt. And while I fuck you hard and for as long as I please, know that I will stare longingly into those beautiful eyes of yours. Doesn’t that sound romantic, Healer girl?”

  An unsettling chill rolled through Her, but She held firm. “I’ll be sure to tell The Savior of our conversation. She’ll be absolutely delighted.”

  Chuckling, Kaleo hopped to his feet. “I imagine not. But it won’t matter either way. I think we both know that with Her father’s blessing, I’m not going anywhere.”

  The air evacuated Leila’s lungs as he walked off. Her hands were shaking, and She grabbed hold of Tobias to steady them.

  Pippa plopped down beside Her. “He’s still asleep?”

  Leila winced, forcing Kaleo from Her thoughts. “Yes, duckling. He’s very sick.”

  “When will he wake up?”

  “I’m not sure. He’s had a trying day.”

  “Have You…” Pippa glanced from side to side. “Have You tried magic?”

  Leila frowned. “You know full well not to discuss that here.”

  “Sorry. I’ll think of something else.”

  Pippa fell silent, while Leila focused on the man in Her lap, the hypnotic rise and fall of his chest.

  “Still out, is he? I figured as much.”

  Leila groaned. Altair was back again, staring at Her with his usual criticism.

  “He’s doing fine,” She said. “Now if you’ll excuse us—”

  “You really ought to examine that head of his.” He took a seat at Her side. “Check for injury.”

  She clamped down on Her lip. “Altair…”

  “Head traumas are serious, and if he hasn’t woken yet, he likely never will—”

  “Say, I have a brilliant idea. Why don’t you leave?”

  “And?”

  “That’s it.”

  “I’ve got it!” Pippa beamed with pride. “True love’s kiss!”

  Leila sighed. “That only works in fables, Pippa.”

  “I can try!”

  “It’s not polite to kiss boys while they’re unconscious.”

  Altair shouldered between the two women. “I should take a look at him.”

  “Altair, I don’t need your assistance.”

  “But I’m a physician.”

  “And I’m a healer.”

  “You should try Guarana.” He pointed his nose to the ceiling. “If you’re unfamiliar—”

  “I’m familiar, Altair.”

&n
bsp; “It’s an instant jolt to the senses.”

  “Altair—”

  “Why don’t you move aside and let me take a look at him?”

  “Why don’t you worry about yourself and let me do my job?”

  A strained, shallow breath. Tobias stared up at Leila from Her lap, his gaze weak, and the tension melted from Her bones.

  “See? He’s awake.” She spun toward Altair. “Now fuck off.”

  8

  The Artist

  Leila glared at Altair as he walked off. The day was young, yet She had already juggled too many burdens to count: a nagging physician, a soulless assassin, the revival of one man, the death of another.

  You are forever marked. You are a murderer.

  “Harsh words.”

  Tobias’s voice rang out from Her lap. She hadn’t forgotten he was lying there, but Her eyes remained on Altair, Her thoughts on Qar’s watery grave.

  “He’s a pest, that one. Always hovering, forcing his unwanted guidance.” She grumbled under Her breath, “The man just wants to hear himself talk.”

  “Maybe he likes you,” Tobias said.

  “Oh, he definitely doesn’t like me.”

  “Because you accused him of murder?”

  “Because I’m better at his job than he is. And I’m a woman. And shut up.”

  Leila cringed. She should’ve held Her tongue. She pressed a hand to Tobias’s forehead, but all that responded was nausea. Pain.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Tired,” he said. “But alive.”

  “Alive is good. Time is all you need. Lie here for now. Relax yourself.”

  “What happened?”

  You almost died. I saved your life. “Too much hipnayl. Knocked you right out. Though I suppose you could say you got a nice long nap out of it.”

  “The challenge… How are the others?”

  The Poet’s ashen body flashed through Her thoughts. She pulled a rag from Her satchel, busying Herself. “Hansel is dead.”

  “And everyone else?”

  “Many are sick. They’ll recover soon enough. A few are already feeling like themselves again.” She thought back to the line of men She had treated. “Bjorne—he didn’t even prepare the antidote correctly, yet he’s perfectly fine. It’s as if the man’s impervious to injury. Perhaps he’ll win simply due to his own resiliency.”