by Jenna Moreci
Just once more.
She flung the black fabric around Her shoulders and snatched up the satchel, gathering odds and ends for Her certainly brief and unquestionably final journey underground. Bandages, perfume, soap—soon the bag was too cumbersome, and She stuffed Her pockets instead, filling them with peaches before stopping at the sound of a whimper.
Pippa stood in the doorway, her face streaked with tears.
“Little duckling, come here,” Leila cooed. Pippa dove into Her arms, and Leila wrapped Her in a hug. “Everything will be all right.”
“I did a bad thing,” Pippa cried.
“I’m sure that’s not true. You have the purest heart of us all.”
“I did!”
“Shh, just breathe.” Leila sat on the couch, resting Pippa’s head in Her lap. “I was just about to visit the boys in the labyrinth. Would you like to join Me?”
“No.” Pippa buried her face in Leila’s legs. “I can’t go back there. I can’t!”
“Pippa… Wait. What do you mean go back?”
“Romulus made me.”
“What are you talking about?”
Pippa looked up from Leila’s lap, red-faced and trembling. “I did a bad thing.”
Panic seized Leila, though She feigned calm. “Everything will be all right.” Propping a pillow beneath Pippa’s head, She slid off the couch. “Rest here for now. I have somewhere important to be.”
The room around Her burst into rays of light, then faded into black brick and rank air. She tore into the sanctuary, madly scanning the men—nothing unusual, save for Bjorne sitting off to the side with a cavernous hole in his shoulder.
“My God.” Leila hurried his way. “What happened?”
Bjorne shrugged and went back to sipping his water. Leila perfumed Her hand and planted it on the wound, giving him a few pulses of light as She eyed the sanctuary.
Tobias sat in a circle with several others. Thank God.
“Healer girl.” A meaty hand attached to a tall, blond man snatched Her wrist and dragged Her away. Caesar. He stopped Her at the back of the sanctuary, where Beau leaned against the wall, snickering like a child, and the Noble—Neil—sat on a wooden bench wearing a churlish scowl. He held his cheek in his bloodied palm, but all She could think of was his perverse lines the day they had met.
“You have to see this,” Caesar said. “It’s absolutely vile.”
“Shut up,” Neil growled.
“Get ready to spew your guts—”
“I said shut up, you stupid fuck!”
Leila glanced between the three Lords. “What is it?”
As Neil lowered his hand, Leila nearly retched. A gash tore across the back of his skull, over his ear, and straight through his cheek, the wound wide enough to expose his glossy gums.
Beau nudged him in the ribs. “Open your mouth so she can really see it.”
“Fuck you, it hurts!” Neil barked.
“How did this happen?” Leila said.
“Some brute had his way with him.” Caesar propped himself against the wall. “Carved him up like a hog.”
“One of the other competitors?”
“God, no.” Beau grimaced. “It was an ogre in a leather mask.”
A pang pierced Leila’s chest. Talos had done this.
“Are you going to fix it?” Neil said.
She shot him a scowl. “Not if you’re an ass about it.”
“He’s an ass about everything,” Caesar scoffed.
As the men around Her cursed and bickered, Leila pulled a mending kit from Her satchel, threading the needle. It’s linen. Not flesh. Just linen. “I take it you had another challenge.”
“A challenge? It was a bloody nightmare.” Neil dropped his hand, allowing Her to come in close. “That thing sliced us apart one by one. The Physician was set on fire. And that blonde bitch drugged our food.”
Leila stabbed him hard with Her needle, relishing his yelp. “Altair’s dead?”
“Burnt to a crisp,” Caesar mumbled.
Leila’s gut coiled—not for Altair’s death, but for the fact that She didn’t care at all.
“It’s not going to scar, is it?” Neil asked.
“Of course it’s going to scar,” She said. “There’s a hole in your face.”
“Thought you were supposed to be good at your job.”
“I thought you were supposed to be a worthwhile man. It seems we both have reason to be disappointed.”
Beau and Caesar laughed loudly, throwing off Her stitching.
“Bitch,” Neil muttered. “Someone needs to show you where you belong.”
“I belong in the palace of Thessen.” Her eyes shrank into a glare. “You’d be wise to remember that.”
“Shepherd!” Caesar called across the sanctuary. “Did you see this?”
Kaleo headed their way, winding Leila into a knot.
“Well, look at that.” Kaleo shoved his face into Her work. “That’s a fine set of teeth you’ve got. Dragon, Giant, take a look at this poor bastard.” He smiled at Leila. “Hello again, Healer girl. How are we today?”
She leaned in closer, focused on Her stitching, but the task was unbearable with Kaleo, Drake, and Antaeus gathering around Her.
“Be careful!” Neil jerked away. “You’re killing me.”
“I’m sorry, would you prefer I leave your flesh hanging open?”
Neil cowered beneath the resounding laughter. “You owe me.” Leila scoffed, but he continued. “I mean it. You’re putting me through this hell. Now you get to make me feel better.”
She tied off his stitches while Neil eyed Her like a hungry hound.
“Why must you hide behind this cloak? I’m sure you have a lovely figure.”
“My figure is none of your concern,” She said.
“Well, if you won’t let me have a look…” he wrapped Her in his arms, sliding his hands up Her thighs, “…that means I’ll have to feel my way around.”
He clamped down on Her ass, and She slapped him straight across his stitches. The sanctuary was in an uproar, but Leila didn’t share their amusement, shoving Her supplies into Her satchel and storming off. As She cursed to Herself, heavy footsteps sounded behind Her, and a long shadow stretched over the path ahead.
She knew exactly who this was.
She turned to face Antaeus. He had certainly earned the title of Giant—he was the largest man She’d ever seen, even taller than Talos and with none of his softness or grace. But She hadn’t yet seen him up close like this—face-to-face, or rather face-to-abdomen. Certainly no woman wanted to marry a man She could never kiss. Except Antaeus wasn’t here to marry Leila.
He was here to kill Her.
“Do you need something?” She said.
The Giant didn’t respond, his beady gaze hard. Perverse.
“Well?”
“You’re here to assist us?” His voice was a low, cold growl.
“I am.”
“I could use some assistance.”
“I don’t see any injuries.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
He came in close, engulfing Her in the stench of his sweat. Run. Except maybe this was Her chance.
He threaded his fingers through Her cloak, peering at Her cleavage, and She ripped Herself free. “Don’t touch me.”
She stomped on his foot and shoved his chest—like ramming Her hands into a brick wall. Still he didn’t falter, grabbing Her arm and yanking Her forward. The time was now. She reached for Her blade.
“All right, that’s enough!”
Tobias threw himself in front of Her, separating Her from Her mark before collapsing abruptly. As he propped himself up, Antaeus glared at him, tense and ready to strike.
“Hold on.” Leila threw Her arms around Tobias, hoisting him to his feet. “I’ve got you.”
He staggered through the sanctuary like a newborn foal; bloody bandages covered one of his legs, rendering it more burden than limb. Steering him, She glanced
back at Her missed opportunity. “I was handling myself just fine back there.”
“That fuckery isn’t something you should have to handle,” he said.
His busted leg gave way again, and Leila tightened Her grip, barely managing to keep him standing. The journey was short, but God was he heavy, and She let out a long breath once they dropped alongside his comrades.
“The Artist!” Flynn opened his arms wide. “A hero once again.”
“He’s the hero?” Leila said.
“Don’t be embarrassed, everyone needs a hero from time to time.”
She grumbled under Her breath, “Speak for yourself, Flynn.”
The rest of the circle laughed, a mishmash of men She didn’t entirely hate. The Cavalier—Zander—sat at Flynn’s side, his emerald eyes beaming. His record was easiest to recall, spilling with flowery praise about wealth and chivalry. Enzo was his antithesis, hard and glaring—or perhaps that’s just how his face was, with its small, slate eyes and thin lips. Orion fiddled with the spread of cards, organizing the painted symbols She’d memorized long ago; and then there was the Intellect, his once blank, chestnut stare now harsh and irritable. Raphael. She thought to offer him a smile but could’ve sworn he scowled at Her the moment She caught his gaze.
Sighing, She turned to Tobias. “Let me look at your leg.”
“Unnecessary. You owe me nothing,” he said.
“I’m not doing this because I owe you. I’m doing it because it’s my job.”
Not bothering to wait for a response, She inspected his injury—sloppy and soggy, tied off at the thigh with canvas torn from the tents. She slid Her fingertips over the mess, taking in blips of throbbing. “May I?”
He nodded, and She stripped the wound, revealing a thick gash oozing blood. “Good God. Tobias, this is quite deep.”
“I know. I felt it.”
“How have you managed walking?”
He shrugged. “Poorly, as you might’ve noticed.”
“I mean it,” She maintained. “This is serious. Completely inopportune. You’re going to need your legs tomorrow.”
“Don’t I need my legs every day?”
“You make jokes? Do you think I’m being playful?” She shook Her head. “I can’t believe this. Just another heinous consequence of this vile tournament.”
Zander offered a sympathetic smile. “The things we do for a woman, right?”
“You think this is for a woman?”
The sonorous voice sent the hair on Leila’s arms standing straight. Antaeus hovered over them, a fine, red mist coursing from his pores.
“Is that why you’re all here? Risking your hides, all for some pair of glowing tits?” Antaeus spat on the floor. “There are only two prizes to be won here: coin and glory. And you waste your time chasing a redheaded whore. Dumb fucks, the lot of you. Fools unfit to be called men. Cocks the size of worms, or have you all got any in the first place?”
“Come on now, we’re in the sanctuary,” Zander said. “This is hardly the place for altercations.”
“Piss off, you little shit. I’m not here for you.” Narrowing his eyes, Antaeus turned his attention to Tobias. “I’m here for this one.”
Silence fell over the space, but Leila’s thoughts screamed for violence.
Tobias flexed, braced for a brawl he was in no position for. “If there’s an intention to your visit, get on with it.”
“You mind yourself, Artist,” Antaeus snarled. “You put a target on your back”—his eyes panned to Leila—“protecting cunts like this one.”
Her hands acted quicker than Her thoughts, ripping Her blade from its sheath and thrusting it into Antaeus’s foot.
“You strike fear into the heart of no one.” She yanked the blade from his flesh, and his agonized howl rang in Her ears like victory.
“You bitch, I’ll kill you!”
“Do it,” She spat. “And watch your precious glory fade to nothing, as you’re barred from the tournament and executed for the murder of a palace official.”
Kill him. Antaeus glowered at Her, fists at his sides ready to strike, but She carried Herself as if Her words held truth, the need within Her growing, raging.
Antaeus limped away, and the other men burst into laughter, singing Leila’s praises. Still She glared at the Giant, pretending his red mist was a pool of his blood.
She sheathed Her blade. “Now, where were we?”
Tobias wasn’t laughing with the others. He was staring at Her, his lips clamped shut. “That was dangerous, Leila.”
“Oh, please.”
“I’m serious.” He leaned in close. “These men…they don’t care if you’re of The Savior’s court. They haven’t any respect.”
“Trust me, I’m well aware.”
“I’m just saying, it’s risky, coming down here with creatures like these.”
Protests sat on Her tongue, but She stopped short. His eyes had grown large and pleading, and the vision softened Her.
“You’re worried.”
He straightened his posture. “Well, someone ought to be. You’re clearly not.”
Her heart beat faster. Stop it. She turned to his leg, assessing the damage.
“Should I be concerned?” he said.
“Normally I’d say yes. But you have a secret weapon.”
“And what’s that?”
She smirked. “Me, of course.”
As She wiped down the gash, fire crackled at Her fingertips, eager and alive. She took a vial at random and doused Her hand, filling the air with vanilla—a sweet-smelling lie—then pressed against the wound, unleashing Her flames.
Slow the bleeding.
Tobias’s body clenched. “Must you squeeze it like that?”
“Yes. I must.”
Mend the flesh. Heat blazed through Her touch, growing and pulsing before fading away. She dropped Her hand, shaking out Her wrist. The gash was still foul, but at least it had ceased spilling over. She pulled a needle and thread from Her satchel, glancing between it and the wound. Linens. Soft, clean linens.
“This isn’t going to be pleasant,” She said.
“Then we’ll distract him with pleasant thoughts.” Flynn slung an arm around Zander’s shoulders. “Like The Savior.”
Leila nearly grimaced, but She kept Her composure, pricking at Tobias’s flesh.
“God, She is something, isn’t She?” Flynn continued.
“Her hair is stunning,” Zander added.
“She is stunning. Her hair, Her eyes…” Flynn waggled his eyebrows. “Her other attributes.”
“Flynn, the Healer’s present.” Raphael gestured toward Leila. “I’m sure she doesn’t care to hear us gush about another woman.”
Flynn let out a snort. “Oh please, no doubt she’s used to it by now.”
Leila trained Her eyes on Her work, but their worship pierced Her ears like the needle in Her hand. “Ravishing. A true prize.” Harmless praise, yet it turned Her stomach.
“Artist.” Flynn cocked his head at Tobias. “Have you nothing to contribute?”
Cringing, She braced Herself.
“Apologies,” Tobias said. “I’m a little preoccupied. There’s a needle in my leg.”
Lelia exhaled. As the others continued their worship, She finished Her stitching, clipping the thread and bandaging Tobias’s thigh.
“All done.” She tied off the dressing. “No walking, at least until tomorrow.”
“If I’m even able to walk tomorrow,” Tobias muttered.
“You will. Probably.”
A weight dropped in Her stomach. Her job was over. With Her jaw clenched, She loaded up Her satchel.
Tobias’s head perked up. “You’re leaving?”
“I’ve finished, haven’t I?”
“You should stay.” He gestured at the cards. “Play a round with us.”
“I’m here to work.”
“Do you have anyone else to tend to?”
She shook Her head, and he slid to the side, making ro
om for Her. “Come. Play.”
His words rendered Her silent, Her thoughts at odds with one another. You have matters to tend to. But what’s one game of cards? He’s a waste of Your time. But he was so kind to invite You, and it’s only polite to accept.
This is Your last visit to the labyrinth. To squander the opportunity would be foolish.
Leila took the spot at Tobias’s side, swelling with glee once he smiled.
“It’s a memory game.” He cocked his head toward the slips of canvas spread over the floor. “You flip a card at random. If the card reveals a symbol, you must match it with another. If the card reveals an all-seeing eye, you solve a riddle.”
She glanced sidelong at Raphael, who avoided Her gaze. “I’m familiar.”
The competitors busied themselves with their game while Leila opted to observe. A circle of handsome, sweaty men—and She was one of them, no different aside from dainty parts and superior hygiene. She watched as they fought over the symbols, laughed when they hounded Flynn, and delighted in their obscene jokes, ones no guard would dare utter in Her presence. The entire spectacle was foreign—six young men regarding Her so casually, as if She wasn’t the slightest bit holy.
The other Lords trudged by, kicking Her satchel, and Tobias flung his arm around Her. “Careful,” he barked.
Leila’s throat caught, his hand on Her waist heavy and apparent until it slipped away. As Tobias returned to the game, She eyed him over: full brows to match his full lips, a strong nose, and large black eyes—except they weren’t black at all, their sable sheen perfectly visible up close.
A burst of laughter pulled Her back to the circle—and to Orion, who was watching Her, smiling. Her face burned. “Excuse me.”
She headed off to the water barrels, ladling Herself a helping, then thinking better of it upon inspecting its dusty film. A man appeared at Her side, and She flinched. “Raphael.” She pretended to sip from Her contaminated beverage. “Enjoying yourself?”
He scowled. “Did you have to inflict him upon me?”
“Inflict who?”
“Flynn. Who else? He’s been attached to me ever since you made me play that stupid game with him.”
She glanced back at the group, where Flynn was throwing a fit, cursing the cards and any man near him. “He seemed scared and alone. Like a lost puppy.”